The ballroom continued to shimmer with music and light, but high above, in the shadows of the gallery, Lady Malvera's eyes narrowed like a hawk's.
That girl.
The face, the grace, the aura—it was hauntingly familiar.
"She looks like Seraphina," Malvera whispered, venom in her voice. "That cursed woman's child was drowned… I made sure of it."
Her gloved fingers gripped the velvet curtain as a plan began to form—dark, sharp, and swift.
Meanwhile, Aria spun across the dance floor in Prince Damon's arms, lost in the melody and the warmth in his gaze. For the first time in her life, she felt free. Like she belonged.
"Will you tell me your name now?" Damon asked softly.
Aria hesitated. "I... I can't."
His brows furrowed, but he only smiled. "Then let me call you 'Star' for now. You shine brighter than any in this room."
But as the song slowed, she stepped away for breath, her hand brushing past a tray near the banquet corridor. She turned slightly—and froze.
There, reflected in the polished surface of a silver serving fridge, stood Lady Malvera.
Her aunt.
Dressed in regal black, sharp eyes scanning the crowd, her face twisted in a calculating frown.
Aria's blood turned to ice.
She's here. She saw me. Or worse—she might.
Panic surged in her chest.
Without a word, Aria slipped away from the dance floor. Past the pillars. Through the corridor. Every step a silent scream.
Damon called after her, confused. "Wait—where are you going?"
But she was already gone.
She dashed past startled servants, her breath sharp. Her gown tangled at her ankles. She didn't care.
Out the servant's gate. Into the garden.
Out of the palace.
Into the dark night.
Back inside, Lady Malvera's eyes narrowed. A servant stepped to her side.
"She was here."
"I know," Malvera hissed. "And this time, I will burn the river myself if that girl dares return."