The Hart mansion was quiet again. The chandeliers had been dimmed, the music silenced, and the guests long gone. But the echoes of their laughter and applause still lingered in the vast halls like ghosts.
Elena stood by her bedroom window, her gown carefully draped across a chaise behind her. She had changed into a silk robe, but the adrenaline of the evening still hummed in her veins.
The party had been a triumph.
Every whisper, every glance, every murmured compliment had confirmed it. She was no longer the naive young woman who had stumbled through her engagement, blindly adoring Damian while the world laughed behind her back. Tonight, she had been untouchable.
She allowed herself a small, satisfied smile. The first step has been taken.
Her reflection in the windowpane caught her eye—youthful, radiant, yet hard where it counted. Beneath the softness of her features burned a new fire. One that would not be extinguished.
A knock interrupted her thoughts.
"Elena," Vivienne's sharp voice carried from the hallway. "May I come in?"
Elena did not move immediately. She took her time crossing the room, then opened the door with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Stepmother. It's late."
Vivienne swept inside, her silk gown rustling, her eyes narrowed. "You made quite the spectacle tonight."
"Did I?" Elena tilted her head, feigning innocence. "I thought everything went perfectly."
Vivienne's lips tightened. "Perfectly… for you. You outshone Sophia, and you humiliated Damian in front of half the city. Do you think I didn't notice?"
Elena's lashes lowered, concealing the spark of satisfaction in her eyes. "I only danced as I was asked. If Damian felt humiliated, perhaps it says more about him than me."
The older woman's breath caught, her face paling. Never before had Elena spoken back so boldly.
Vivienne recovered quickly, her voice cold. "You will regret this defiance, Elena. Mark my words."
Elena smiled sweetly. "Perhaps. But not tonight."
She closed the door softly behind her stepmother, her heart calm. Vivienne's threats no longer frightened her. In her past life, she had been crushed by them. In this life, Vivienne was nothing more than another obstacle to be dismantled.
---
Across town, Sophia Lane's hands trembled as she ripped off her crimson gown, tearing stitches in her fury.
She flung the dress onto the floor of her lavish bedroom, pacing like a caged animal. The night replayed in her mind—Elena stealing every glance, every compliment, every moment that should have belonged to her.
"She ruined everything," Sophia hissed, her nails digging into her palms.
She grabbed a glass from her vanity and hurled it at the wall. It shattered, shards scattering across the polished floor.
A soft knock came. "Sophia?" Damian's voice.
She froze. Then her anger melted into something softer, sweeter. She adjusted her hair quickly, pinched her cheeks for color, and opened the door with a practiced smile.
"Damian," she breathed. "You shouldn't be here so late."
He brushed past her into the room, his expression grim. "What happened tonight?"
Sophia lowered her lashes. "Elena was… different. She wasn't the girl we knew. She's changed."
Damian's jaw tightened. He replayed the image of Elena in that gown, the confidence in her eyes, the way she had led him during the dance. For the first time, he hadn't been in control.
"She humiliated me," he muttered.
Sophia stepped closer, her fingers brushing his sleeve. "And she humiliated me. You saw how she made me look like a fool by the fountain."
Her eyes gleamed with unshed tears. "Damian, you know I love you. I've always been the one by your side, not her."
Damian didn't push her away this time. He let her words hang in the air, his silence speaking volumes.
Sophia's heart soared. Good. Let Elena play her little games. I'll make sure Damian sees the truth in the end.
But deep down, she trembled. For the first time, she wondered if Elena was a threat she couldn't underestimate.
---
The next morning, the city's society pages were ablaze with Elena Hart's name.
"Radiant Bride-to-Be Outshines All"
"Elena Hart: A True Jewel of the Hart-Cross Union"
"Damian Cross's Fiancée Captures the Night"
Elena sipped her tea on the veranda, the morning paper spread before her. The photographs were flattering—her poised descent down the staircase, her graceful dance with Damian, her serene smile as she mingled with guests.
Sophia appeared in a few shots, but always in the background, her expression tight.
The contrast could not have been clearer.
Elena set the paper aside, her lips curving. "So it begins."
Her father, Charles Hart, joined her, pride shining in his eyes. "You made me proud last night, Elena. The Hart name has never looked so strong."
Elena reached for his hand, warmth filling her chest. If there was one person she wanted to protect in this life, it was her father. He had been blindsided before, destroyed by manipulations and betrayals he never saw coming. This time, she would shield him.
"I won't let you down, Father," she promised softly.
Charles squeezed her hand, unaware of the storm brewing around them.
---
Later that day, Elena received an invitation—hand-delivered by a servant.
A ladies' luncheon hosted by the Beaumont family, one of the most influential circles in the city. In her first life, she had attended the same luncheon. She remembered the whispers, the mockery, the way Sophia had orchestrated her humiliation by planting rumors of her inadequacy as Damian's bride.
But this time…
Elena's fingers tightened on the creamy envelope. This time, she would not be their prey. She would be the predator.
She dressed carefully that morning, selecting a gown of soft blue chiffon that accentuated her figure without being ostentatious. A string of pearls graced her neck, understated yet elegant. She tied her hair in a loose chignon, leaving strands to frame her face.
When she arrived at the Beaumont estate, heads turned. Conversations paused. For a moment, all eyes were on her.
"Elena Hart," Mrs. Beaumont greeted warmly, though her eyes gleamed with curiosity. "Welcome, my dear. We were just speaking of last night's engagement."
"Were you?" Elena's smile was sweet, her posture graceful. "I do hope it was kind."
Laughter rippled around the table, though she caught the quick exchange of glances. Whispers had already spread—about Damian's coldness, about Sophia's presence, about the subtle tension beneath the glittering surface.
Sophia sat across from her, dressed in soft pink, her smile a blade wrapped in silk. "Elena, you must tell us—how does it feel to be engaged to the city's most eligible man?"
In her past life, Elena had flushed, stammering through the question while the women mocked her in veiled tones.
This time, she met Sophia's gaze directly. "It feels… inevitable. As though Damian and I were always meant to be. Don't you agree, Sophia? After all, you've known him for so long. Surely you saw it too."
Sophia's smile faltered, her grip on her teacup tightening. A ripple of amusement passed through the women at the table.
Elena continued smoothly, her voice light but sharp. "I only hope I can live up to Damian's high standards. Though I suppose that's what makes me the right woman for him—my ability to rise to challenges."
The subtle barb landed with precision. The women chuckled, nodding approvingly. Sophia's cheeks burned.
For the first time, the tables had turned.
---
By the time Elena left the luncheon, the whispers had shifted.
"Elena is so poised."
"She'll make a remarkable Mrs. Cross."
"Sophia seemed… unsettled."
Elena stepped into her waiting car, satisfaction curling in her chest. This was only the beginning. She had planted the first seeds of doubt, and soon, they would bloom into Sophia's downfall.
As the car pulled away, Elena looked out the window, her eyes cold and determined.
This time, I will not be the laughingstock. This time, they will be.
Her lips curved into a smile as sharp as glass.