I stepped into the grand birthday hall, the soft rustle of my dress trailing behind me like the whisper of a secret. The tall golden doors had opened before me with a creak that echoed slightly in the candlelit silence, drawing every eye—though thankfully, only a handful of familiar ones were present. The moment I entered, it felt like the air shifted just slightly, like the room had taken a soft breath in acknowledgment.
My reflection had not lied—Sasha had truly outdone herself.
My gown was a work of art, a graceful fusion of elegance and quiet strength. It was made from layers of shimmering fabric in deep sapphire blue, embroidered with threads of silver that danced in the light with every movement. A soft train followed me, featherlight yet commanding. It made me feel like a heroine out of the very fantasy novels I once read under my blanket late into the night. Not too extravagant, not too simple—just perfect. It was me.
My hair had been styled in loose waves pinned gently at the back with pearl clasps shaped like crescent moons. Tiny strands framed my face in the most flattering way, and my makeup was soft but striking—Sasha's signature touch. A hint of blush on my cheeks, a subtle sparkle around my eyes, and lips painted in a warm rose shade. I looked beautiful, but more than that, I felt powerful.
The hall itself had been transformed into something that looked like it belonged in a painting. Velvet curtains in soft ivory and dusky gold framed the tall windows, letting the evening sunlight pour in with a golden glow that mingled with candlelight from chandeliers overhead. Tables were laid with white cloth, crystal dishes, and delicately arranged floral centerpieces—lilies, roses, and tiny forget-me-nots. Every detail felt intentional, personal, and just… magical.
And what truly made it magical was the absence of unfamiliar faces. No gossip-hungry people. No judgmental ladies watching from behind painted fans. Just the people who mattered—my father, Edward, Sasha, the loyal house staff, and a handful of trusted attendees. This wasn't a display. It was a celebration. My celebration.
I walked further in, my steps confident yet careful not to trip over my dress—because no matter how regal I felt, I was still me. My eyes immediately found my father standing near the center of the room, looking striking in his tailored formal coat. His silver-edged cloak rested neatly over his shoulders, his expression calm but unmistakably warm when he saw me.
"You look beautiful," he said, a small smile touching his lips. "Happy birthday, Isla. I hope everything is to your liking."
My heart swelled, and I smiled back—sincerely, without any effort. "Everything is perfect, Father. Thank you so much for all of this."
He nodded, his gaze softening. "Even though this is still modest compared to the celebration we should be having for your eighteenth… I'm glad I could do something meaningful for you. I wanted today to feel special."
And it did. It really, truly did.
I swallowed the lump in my throat before it could betray me. The father I had known until recently was cold, distant, almost unreachable. But ever since we spoke about Mother, something had changed. There was warmth in his words now, a hesitant but growing affection that made my chest ache in the best possible way. Each small gesture felt like a miracle unfolding right before me.
How strange it was—to feel so seen. So wanted.
I nodded, unable to find the perfect words to say what I felt. So I simply smiled and held onto that moment, tucking it carefully into the folds of my memory like a fragile keepsake.
As I glanced around again, I noticed the absence of a particular presence. Amelia. I hadn't seen her since the last time she'd tried to twist a knife into my back using well-practiced smiles. But before I could even wonder further, I caught the unmistakable sound of high heels approaching—deliberate, slow, meant to draw attention.
And there she was.
Amelia entered the hall with Elena trailing beside her like a perfectly dressed shadow. Both of them wore gowns that sparkled just a touch too brightly for a small family party. Amelia's dress was an icy lavender shade that hugged her figure in a way meant to announce her elegance. Elena's dress, paler and demurer, was clearly designed to mimic her mother's. Their faces wore the same polite expression—tight smiles stretched across lips that held no warmth.
"Happy birthday, dear Isla!" Amelia said, her voice bright and musical, like wind chimes in a storm. "You look… lovely."
Elena echoed softly behind her, "Yes, happy birthday, sister."
Their words were wrapped in sugar, but the venom lay just beneath.
I returned their smiles with one of my own—syrupy sweet but sharp enough to cut. "Thank you so much, Mother. And you too, Sister. Your good wishes are the most precious to me."
For just a second, Amelia's smile faltered. It was barely a flicker—but I saw it. A tightening at the corners of her mouth, a flash of red anger behind her perfectly lined eyes. It was glorious.
I knew Elena felt the same twisted irritation as her mother—her jaw was just a little too tight, her hands clasped too perfectly. But she didn't dare show it. I had to give her credit where it was due; I hadn't expected her to be so... disciplined.
