The chandeliers glittered above her head, casting fractured light across the hall like shattered diamonds.
Perfume, laughter, and the clinking of crystals filled the air. Every woman wore jewels like armor, and every man carried pride in his tailored suits.
Selene Sinclair stood in the center of it all, with her hands clasped tightly to keep them from trembling.
Tonight was supposed to be her night. Tonight was supposed to be the moment when her place as the Sinclair family's daughter, and as Damian Ashford's fiancée, was secured in front of all rich society.
She had spent days preparing.
The silk gown on her frame was custom-tailored, and her blonde hair had been woven into glossy curls, and pinned with silver ornaments that shimmered with each step.
She had rehearsed the smile she would wear when Damian finally announced her as his bride-to-be. She couldn't wait.
Instead, her throat felt raw. Her smile was frozen. Because in the very next moment, her entire world collapsed.
Damian, the man she had loved since her youth, raised his champagne flute and said, "There will be no engagement." His voice was as cold as ice when his lips parted.
The words slid into the hall like a blade.
Gasps followed, and the air tightened. Selene's breath caught, and for a heartbeat she wondered if she had misheard. Her heart thudded painfully against her ribs, but the words did not change.
Damian's eyes, sharp, black, and merciless. did not even flicker in her direction as he continued, "The rumors of an engagement between myself and Miss Selene Sinclair were… unfortunate misunderstandings."
Unfortunate misunderstandings?
The words cracked like whips across her ears. She couldn't breathe. Words had no right to make her this sick, but his words did.
Whispers swelled in the crowd.
Women pressed their manicured hands to their lips, and men leaned closer to hear more. A ripple of laughter, sharp and cruel, skated across the hall.
Selene's nails dug into her palm until the skin split. Her body stiffened, but her mind screamed.
'No. No, this isn't happening. Not here, not like this.' She screamed inwardly. What was going on? They were on good terms. They've always been on good terms. Where were these words coming from?
She turned to her father, Richard Sinclair, who stood nearby in a dark suit, with his hand resting comfortably on his real daughter's shoulder. On Anne's shoulder.
Anne, with her delicate features and carefully orchestrated innocence stood beautifully. Anne, who had only been acknowledged by the Sinclair family a year ago after they discovered the truth that Selene wasn't their blood daughter, stood more comfortably beside Richard than she, Selene, had ever been. She wasn't the rightful daughter.
She was nothing but a mistake.
Anne's eyes gleamed with triumph as she leaned into Damian's side, like it was her rightful place.
Selene's throat burned as she forced herself to speak. She could barely carry her voice over the murmurs. "Damian… you promised—"
"Promises?" His voice cut like glass. For the first time that night, he looked at her. His gaze held no affection, and no regret, but only disdain. "I promised nothing to a woman who deceived everyone about her identity. A fake heiress. Do you think I would tie the Ashford name to such a scandal?"
The hall erupted.
"Fake heiress?"
"So it's true, she was switched at birth!"
"And he's choosing Anne instead?"
Every word slammed against her chest until she could hardly breathe.
Anne feigned a gasp, lowering her lashes as though she was wounded by the revelation. Her voice was soft, trembling in the way that drew sympathy like moths to flames. "Sister… I never wanted this. You know I didn't…"
Lies. Poison-sweet lies.
Selene wanted to scream, and to tear the mask off Anne's face and show the world the viper beneath. But her voice wouldn't come. Her lips trembled as she tried to form words, yet all she could hear was the thunder of her own heartbeat.
Richard Sinclair stepped forward, his expression was severe, and his voice carried authority. "That is enough. From this day forward, the Sinclair family acknowledges only one daughter. Anne Sinclair. Selene, you will not bring shame to this house again."
Her knees weakened.
Her father, no, not her father, had disowned her with a single sentence. Her mother, standing beside him, did not even look at her.
Shame? What does he mean by that? All she had ever done was live up to the Sinclair standard.
