Chapter 8. The Party

* Julliane *

"Do you understand me, Julliane?"

His voice was low but firm, vibrating with suppressed anger. His eyes bore into mine with an intensity that made my chest tighten, and as he spoke, his fingers wrapped around my upper arm just a little tighter, as if trying to physically force the answer from me.

I flinched, not just from the pain, but from the cold distance in his gaze.

"Let go of my arm, Lance," I said, my voice trembling. "I'm hurt. Please... I'll try to avoid Darren, and I'll stop talking to him if that's what you want."

My eyes were already stinging, blurred with tears that hadn't yet fallen. When he looked at me again, something flickered behind his expression a shadow of guilt, or regret but it passed too quickly to be sure. He loosened his grip, slowly, like he was forcing himself to let go, and I sank down onto the edge of my bed. The ache in my arm was nothing compared to the raw sting inside me.

Lance stood in front of me, silent for a beat, his jaw clenched. Then he bent slightly, his face just inches from mine. I could feel the warmth of his breath, see the tension written all over him. For a moment, I thought he might say something kind, something real. But instead, he turned his head, looking away as if the sight of me was too much to bear.

"Make sure you do what you said, Julliane. My patience with you is thinning more and more each day. And I swear, if you don't change, if you don't start listening." He paused, his voice now colder, edged with warning.

"I'll be the one to send you back to the City myself."

The threat hung in the air, heavy and unspoken. I clenched my fists in my lap, trying to hold back the sob climbing up my throat.

"And one more thing," he added harshly, already turning for the door, "learn to keep your damn bedroom door shut."

With that, he strode across the room and yanked the door open, slamming it shut behind him. The sound echoed in the silence he left behind, and with it, the tears I had been holding finally slipped free, rolling hot and bitter down my cheeks.

The next day drifted by in a haze, and soon, night fell, bringing with it the long-anticipated gathering at Magnolia Manor. The entire estate had transformed into a vision of elegance and grandeur. Twinkling lights adorned the trees and hung from the eaves like stars caught in a net. The garden was alive with soft music and the gentle hum of conversations, laughter rising here and there like bubbles. Tables groaned under the weight of lavish catered food, the scent of roasted meats and fresh pastries wafting into the night air.

Inside the manor, the servants buzzed about like bees in a hive, rushing to and fro with platters and linens, their faces flushed with the pressure of perfection. From my window upstairs, I watched it all the glittering lights, the well-dressed guests, the clink of glasses.

I saw my mother step into view, radiant and poised in a gown that shimmered like moonlight on water. Her hair was done to perfection, her smile the polished kind she wore in front of important people. Not once did she come to my room. Not once did she ask if I had a dress, or if I even wanted to attend. I might as well have been invisible.

So I stayed in my room, lights off, hidden behind the curtain. I didn't want anyone to see me watching. I didn't want anyone to remember I was even here.

From the garden, I spotted Darren, looking handsome in his tailored suit. Beside him was a girl, his betrothed. She was beautiful, graceful, with the kind of presence that drew admiration without effort. Her dress fit her perfectly, and her laughter rang like wind chimes. I couldn't help but think she belonged there... while I didn't.

And then, I saw Lance.

He stood tall in a fitted long-sleeve shirt tucked neatly into black trousers. He looked every bit the man that the girls around him were swooning over. But it was the woman beside him that caught my attention, the one who followed him with confidence in every step. She wore a revealing dress that clung to her body like a second skin, a cigarette held delicately between two fingers as she smiled up at him. She looked worldly, sensual, dangerous.

Something inside me twisted at the sight of them together. I didn't understand the feeling completely, but it hurt.

I turned away, my heart heavy. I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling, the soft music from outside muffled by the walls. I was tired, tired of being forgotten, tired of pretending not to care. Restless, I stood and quietly left my room, walking down the hall until I reached the master bedroom.

I knew my mother smoked. I remembered the smell from her clothes, the click of her lighter. I wondered what it felt like, what it tasted like, to do something bold, something reckless.

Inside the room, I searched the top of a cabinet and found a few cigarettes tucked in a decorative box. I took one, went back to my room, and lit it. I stood in front of the mirror, watching myself as I raised the cigarette to my lips, trying to mimic the confidence of that woman beside Lance.

But the moment I inhaled, I coughed violently. The taste was bitter and harsh, the smoke burning down my throat. I gagged, tears springing to my eyes. It wasn't glamorous, it was awful.

And then the door burst open.

"What are you holding, Julliane?"

It was Lance.

I froze. The cigarette shook in my hand. I wanted to throw it away, to hide it, but I couldn't move.

"Is that a cigarette? Are you smoking?"

"I... I was just—"

He didn't wait. With a few long strides, he reached me, snatched the cigarette from my fingers, and stormed into my bathroom. I heard the flush of the toilet as he disposed of it, and when he came back out, his face was flushed with anger.

"I don't know what to say to you, Julliane. You're what, fifteen? And already you think smoking makes you... what? Grown up?"

His voice was low, controlled, but I could feel the fury simmering underneath. He didn't shout, maybe because he didn't want the guests to hear, but the disappointment in his eyes cut deeper than any yelling ever could.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "What are you doing up here, Julliane? Why aren't you downstairs? Why aren't you with the rest of us?"

"I'm... not feeling well," I said quietly, turning my face away.

"Is it true what Darren told me? That you don't have a dress for the occasion?"

His gaze scanned the room, landing on my nearly empty closet.

"Oh," I hesitated. "I just... I'm not used to gatherings like this. I feel more comfortable in jeans and shorts, that's all."

He frowned. "You should have told Marriane to get something for you. You know this party is for my father, he was expecting you to be there. It doesn't look good when someone from the Dankworth family hides away during an event like this."

Was that concern in his voice? Or just worry about appearances?

Probably the latter.

I looked into his eyes, trying to read them, but then he groaned and looked away.

"Don't look at me like that, Julliane."

He stepped back, shaking his head. "Go change. Come down. If jeans are all you have, then wear them. It doesn't matter."

"I don't belong there, Lance. I'm not used to parties, and I don't know how to talk to people like that." My voice dropped lower. "Please... let me stay here. I'm tired."

He paused at the door, one hand on the knob.

"Please, Lance," I added, my eyes searching his face. "Just let me stay."

He turned back slowly, meeting my gaze.

"With eyes like that, Julliane," he said, voice husky, "you could make any man fall to his knees. But be careful how you use them."

He didn't wait for a reply. He opened the door and closed it gently behind him, and then he was gone.

But something inside me stirred, something quiet, warm, and confusing. He noticed I wasn't at the party. He came for me.

I stood, walked to the door, and opened it slowly. I mimicked the way he had closed it, quietly, gently.

And I wondered, for the first time, if there was something more behind his anger. Something I didn't yet understand.