The Millers' estate glittered with opulence, every inch of it designed to impress. Chandeliers dripped with crystal, casting golden light over the elegantly dressed guests who moved through the grand hall in waves of expensive silk and tailored suits. Laughter and conversation swirled in the air, accompanied by the distant chime of fine china and the murmuring hum of a live orchestra. The scent of roasted meats and fine wine intermingled with the delicate perfumes of high society, creating an atmosphere of wealth and indulgence.
I had been here before.
In my past life, this night had been a humiliation I had never forgotten. I could still feel the cold splash of wine seeping into my white dress, the way the fabric had clung to me indecently, turning transparent beneath the mortified stares of the guests. My father's voice had boomed through the hall, filled with rage and disgust, calling me a disgrace in front of everyone even when it was his favorite daughter that had 'mistakenly' poured the wine on me. Estella had played the perfect role of the concerned sister, her face a mask of false regret as she 'helped' me cover myself, her grip digging into my arms like a silent warning.
But this time, things would be different. I will not be humiliated and I will not cower like I always did.
I had chosen my attire with precision—a deep emerald gown, flowing yet form-fitting, its silk material clinging in all the right places. The neckline was daring but not scandalous, the color rich against my skin, making my presence impossible to ignore. My hair fell in soft waves over my shoulders, a deliberate contrast to the strict updos favored by the other women in attendance. I had arrived not as a meek girl afraid of society's judgment, but as a woman who refused to be shamed.
I moved through the crowd, greeting those who were unavoidable but keeping my distance from the vultures—those who thrived on gossip and scandal. And then, as if summoned by fate itself, Estella appeared before me, a delicate smile on her lips, her posture that of effortless grace.
"Lia, you look lovely tonight," she said, her voice warm and smooth, but I knew better. There was poison laced in every syllable.
I smiled, tilting my head slightly. "Estella. How kind of you."
Her eyes flickered, just for a second, before she gestured to the waiter passing by. "Oh, let me grab you a drink. You must be parched."
I knew what was coming.
A wine glass, filled to the brim, carefully maneuvered just enough to seem like an accident. The perfect spill, right across my dress, transforming expensive silk into a sheer display of mortification. And then my father's anger, his disdain for my 'carelessness' unleashed before the entire room.
But not this time.
As Estella reached for the glass, I took a small, effortless step forward, just enough to shift our positions, just enough for her wrist to tip at the wrong angle. The red wine sloshed violently, missing me entirely—and instead, cascading down the front of her pristine ivory gown.
Gasps rippled through the surrounding guests as the deep crimson liquid soaked into the delicate fabric, the stain blooming like a fatal wound. The silk turned sheer in an instant, clinging scandalously to her figure in a way that no amount of grace could salvage.
Estella's breath hitched. For the first time, her mask cracked. Her fingers clutched at the ruined material, eyes darting around the room as murmurs spread like wildfire. I could see Regina eyes twitch from the corner of my eyes, her glare burning,no, seemingly drilling hole into me but she can't do a thing. Not when all eyes were on us
"Oh, Estella," I gasped, mirroring the very concern she had once given me. "I'm so sorry. That was terribly clumsy of you."
Her head snapped toward me, her expression a storm of disbelief and fury barely concealed beneath the weight of watching eyes. She wanted to lash out, to shift the blame, but she couldn't. Not when the entire room had seen her own hand cause the accident.
My father's voice cut through the tension, sharp and commanding. "Estella! What is this?"
For once, it was not directed at me.
She swallowed hard, turning toward him with wide, helpless eyes. "It was an accident—"
"Enough. Go and change. Now."
The humiliation in her eyes was a sight to behold. She had never been on this end of his disappointment, never been made to endure his cold fury in public. And the best part? There was nothing she could do about it.
As she turned, stiff with suppressed rage, I felt the weight of another gaze on me. Something darker, heavier. A presence that hadn't been there a moment ago.
I turned my head—
and there he was.
Lucian D'Amaro.
My breath caught for a fraction of a second before I schooled my expression. He was across the room, clad in a tailored black suit that fit his broad frame like a second skin. Even from a distance, his presence commanded the space, his dark eyes locked onto me with unreadable intensity.
I hadn't noticed him before, but he had been watching. I remembered everything from before...my last life and I was sure he definitely wasn't at this party then so why is he here now?
Had he seen everything?
A slow, deliberate smirk ghosted across his lips, the kind that sent a thrill of awareness racing through my veins. Unlike the others, he wasn't shocked by what had just happened. He wasn't scandalized or surprised. No—he looked entertained.