One thorough beating and she'd already started learning her place. I was impressed. Most villains in novels i have read and the movies I have watched take their sweet time to get their act together, always returning for another round of humiliation. But Elena? She had figured out after just one lesson that messing with me wasn't a game she could win. Smart girl.
Just then, the grand double doors opened again, and in walked Amelia's precious son, Edward. He looked as polished as ever in his dark green coat, embroidered with fine silver thread. His posture was upright and calm, a contrast to the slightly smug aura he always carried. In his hands, he held a box—wrapped in dark maroon velvet, topped with a silver ribbon.
A gift? For me?
"Happy birthday, Lady Isla," he said, approaching with a composed smile. He extended the box toward me with both hands, polite as ever.
"Thanks for the wishes and the gift," I replied, offering him a genuine smile for once. Edward was... different. Oddly respectful, thoughtful even. I still couldn't wrap my head around how a woman like Amelia managed to raise a son like him. It felt like she'd mistakenly been handed someone else's child.
Before the moment could stretch, Amelia's voice cut in, all sugary-sweet and tightly controlled. "Edward dear, why don't you take your father and enjoy a drink together? He could use the company."
Translation: Stop wasting your time on her.
Edward glanced briefly between us, sensing the underlying tension, then gave me a small nod and turned to follow my father, the two of them disappearing into the adjacent lounge.
I looked at Amelia then—and oh, the tension in her face was delicious. Her shoulders were taut, her eye twitch nearly visible. It took every ounce of my self-control not to burst out laughing.
Relax, Amelia, I thought, I'm not interested in your precious son. He's not even my type. But keep sweating. I like seeing you nervous.
Now it was just the three of us. Me, my lovely stepmother, and her ever-so-obedient daughter.
Amelia stepped closer, a calculated smile curling her lips. "I heard you made your own cake," she said, her voice dipped in mock curiosity. "Let's just hope we don't end up wailing in our beds after tasting that... experiment of yours. Though, considering the creator, I suppose it's expected."
And there it was. Her frustration slipping through in a flimsy disguise. She was trying to claw back some ground with her words—hoping to cut me, maybe provoke a reaction.
Elena remained silent, standing slightly behind her mother like a well-trained doll. But I could see the sparkle of amusement in her eyes. She was enjoying this. They both were.
Too bad I wasn't in the mood to play nice.
"Well, I assure you the cake I made is delicious," I replied sweetly. "Everyone's going to love it. Though, I'm not sure about you, Amelia. With how bad your breath is smelling, I worry the cake might suffer from contact with your mouth. It might curdle on the spot."
Her face froze, the color rising steadily in her cheeks. But before she could muster a comeback, I offered her a blinding smile and turned around, walking away with the poise of a satisfied queen. Let her stand there and stew in silence—I'd already won that round.
The evening passed in a graceful blur, and soon it was midnight.
Everyone gathered around as the cake was brought out—a dark forest gateau, tall and elegant, adorned with curls of bittersweet chocolate and fat cherries that glistened like rubies under the chandelier lights. Whipped cream was piped in neat swirls across the top, and the rich aroma of cocoa and vanilla filled the room like a comforting lullaby.
I stood before it, took a moment to make my wish—a real one, quiet and sacred—and then blew out the candles. Polite applause filled the room, but I barely heard it. I picked up the first slice with careful hands and turned to my father, offering it to him.
He took it with a soft, genuine smile, and I saw it again—that warmth in his eyes, that pride. He was truly happy, and I had been the reason. That alone made everything worth it.
I now just want to find my mother and see my father smile like this everyday.
The rest of the party flowed smoothly, filled with laughter, soft music, and the hum of easy conversation. No drama. No sharp tongues—at least not where I could hear them.
Once everything had calmed down and the last guest had trickled away, I slipped into my room. The door clicked shut behind me with finality, and I didn't even bother making it to the bed properly. I just collapsed onto the mattress like a corpse, limbs splayed and gown half-wrinkled.
"God, I need rest," I groaned into a pillow.
But just as I started to doze off, something tugged at my awareness. Faint…magical. I turned my head toward the nightstand and there it was—my pendant.
It shimmered faintly, pulsing with a soft light, as if whispering to me in a language only my soul could understand.
Something had changed.
Even though it was already filled with the coolest, most magical things—far beyond anything I'd ever imagined—it was still brimming with mysteries. Dozens of features remained locked, their secrets hidden behind a veil of glowing mist. But now… now something had been unlocked.