Guests began approaching Mr. and Mrs. Winslow, offering their congratulations with warm smiles and firm handshakes.
They were greeted by faces they had never seen before—highly influential individuals who seed to have appeared out of nowhere, eager to comnd them. The ballroom buzzed with a mixture of curiosity, admiration, and barely concealed envy. The air was thick with intrigue, as if the engagent announcent had cast a spell over the crowd.
One particularly notable gentleman stepped forward, extending a handshake. His broad smile was polished, a product of years spent mastering social niceties. His tailored suit exuded wealth, and his every movent seed designed to command attention.
"Congratulations on your daughter's engagent," he began warmly, his deep voice resonating with authority. "I had no idea Mr. Zethan would be tying the knot. This is quite the surprise. I dare say this news could break the internet."
Mrs. Winslow t his gaze, her smile poised and gracious. "We anticipated that it would," she replied smoothly, her tone a study in confidence. "This has been in the works for so ti." Yet, despite her polished delivery, there was a slight stiffness in her posture—a telltale sign of the effort it took to maintain her composure.
The man chuckled, nodding in admiration. "I'm genuinely happy for your family. Please, do extend my best wishes to your daughter. I trust I'll be invited to the engagent party."
"Of course," Mrs. Winslow assured him, her laughter light and deliberate, her words carefully chosen. She had long since perfected the art of charm, every syllable calculated for maximum effect.
His grin widened knowingly. "You had fooled with your theatrics earlier. It was well-played."
The small group surrounding them laughed politely, though Mrs. Winslow's smile faltered ever so slightly. The man leaned in closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
"Where is she? I would love to et her."
Beads of sweat ford at Mrs. Winslow's temples, though she quickly dabbed them away with a lace handkerchief. How could she explain that Lilia had been in the bathroom for nearly twenty minutes? More guests were approaching, eager for a word or a handshake. Leaving to search for her daughter would draw attention she could not afford.
"She's just stepped away to the washroom," Mrs. Winslow explained, her tone asured. It was a delicate balancing act—projecting confidence while subtly dismissing the inquiry. "She'll be back shortly."
The man nodded in understanding, though his gaze wandered curiously across the room, as if seeking out Lilia himself. His eyes landed on Sabrina, who stood a few steps away, a barely touched champagne glass in hand.
"And who is this lovely young lady?" he asked, gesturing toward her with genuine interest.
Mrs. Winslow's response was imdiate, her tone bright and purposeful. "Ah, this is Sabrina, Lilia twin sister. She is Mr. Lowell's bride-to-be."
Sabrina's radiant smile masked the storm brewing within her. She hesitated for a fraction of a second before dipping into a graceful curtsy, the years of social training carrying her through.
"A pleasure to et you, sir," she said, her voice steady despite the turmoil in her mind.
"Wonderful," the man remarked, clearly impressed. "Though it's a sha—I thought she might have been a match for my son."
The comnt struck Sabrina like a thunderclap, leaving her montarily paralyzed. She wanted to respond, to reclaim her voice, but the words caught in her throat. How could they? How could her parents so casually dictate the course of her life, bypassing her consent as though her feelings were irrelevant?
Was this karma in its truest form? She had laughed at Lilia earlier for her sudden, out-of-the-blue announcent of an engagent, and now here she was, about to marry the man who was supposed to marry her sister. To everyone else, the events from earlier seed like nothing more than a staged act.
In fact, her situation was even worse—she was now tied to an actor.
The irony was suffocating. Sabrina already had a boyfriend—a secret she had ticulously guarded from her parents for years. This unexpected announcent threatened to unravel everything she had carefully built. Bitterness seeped into her thoughts, and anger simred beneath the surface, ready to boil over.
This was all Lilia's fault.
The smug smile of mockery Sabrina had worn earlier, when she relished Lilia's supposed misfortune, was now wiped clean from her face. In its place was a fleeting smile of pain, one she worked hard to mask before anyone noticed.
Was this karma at its peak? Was she now paying the price for finding joy in her sister's humiliation? The thought clung to her mind, sharp and unyielding, as she struggled to compose herself.
Her gaze darted to her parents, searching for so semblance of explanation. Mr. and Mrs. Winslow stood composed, their polite smiles revealing nothing of the turmoil beneath. Yet Sabrina noticed the subtle tension in her mother's clenched hands and the slight narrowing of her father's eyes.
For Mr. Winslow, this was an opportunity. The attention Zethan's simple, calculated four words had garnered tonight was staggering. In re monts, he had accomplished what years of effort could not. The Winslows had always been ambitious, but this newfound recognition was intoxicating.
Aligning Lilia with Zethan was a strategic move, one that promised to elevate their social standing. What Lilia wanted no longer mattered. It never had. Mr. Winslow's gaze swept across the room, taking in the admiring looks of their peers. This was worth it.
Mrs. Winslow, however, was barely holding her composure. Lilia's absence gnawed at her, each passing mont heightening her unease. She glanced subtly toward the grand staircase, her mind racing. Had Lilia fallen ill? Was she hiding? The thought of her daughter slipping away unnoticed sent a pang of dread through her chest.
The sound of approaching footsteps snapped her back to the present. She quickly adjusted her expression, the mask of perfection firmly in place.
..
..
anwhile, in a dimly lit private room, Zethan sat with one leg crossed over the other, his chin resting thoughtfully on his hand. The room was quiet, save for the faint hum of voices seeping through the walls. Shadows flickered across his sharp features, amplifying the air of quiet nace that surrounded him.
One of his n entered silently, bowing slightly before speaking. "Miss Lilia doesn't appear to be in the ballroom since she gave that announcent."
Zethan's expression remained unreadable, his dark eyes fixed on the man. He nodded, as though he had anticipated this developnt.
"Little Loris, always full of surprises," he murmured, his chuckle devoid of warmth. The sound was low, almost mocking.
"Go find her," he instructed, his tone calm yet brimming with authority.
The man nodded and exited quickly, leaving Zethan alone once more. He reached for the half-empty glass of wine on the table beside him, swirling the crimson liquid thoughtfully. The silence of the room was punctuated only by the faint clink of the glass as he took a slow sip.
Monts later, another knock echoed through the room. This ti, there was an urgency to the sound. The door creaked open, revealing another subordinate.
"Sir," the man began, his voice low but trembling slightly. "I believe Miss Lilia is attempting to escape."
Zethan paused, the glass hovering just before his lips. Slowly, he set it down, his movents deliberate and asured. A low chuckle escaped him, chilling and foreboding.
"Escape?" he murmured, his lips curving into a dangerous smile. He tilted his head slightly, as though amused by the very notion.
The weight of his words hung heavy in the room, freezing the air. His gaze sharpened, calculating. "Loris can't escape from ."
There was a finality in his tone that sent a shiver down the subordinate's spine. Zethan leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled beneath his chin, his expression one of quiet determination.
"If anything," he continued, his voice soft but laced with nace, "she's just made things much easier for us."
The room fell silent, save for the faint clink of the glass as Zethan lifted it once more. His mind spun with intricate plans, each thread weaving a net that Lilia could never escape. Whatever her intentions, she would soon learn that resistance was futile.
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