And then, with the slightest tilt of his head, as if acknowledging the game I just played, he turned and disappeared into the crowd.
My heart pounded, my fingers curling at my sides.
And I had the distinct, thrilling feeling that this was only the beginning.
******
The cool night air kissed my skin as I stepped onto the terrace, inhaling deeply in a desperate attempt to settle the storm inside me. The murmur of laughter and clinking glasses drifted from inside, but out here, the world felt still—except for the figure standing a few feet away, barely illuminated by the dim light from the house.
Lucian D'Amaro.
The darkness wrapped around him like a second skin, his presence even more suffocating in the silence. A faint ember glowed between his fingers before he lifted the cigarette to his lips, taking a slow drag. The smoke curled around him, lazy and languid, much like the way he held himself—composed, indifferent, untouchable.
I hesitated. The smart thing to do would be to turn around, go back inside. But something inside me rebelled against the idea of walking away from him.
Fuck it.
I stepped forward. "Smoking kills, you know."
Lucian didn't turn immediately. Instead, he exhaled, the smoke escaping his lips in a slow, deliberate motion before his gaze flickered toward me. His eyes—dark, assessing—swept over me, lingering in places my dress didn't quite cover.
Heat prickled along my skin under his scrutiny, but I refused to back down. Instead, I reached out, plucking the cigarette from between his fingers. A spark of amusement danced in his gaze, but he said nothing as I lifted it to my lips, inhaling the way I'd seen others do.
The burn hit immediately.
A violent cough ripped through me as my lungs rejected the foreign invasion. I bent slightly, gripping the terrace railing as I tried to regain my breath. Lucian chuckled, low and deep, plucking the cigarette effortlessly from my fingers and placing it back between his lips.
"You pretend to be brave," he murmured, exhaling another wisp of smoke, "but you're not."
My throat burned, but not nearly as much as the sting of his words. I straightened, meeting his gaze with a defiance I wasn't sure I actually felt. "And you pretend to be indifferent," I shot back, "but you're not."
Something shifted in his expression, subtle but undeniable. His gaze darkened, flickering once more to the places where my dress clung to me, the sheer fabric doing little to conceal the curves beneath. The weight of his stare sent a shiver down my spine, a heat pooling low in my stomach despite my best efforts to ignore it.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. The air between us crackled, thick with something heavy and unspoken. Then, with the slowest, most deliberate movement, Lucian reached out, his fingers brushing the delicate strap of my dress.
I stopped breathing.
Then—
A sharp noise shattered the moment. Footsteps. Someone was coming.
Lucian's hand dropped, his expression shifting back to that unreadable mask as he took another slow drag of his cigarette. I forced myself to step back just as the door creaked open behind me.
And just like that, the moment was gone.
I turned, already knowing who it was before I saw her. Laura.
"Lia, there you are!" Her voice was honeyed, all artificial warmth and forced sweetness. Her eyes flitted between me and Lucian, widening just slightly before she masked her surprise with a delicate smile. "Oh, I didn't realize you were out here… with company."
Lucian didn't move. He didn't even spare her a glance, his expression remaining unreadable as he took another slow drag from his cigarette.
Laura, ever the persistent one, stepped closer, her perfume a cloying mix of vanilla and something floral. "Mr D'Amaro," she purred, her voice dropping into something softer, silkier. "What a surprise. I didn't expect to see you here tonight."
Still, he didn't acknowledge her. Not a word. Not a flicker of recognition. Just a cloud of smoke exhaled into the night air.
The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. I watched as Laura shifted slightly, the realization of his indifference slowly dawning on her. Her fingers twitched, barely perceptible, and I could see the way her smile faltered at the edges.
She wasn't used to being ignored.
"Lia," she said, her tone sharp now, laced with something almost accusatory. "What are you doing out here?"
I tilted my head, feigning innocence. "Getting some fresh air."
Her lips pressed into a thin line before she exhaled, shaking her head as if I were a child misbehaving. "Well, you should come back inside. Everyone's wondering where you went."
"I'm sure they are," I mused, barely resisting the smirk threatening to curl my lips.
She turned back to Lucian, her desperation poorly concealed. "Mr. D'Amaro, if you'd like, I could introduce you to some very important people inside. My father—"
Lucian finally moved.
He flicked his cigarette away, the ember extinguishing as it hit the damp ground. Then, without a single word, he turned on his heel and walked past her as if she were nothing more than a wisp of smoke in the wind.
Laura stiffened, her eyes darting between his retreating form and me. A storm brewed in her gaze, the perfect mask of sweetness beginning to crack.