Chapter 90: One of a Kind
The winter charity soirée was held beneath the starlit dome of the Haverly Conservatory, a sleek, glass structure coiled in ivy and plush carpets. Guests moved like comets — glittering, arrogant, exquisitely dressed. Beneath artificial constellations and warm chandeliers, wealth did not walk. It floated.
Seraphina entered with effortless grace, hand in hand with Eva, who wore a navy velvet dress with a sweetheart neckline and tiny crescent moon pins fastened in her dark curls. Her boots were scuffed, and her cheeks were flushed pink from the cold. The contrast only made her more radiant — earthy, luminous, unyieldingly real.
Seraphina had chosen to wear the ornament again.
The gold feathers shimmered like molten light in her hair. The black diamonds winked with every step she took. And the ruby at the center pulsed like a silent oath. A promise.
By now, the piece had become a mystery whispered in high circles. No one could name the source. Some said it was custom from F•••••••. Others swore it was a forgotten Albin prototype, a relic from his reclusive period.
All were wrong.
Monsieur Albin stood beside the dessert fountain, wearing a plum velour suit and a silk cravat starched into severity. His hair was swept back like moonlight on obsidian. Several journalists and buyers clustered around him, hoping to solve the ornament riddle.
"Ah," he sighed dramatically, swirling his glass of rose-petal champagne, "oui, you've all come to ask me about her, haven't you?"
One woman leaned in, red nails wrapped around her notepad. "The winged sun piece — was it yours?"
He twirled his wineglass like a scepter. "It was not mine. It was gifted to the world by a star. A tiny, incandescent, unreasonable star."
Gasps.
"You mean — ?"
"Yes, yes, she designed it. A child. A genius. But I will not tell you her name," he said, placing a gloved hand to his chest. "Even I, Albin, the great fabricator of dreams, have been denied the rights. Denied!"
A low, scandalous murmur rippled through the crowd.
"She told me, 'It's only for my beautiful friend Seraphina. One of a kind. Not for sale.'" He lifted his face as if to address the heavens. "Imagine! I, who have crafted for queens, duchesses, even the V••••••, rejected by a child in pink sneakers!"
One of the younger designers whispered, "Lioré and Maxwell's private jeweler, maybe?"
A man in a tailored coat muttered, "It must be someone famous. Nobility, Aristocrat, or Royalties, perhaps."
A tall woman in couture leaned forward. "Please, Monsieur. Just a hint?"
Albin only smiled with the self - satisfaction of a man enjoying a delicious secret. "No. Not even Seraphina knows. I signed a contract of silence — I cannot tell you which family she is."
From across the hall, Seraphina caught his eye. She gave him a faint, knowing smile, the kind that knew too much and said too little.
Albin bowed deeply, then mimed sealing his lips with a golden pin.
Everyone looked on, dazzled at how deferential Monsieur Albin was to Seraphina. They assumed it was the weight of Langford's legacy, their ancient bloodline.
None of them knew the truth: the power behind the design was not Langford. It was Eva. "Evangeline "Eva" Claire Maxwell — Lioré."
Eva tugged on Seraphina's sleeve, rising slightly on her toes. "What did he say?"
"That you're a star," Seraphina murmured, eyes soft.
Eva lit up like the ruby in her ornament. "I knew I liked him."
She hugged Seraphina fiercely, whispering against her chest, "I made everything for my beloved."
Seraphina smiled and leaned down to kiss the crown of her head. "I know."
Later that evening, back at the Ainsley estate, Eva was tucked into her bed by Evelyn, her arms wrapped tightly around her favorite constellation - print blanket. Her face was still warm from the cascade of compliments she had received at the party, but behind her lashes, a shadow trembled.
Vivienne peeked into the doorway, barefoot, cradling a warm mug of milk.
"Want company?"
Eva nodded. "Mère?"
Vivienne crossed the room and climbed into bed beside her, folding her long legs like a swan. Evelyn sat on the other side, brushing her fingers through Eva's curls and beginning to braid them gently.
"Did you have fun tonight?" Evelyn asked.
"I liked when Yue let me hold her hand in front of everyone," Eva whispered, half - smiling.
Vivienne grinned. "You looked so proud."
"I was. I… I made something everyone wanted. But she's the only one I wanted to have it."
The women exchanged a glance across their daughter's head.
But Eva's expression began to fall. She rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling where shadows danced softly with the light.
"Maman?" she asked softly.
"Yes, little dove?" Evelyn said.
"Why is Papa always gone?"
Evelyn froze mid - braid. Her fingers stilled.
Vivienne stroked Eva's small hand gently. "Darling…"
"I mean," Eva whispered, "is it because I'm not a boy?"
The room went still. Too still.
Eva swallowed. "He's always somewhere else. F•••••. M••••••. T••••. E••••••. B•••••. U••••• S•••••. K•••••. It's like I'm a… project he visits. He doesn't stay."
Vivienne shut her eyes for a second.
"Is it because I don't like blood and war? Because I don't punch or yell or… go to military school? I hate fighting. I like… moonstones. And gold wires. And love letters and —"
"You think that makes you less?" Vivienne interrupted gently.
Eva blinked hard. "It makes me not him."
Evelyn cupped her small face, thumb brushing over the curve of her cheek. "Listen to me, starlight. Your papa does not stay away because of who you are. He stays away because of who he is."
Vivienne leaned down, curling beside her. "Your papa is many things. Some of them good. Some of them… complicated."
Eva's lip trembled. "He made a daughter."
"He helped," Vivienne said dryly, tucking a curl behind Eva's ear. "We made you. You're ours."
She kissed Eva's cheek, then her lips with exaggerated drama. "Mon trésor. Mon cœur. Mon bébé éternel. You're mine. I thought I was your mère. Hm?" (My treasure. My heart. My eternal baby.)
Eva giggled despite the tears forming. "You are!"
"You're sure? You're sure I'm enough?" Vivienne sniffed dramatically, hiding her own sorrow beneath theatricality. "I thought you might trade me for a sword - fighting your papa Reginald who conquers empires."
"Never!" Eva cried, kissing her repeatedly on both cheeks, then forehead, then chin. "You're my Mère! My beautiful, brilliant Mère! I love you more than swords!"
"Even more than peridot?" Vivienne teased.
Eva hesitated. "Peridot doesn't braid my hair."
Evelyn, smiling, kissed Eva's temple. "You don't have to be strong like him. You're strong like you."
"But what if he never stays?" Eva whispered.
"Then we stay," Vivienne murmured, wrapping her arms tightly around her.
Evelyn leaned in. "And Seraphina stays too."
Eva turned toward her slowly. "She told me tonight she wanted to hold my hand forever."
"She meant it," Evelyn said. "We all do."
Eva nodded. Her lashes fluttered as sleep overtook her.
*****
Back in Langford, Seraphina lay in bed, still in her silk nightdress. The famous ornament rested on her nightstand beside a lamp, its ruby core catching glints of light like a heartbeat.
The room was quiet. Cold. The echo of music and wine had long faded.
She reached for her phone.
You awake?
The reply came instantly:
Always. Moon service never sleeps 🌙
Seraphina smiled despite herself.
Thank you. For tonight. For everything.
I love you
I know
Then, after a pause, Eva sent:
I want to make more
For you
Only you
Seraphina stared at the glowing words, heart aching in that beautiful, unbearable way.
Then she typed:
I'll wear every galaxy you make
As long as you stay mine
Forever?
Seraphina hesitated only for a second before replying:
Forever, little sun