3. Chaos at City Hall

Cars rolled into Eastbourne’s City Hall in a tight line. Police stood guard outside, pushing back small groups of demonstrators gathered near the main gates. The sight was unusual for Belle.

“What are they doing?” she asked, leaning toward the window.

“They’re protesting the new shopping center project near Avenue 6. That park sits there,” her father answered.

“Then why remove the park, Dad?”

"That park will be relocated. They just want to complain when the new location is actually far better.”

Belle bit her tongue. She knew better than to argue, especially since her father was leading the development. One day, that business empire was supposed to land on her shoulders.

The older she got, the more her heart clashed with Mr. Watson’s views. But, unlike Anthony, Belle didn’t have the courage to break free from the family business openly.

The car rolled to a stop at the lobby entrance. Belle slipped out alongside her parents, only to widen her eyes at the sight of Bastian dressed as a valet attendant.

“Mr. and Mrs. Watson, Miss Belle. Good evening,” Kyle greeted them politely.

“Hi, Kyle. You look handsome in that suit,” Mrs. Watson said warmly.

"I'm adaptable, ma'am. Please enjoy your evening.”

Belle gave him a quick wave before hurrying after her father inside.

Classical music drifted through the packed hall as chandeliers glowed above the heads of Eastbourne’s finest. Belle lingered behind her parents, nerves crawling beneath her skin.

Her off-the-shoulder, red, sequined gown suddenly felt like a mistake—too bold, too loud. Belle fiddled with the fabric, tugging at it and wishing she had chosen something quieter. When she finally looked up, her parents were gone.

Panic gripped her. Belle hurried through clusters of strangers, trying to spot them, but her movement drew stares.

Belle froze, realizing she had become the center of attention. The gown glittered, framing her beauty in a way she hadn’t expected.

“Sparrow?”

The voice made her spin around.

It was Bastian.

He wore a cream-colored suit with a bow tie. Belle had never seen him like this before. He looked sharp and refined, and the sight hit her like a hammer. Belle's heart thudded wildly.

Bastian stared back at her, unblinking, as if seeing her for the first time.

Belle tilted her head and smiled shyly. Suddenly, heat rushed up Bastian’s neck.

“You’re here too, Bastian?”

Her eyes dropped to the empty tray in his hand.

"I'm working a casual shift," he replied, forcing a small smile.

“Oh…”

“You look beautiful, Belle. Not a sparrow anymore—you’re a princess tonight.”

Color bloomed across her cheeks. "That's...a compliment?"

“I’m just telling the truth.”

Belle ducked her head, too flustered to think of anything clever to say. Around him, she always melted like butter left in the sun.

“Oi, sis!”

Anthony’s hand landed on her shoulder, startling her. He balanced a tray of champagne flutes.

“Still mad at me?” he asked.

Belle shook her head quickly. “No.”

“I’m sorry for what I said last night, okay?”

“It’s fine, Anthony.”

"I'd hug you, but..." He chuckled. "We good?"

Belle punched his chest lightly. “Yeah, sure.”

Bastian watched the siblings exchange glances, his expression carrying curiosity, though he said nothing.

"I wanna try that," Belle said, pointing at the champagne on Anthony's tray.

“Don’t touch this. Get some juice,” Anthony snapped.

Bastian chuckled. "She's eighteen, Anthony. One glass won’t kill her.”

"Shut up. Don't flirt with my sister," Anthony muttered, scowling. "Go babysit your girlfriend, Bastian."

Belle’s chest tightened. Girlfriend? Bastian had a girlfriend?

Before she could ask about it, their father appeared, cutting through the crowd. Anthony stiffened at once. Belle recognized the look—Anthony always braced himself when facing Mr. Watson.

“Dad,” Anthony greeted him politely.

"You're twenty-eight, and this is what you're doing?" Mr. Watson's voice was sharp.

"It's just a part-time job. The money’s good.”

“Anthony, why do you do this to me?”

“It’s not dirty money, Dad.”

In an instant, Bastian clamped his hand on Anthony’s shoulder. His eyes flashed a warning, and he quickly bowed his head toward Mr. Watson.

"We've got work to do, sir. Excuse us.”

Belle’s gaze followed them as they slipped away, a heaviness pressing her chest.

“See that, Belle?” her father muttered. "Your brother's life is going nowhere. Your mother spoils him and lets him run wild.”

Not again, Belle groaned inside.

"But, Dad, at least Anthony knows what he wants. He’s happy living it.”

“He’s wasting time. That tattoo shop will collapse one day. Then what? He’ll regret everything once he’s no longer young.”

“Why do you have to be so mean to him?” Belle’s eyes widened.

"One day you'll understand. No parent is proud to see their son barely getting by with odd jobs at thirty. It’s pathetic.”

"I—I need a drink," Belle stammered, backing away. She couldn’t stomach another round of complaints, especially ones aimed at her brother.

Belle pushed through the crowd and slipped out onto the balcony. Cool air wrapped around her shoulders, and she took a deep breath, desperate for calm.

From the shadows beyond the hall, movement caught her eye. Figures darted through the trees, weaving between lamplight and darkness.

“What was that?” Belle gasped.

She turned to go back inside and warn Anthony. Suddenly, the lights died.

The hall fell into blackness. Screams erupted inside.

Footsteps drew closer. Fast.

Something sliced past her ear; the wind was sharp against her skin.

Crash!

Glass shattered behind her.

"Anthony! Anthony!” Belle screamed into the darkness.

The sound of shattering glass echoed as something pelted the windows. Belle screamed as the sharp cracks exploded far too close.

In an instant, the hall dissolved into chaos—people panicking and scrambling to escape through the exits.

Belle dropped to the floor and crawled, only to feel the sting of broken glass cutting into her palms. Shards of glass glittered all around her as the relentless barrage continued.

She was trapped inside.

"Help!" Help me!"