She tilted her head, her gaze drifting away for just a second.
"Not sure he's gonna notice you in this makeup," Nadia said with a scoff. "Maybe you should focus on your job. I learned that the hard way. My mom almost lost her job as the chief cook because of my stupidity."
She pulled a slim gold-edged card from her purse and handed it over with a practiced flick of the wrist.
"There's a party at the crown Royale Lounge tonight. Ten p.m. sharp. Here's a ticket for you. I'll be expecting you, Miss Lucas."
And just like that, she was gone, her perfume lingering like the tail of a whisper.
Julia blinked, surprised to find herself suddenly alone again. Her heart was still catching up to what had just happened. Nadia's voice had caught her off guard—unexpected, sharp, and confident.
She hurried back to her room, barely registering the halls she walked through, and shut the door behind her. With a slow exhale, she sank onto her bed, the card still in hand. A laugh escaped her lips—quiet, disbelieving.
Why the hell would Nadia think she wanted to have an affair with Prince Khali Al Farsi?
The very idea was absurd.
She wanted to work. She wanted to earn money. She wanted to build herself into someone unshakable. Someone untouchable. And one day, she would get her revenge on the Wang family. That was the plan.
Not to get entangled in some gilded palace love story. And certainly not with an ugly, troubled prince she hadn't even met.
She hadn't stepped outside the palace walls since arriving in Aureliah, the capital of Zephyrabad. The walls had felt like a fortress—and yet tonight, something would shift.
She was definitely going to the party.
She already knew what she would wear: a pink, tight-fitting gown that hugged her curves just enough to be remembered, and a matching pink scarf, threaded with black embroidery, to tie around her hair.
Yes, she was going to attend the party Nadia had invited her to.
Ten o'clock tonight.
---
The clock struck 9:40 p.m. as Julia stood before the tall mirror in her room, adjusting the hem of her pink gown. It clung to her frame with elegant precision, modest yet striking, the fabric shimmering faintly under the golden lights. The scarf she had chosen—soft pink with intricate black embroidery—was tied neatly around her head, styled with a calculated grace that masked more than it revealed.
Her makeup was still intact. Not a single stroke had been removed. It wasn't vanity—it was strategy. The sharp contouring, long lashes, and flawless foundation weren't just cosmetics. They were armor. A shield. Layers of artifice designed not to beautify her, but to blur the features of Julia Kim beneath the face of Jane Lucas.
To Nadia, it looked like excess. But for Julia, it was survival.
She studied her reflection with steady eyes. You are Jane Lucas now. But never forget—Julia Kim is still watching you from beneath this mask.
By 9:55, she was striding toward the west wing, where the Crown Royale Lounge waited behind two towering bronze doors embossed with the Al Farsi royal crest. The guards in formal navy and gold barely glanced at her as she presented the invitation Nadia had slipped into her hand earlier that day.
Inside, the room unfolded like something from a vanished empire. The ceiling soared above her, hung with golden lanterns that cast warm light over a sea of polished marble. Perfume floated through the air—oud, roses, a hint of smoke. Music thrummed, velvet-soft and laced with bass, somewhere between a dream and a heartbeat.
Royal blue and crimson drapes framed windows that had probably watched centuries pass. The guests sparkled like treasure—silks, jewels, hand-stitched couture. The rich here did not show wealth; they embodied it. They didn't chase attention. It bowed to them.
Julia's entrance sent a ripple through the crowd.
She wasn't one of them. That much was clear. But she wasn't easily placed either. Not a servant. Not a foreign dignitary. Certainly not the help. She carried herself like someone who belonged everywhere, and nowhere.
It wasn't long before Nadia spotted her.
She rose from a velvet couch, laughing with a group of young nobles, and crossed the room with the slow, measured grace of someone who'd grown up between parties and palace kitchens.
"You came," Nadia grinned, tipping her head. "I was betting against you. But here you are—with all that makeup still on. You really don't care what people say, do you?"
Julia smiled faintly. "I've learned that silence is more powerful than explanations."