The ground seemed to tilt beneath her, and faces swam in her vision. They were mocking, pitying, and amused at the same time. Laughter that wasn't really laughter but knives dressed in silk filled her ears.
She staggered back, bumping into a waiter who quickly recoiled as though she carried a disease. No one reached out. No one offered comfort. She was alone.
Anne stepped closer to Damian. Her pale fingers brushing against his sleeve as though claiming him before all. And Damian—Damian didn't push her away.
Selene's heart cracked open.
For years, she had believed if she only worked harder, smiled brighter, obeyed more willingly, she would be enough. For years, she had loved him faithfully, given her loyalty to the Sinclair family unquestioningly.
And what had it earned her?
Nothing but betrayal.
Her chest ached as if something vital inside her was shattering. But she refused to cry. Not here. Not before them.
She drew herself up, though her body shook violently. Her lips parted, the words scraping out like broken glass, "You'll regret this."
It was all she could manage before she turned on her heel and walked out of the hall. No one stopped her.
The chandeliers still sparkled behind her, and laughter resumed as if she had never existed.
The night air hit her like a slap when she stumbled out of the banquet hall. The cold autumn wind ripped the warmth from her skin, and sent a shiver deep into her bones.
Selene pressed a trembling hand to her chest, trying to keep herself from collapsing right there on the grand steps. Behind her, the music resumed, and was muffled through the gilded doors. The world inside spun on, uncaring, as though she had never belonged in it at all.
Her silk gown dragged against the pavement, ruined by dust and the night's dampness. It should have mattered. Hours ago, it would have mattered. But now, what use was a gown when her very identity had been stripped away?
Her heels clicked unevenly against the stone as she walked, then stumbled, and then walked again. Each step was heavier than the last.
"Fake heiress."
"Unfortunate misunderstandings."
"From this day forward, we acknowledge only Anne."
The words repeated in her mind like cruel bells tolling her execution. She hated it here now.
Selene stopped at the edge of the road, blinking against the blur of streetlights and car headlights streaming past. Her breaths came shallow and quick, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't seem to catch them.
Was this what it felt like to die while still standing?
A cruel laugh bubbled up in her throat, choked and broken. She had given everything, her love, her loyalty, and her very self, only to be cast aside like yesterday's trash.
Her knees buckled, and she gripped a lamppost for support. The sharp metal bit into her palm. She welcomed the pain; it was the only thing that reminded her she was still alive.
But for how much longer?
Thunder rumbled above. A fat drop of rain splattered on her cheek, cold against her burning skin. Then another. And another.
Within moments, the heavens opened, drenching her gown, and plastering golden curls against her pale face. The storm raged, but Selene didn't move.
She lifted her head to the sky, letting the rain wash her tears away. If there's a god, she thought bitterly, then tell me… why was I born only to be destroyed like this?
Lightning flashed. For an instant, the world was blinding white.
Her body shivered violently, with her strength nearly gone. She staggered across the slick street, not caring about the headlights rushing closer, and not caring about the horn that blared.
A sharp screech of tires echoed behind her. Someone shouted.
Selene froze, but it was too late.
The world tilted. Pain lanced through her body as something heavy and cold slammed into her. The breath tore from her lungs, as her body crumpled to the ground.
Voices screamed, and feet rushed towards her.
Her vision blurred, edged with darkness. Blood filled her mouth, metallic and warm. The rain mingled with it.
Her fingers twitched weakly, searching for something, or anything to hold onto.
She thought of her mother's averted eyes. Her father's cold dismissal. Damian's disdain. Anne's triumphant smile.
Her heart twisted until it was nothing but a fragile husk.
With her last trembling breath, she whispered into the storm. "If I could live again… I would never be their fool. I would burn them all to the ground."
Then almost immediately, darkness claimed her.
And just like that, Selene Sinclair, the fake heiress, was no more.