The garden air tasted metallic on my tongue, like the champagne I had barely touched inside. I stayed among the roses longer than I should have, letting the night wind press the silk of my dress against my legs until the fabric felt foreign, like it belonged to someone else's celebration. My phone had started vibrating in my clutch ten minutes ago, short insistent bursts that I ignored. The city lights beyond the hedge line kept their indifferent glow, and I envied them. They didn't have to stand here pretending the ground hadn't just split open.
Footsteps crunched on the gravel behind me. I didn't turn. I knew the rhythm.
"Selly."
Camille's voice was soft, almost gentle, the same tone she used when we were kids and she wanted the last slice of cake without asking. I kept my gaze on the dark outline of the fountain, water trickling like it hadn't just witnessed the worst moment of my life.
She stepped closer. I caught the faint scent of her perfume, something sweet and expensive that Mason had once complimented in passing. The thought lodged in my throat like a shard of glass.
"I looked everywhere for you," she said. When I still didn't answer, she moved into my line of sight, forcing me to see her. The golden gown caught the moonlight and turned her skin luminous. Her smile curved perfectly, the kind of smile that had always made people lean in closer, wanting to be part of whatever secret she seemed to carry. But tonight there was something off about it, a tightness at the corners that didn't quite reach her eyes. Poisoned honey, I thought, and the metaphor tasted bitter even in my own head.
"I didn't plan for it to happen like that," she continued, twisting the thin gold bracelet on her wrist. "Mason said he wanted to talk to the family first. I thought… I thought he'd do it privately."
I finally looked at her. Really looked. The same face I had braided hair for, the same laugh I had shared across the dinner table for twenty years. She was my sister. And right now she stood in front of me wearing the man I loved like a new accessory.
"Privately," I repeated. My voice came out flat, stripped of the warmth I usually reserved for her. "On my birthday. In front of two hundred people. That was private?"
The smile flickered, but it held. She reached out, fingers brushing my arm the way she used to when she wanted forgiveness for borrowing my favorite dress without asking. "You know how he gets when he's decided something. He's always been like that. Decisive. I told him it wasn't the right time, but...."
"But you still walked up there." The words left me before I could soften them. Sharp. I didn't regret it. "You took his hand like you'd been waiting for the cue."
Camille's lashes lowered for half a second. When she lifted them again, the smile was back, softer now, almost pleading. "Selly, please. This isn't easy for me either. I care about you. You're my sister. I never wanted to hurt you."
The lie sat between us, delicate and deadly. I could see it in the way her gaze darted just past my shoulder, checking to make sure no one else had followed her out here. Checking for witnesses. The poisoned smile deepened, the one that said she was sorry in the way people are sorry when they've already won.
Inside the house, the music had shifted to something slower, more intimate. I imagined Mason's hand on her waist again, the same hand that had traced patterns on my back earlier that evening. The thought made my stomach twist so hard I had to breathe through it.
My phone buzzed again. This time I pulled it out, more to have something to do with my hands than anything else. The screen lit up with notifications, missed calls from my mother, a string of texts from Layla that I couldn't bring myself to open yet. And then one from an unknown number. A single line.
*Check the group chat. It's blowing up.*
I frowned, thumb hovering. Camille noticed. She leaned in a fraction, the way she always did when she wanted to be included.
"Everything okay?" she asked, voice dripping concern. The smile never slipped.
I didn't answer. I opened the messaging app instead. The family group chat usually filled with birthday memes and dinner plans, was flooded. Photos. Grainy at first, then clearer as I scrolled. A hotel room I didn't recognize. My face, unmistakable even in the dim lighting. And men. Six of them. Strangers. Positions that made my skin crawl. The timestamps were from last month, the captions already twisting into something vicious.
*Selene Pierce living her best life while Mason was busy?*
*Guess the perfect daughter isn't so perfect.*
*Rich girls really do get bored.*
My thumb froze. The phone felt suddenly heavy, like it might burn through my palm. This wasn't real. I had been at a charity gala last month with Mason. We had left together. I remembered the exact dress, the exact argument we'd had in the car about whether to stop for late-night tacos.
Camille's voice cut through the roaring in my ears. "Selly? You look like you've seen a ghost."