"Well, silence won't keep you out of the gossip circles," Nadia said, eyeing her scarf. "But I'll admit—tonight, you look... impossible to ignore."
Julia accepted a glass of sparkling something from a nearby tray. She didn't drink it. She didn't even raise it to her lips. But she needed to hold something. Something to occupy her hands while her eyes worked the room.
Nadia leaned in. "Word of advice? Keep an eye out for the second prince. Prince Khali's known to drop in when no one expects him. He likes corners. Shadows. Girls he doesn't have to talk to."
Julia didn't flinch. Khali Al Farsi, she thought. The elusive second son of the Crown Prince. Everyone in Zephyrabad knew him by name—some claimed to have seen him, others only speculated. He was neither a stranger nor a public spectacle. He was the kind of man whose presence carried weight without ever needing to speak.
"He's not a ghost, you know," Nadia added with a smirk, as if reading her thoughts. "Just quiet. And… not the easiest to impress."
"I didn't come for princes," Julia said quietly.
"Then why are you here?" Nadia asked, not unkindly.
Julia looked at her, and for once, her answer came easily.
"To remember that I'm not afraid."
Nadia blinked. Then smiled, intrigued. "I like you, Miss Lucas. You're strange, but I like you."
The music shifted again—this time into a sultry rhythm with a hint of Andalusian guitar. Nadia grabbed Julia's wrist. "Let's go. I want to see if that Spanish childhood you bragged about can hold its own on the floor."
Julia let herself be pulled forward. Onto the marble tiles warmed by golden light. Into the press of laughter and dancing bodies. For the first time in weeks, she let the rhythm take her. Her scarf fluttered. Her silhouette moved like smoke.
The disguise was perfect.
She was Jane Lucas, the captivating polyglot.
But somewhere in the shadows, Julia Kim was still awake—watching.
And maybe... someone else was watching, too.
Someone who didn't need introductions in Zephyrabad.
The room spun in slow, golden rhythm—laughter echoing under the lantern-lit ceiling, voices half-lost in music, the hum of aristocratic delight bleeding into the velvet walls. Julia moved with practiced ease, every gesture measured, her steps echoing elegance and caution.
She danced—lightly, nothing too showy. Her pink gown shimmered under the glow of chandeliers as she twirled among strangers whose names didn't matter. For once, the palace didn't feel like a maze of secrets. It felt like a theatre, and she, a well-disguised actress with a carefully constructed script.
Nadia returned with two noble boys—both in their mid-twenties, both lounging like creatures born with coin in their blood. She draped herself across one, whispered in the other's ear, laughed into their mouths. Julia pretended not to notice.
It was harder to pretend when Nadia turned, winked, and then kissed one of them—slow, dramatic, like a stage cue meant to shock or test the room. Julia kept her gaze politely empty, though the display drew curious glances from the surrounding crowd.
"She's always like this," one girl nearby whispered to her friend. "Nadia never really cares who's watching."
After a while, Nadia slipped away entirely—leaving Julia standing beside the refreshment table with untouched sparkling water and the subtle burn of solitude pressing at her temples. The music shifted again. Something darker. Slower.
Julia stood still.
She felt it then—a flicker. Not eyes, not movement, but awareness. A ripple in the air. The kind of pause that suggests someone is watching but won't step forward. She didn't turn. She didn't need to. The palace was full of ghosts with names and power. It could have been anyone.
She left at 11:43 p.m.
Slipped out of the Crown Royale Lounge without attracting attention. She walked through the western corridor with her scarf still tied, her makeup still untouched, her steps composed.
Back in her chambers, she sank onto the edge of her bed. The palace felt quiet again. Sterile. And the silence returned like a reminder.
She unwrapped her scarf with care, set it down on her vanity, and looked at herself in the mirror. Jane Lucas stared back—cheekbones high, eyeliner flawless. But somewhere behind her eyes, Julia Kim exhaled.
She hadn't come for a prince.
She hadn't come for whispers in a crowd.
She had come for freedom. And for war.
Still, a strange thought echoed as she reached for the lamp and turned it off—
If someone had been watching her tonight… did they see through the mask?