I turned the screen toward her before I could think better of it. Her eyes widened, but the surprise lasted less than a heartbeat. Then the smile returned, gentler, almost pitying. "Oh no… that can't be you. Someone must have falsified those. People are awful online."
The way she said it so quick, so smooth, made my blood run cold. She didn't ask for details. She didn't demand to know who would do this. She just stood there in her golden dress, the one that still carried the heat of Mason's hand, and offered me the same smile she used when she "accidentally" spilled juice on my homework in middle school.
I pulled the phone back. More messages were pouring in now. Friends. Strangers. Someone had already screenshotted the photos and posted them to a gossip account with half a million followers. The comments were brutal.
*Always knew the Pierce princess was wild.*
*Poor Mason. Dodged a bullet tonight.*
My chest tightened until breathing felt like pushing through wet concrete. This wasn't random. The photos were too precise, the timing too perfect. One night after the public humiliation and suddenly the world had proof that I was exactly what Mason had implied by choosing someone else.
Camille stepped closer, her hand hovering near my shoulder like she might comfort me. "We'll fix this. Daddy will call someone. You know how these things go, tomorrow it'll be old news."
I jerked away from her touch. "Don't."
The single word came out sharper than I intended. Her eyes flickered, that brief flash of something darker beneath the sweetness. For a second the poisoned smile cracked, revealing the edges of the jealousy I had always known lived there but had never named. She had spent years in the shadow of my grades, my relationships, my father's quiet pride. Tonight she had stepped into the light, and now she was making sure I stayed in the dark.
"Selly, I'm on your side," she said, voice low and earnest. The smile returned full force, bright and blinding. "We're family. We get through things together."
I laughed once, the sound raw and ugly in the quiet garden. "Together. Like how you got through choosing my boyfriend in front of everyone?"
She flinched, but the expression was gone so fast I almost believed I imagined it. "That wasn't about hurting you. Mason and I… it just happened. Feelings don't always follow the rules."
The words landed like stones. I stared at her, at the woman who had shared my secrets and my clothes and my childhood, and for the first time I saw the calculation behind the sweetness. The way she tilted her head just enough to look sympathetic while her eyes stayed sharp, measuring how much damage had already been done.
My phone wouldn't stop. Another notification, this one from a news alert. A small local blog had picked it up already, linking the photos to tonight's "dramatic proposal at the Pierce estate." The article called it poetic justice. The comments called me worse.
I shoved the phone back into my clutch. The garden suddenly felt too small, the roses too cloying. I needed air that didn't carry the scent of my sister's perfume.
"I need to go inside," I said, already turning.
Camille followed half a step behind, her heels clicking in sync with mine. "Let me come with you. We can talk to Mom. She'll know what to say to the guests."
I didn't answer. The terrace doors loomed ahead, warm light spilling out like nothing had changed. But everything had. The betrayal sat fresh and bleeding in my chest, and now this, whatever vicious game someone was playing with those photos, felt like salt pressed into the wound.
As we stepped back into the hallway, the noise of the party washed over us again. Laughter. Music. The clink of glasses toasting the new couple. Camille slipped her arm through mine the way she had earlier, the smile back in place, bright enough to fool anyone watching.
I let her. For now. Because pulling away would only give them more to talk about.
But inside, something hard and cold was forming where the love for my sister used to live. The kind of cold that didn't forgive easily. The kind that remembered the exact shape of a poisoned smile.
My mother appeared at the end of the hall, face pale beneath her careful makeup. She took one look at us and opened her arms, but I walked past her without stopping. The stairs to the upper floors felt like the only escape left.
Behind me, Camille called out softly, "Selly, wait..."
I didn't. The door to my bedroom closed with a quiet click that sounded louder than any applause from downstairs. I leaned against it, eyes closed, the phone in my clutch still buzzing like a trapped insect.
The photos were already spreading. The rumors were already growing teeth. And somewhere in the house, my sister was still wearing that smile, the one that promised everything was going to be just fine while it quietly watched the world burn my reputation to the ground.
I slid down until I sat on the floor, silk pooling around me like spilled champagne. The betrayal from Mason had cracked me open. This new blow, the framing, the lies, the perfectly timed destruction, felt like it was sealing something shut inside me forever.
Tomorrow the city would wake up to a new story about Selene Pierce. Not the birthday girl. Not the beloved daughter. The other woman. The scandal.
And Camille would still be smiling.