Chapter 7

My father and my Mother didn't wait for an invite. They walked into the room, their faces were filled with the same cold detachment they’d worn for decades.

"There’s a gala tonight," my father said, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. "The Valteris will be there, along with more important families, I need you to be presentable. You are a Vexari, after all, and you will start acting like one."

He placed a slim, black credit card and a heavy set of keys onto the small vanity. The card clattered against the wood, a sound that in my first life, would have made me feel grateful. It made me feel seen, even loved. But now, it just sounded like an attempt to buy my compliance.

"These are yours," he said, his eyes hard. "Be ready by eight tonight. No excuses."

My mother didn't even bother with a lecture. She just shot me a look of pure, unadulterated disdain,  a look that said my mere existence was an inconvenient stain on their evening. She turned on her heel and walked out, leaving the heavy scent of expensive perfume in her wake.

I waited until their footsteps faded down the hallway. I picked up the keys, turning the metal over in my fingers. The car, a sleek, understated European model, it would give me the mobility I needed to move around the city for a while , until I bought my own. The card, however, stayed on the vanity, it was a piece of plastic trash I wouldn't touch if my life depended on it.

I left the room and headed down the stairs. I walked toward the sitting area, I kept my gait awkward and my shoulders hunched, maintaining the unremarkable meek persona. The room was a flurry of activity; Nysa was standing in the center of the livingroom like a statue of vanity and my mother was pinning a silk gown against her.

"I’m going out to find a dress for tonight," I announced, my voice quiet and almost shy.

Nysa didn't even look up from the from where she was. She just rolled her eyes, her lips curling in that familiar, sneering way. My father looked over from where he was checking his watch. 

He gestured vaguely toward a rack of designer gowns set aside for Nysa’s fitting. "Don't bother, just pick one from the rack. Your mother already had them brought in." he said.

I shrank back, tucking my hands into the folds of my oversized sweater, making myself look as small, frail, and insignificant as I possibly could. I looked at the floor, letting my voice waver just enough to sound trembling.

"Oh, I... I couldn't, Father. These are all for my sister. They’re beautiful, but I wouldn't want to impose. Besides," I added, glancing up at Nysa with a flash of faux-timidity, "My sister is much, much older than I am. The styles... they won't fit my frame, and I wouldn't want to choose anything that might look... awkward. I won't wear anything that might bring disgrace to the family name."

The silence in the room became sharp and almost pressurized.

I saw it instantly, the flash of pure, venomous hatred in Nysa’s eyes. Hinting at her age was a direct strike, and I saw her hand tighten so hard on the silk of the gown that her knuckles turned white.

 She wanted to scream, to lash out, to prove she was still the young, vibrant center of their world, but she couldn't not in front of our father.

Our father, oblivious to the subtext, just sighed, seemingly annoyed by my modesty. 

"Fine. Go. But be back by eight sharp. Don't make me regret this, Nyxara."

"I promise, Father," I said, offering a small, submissive nod.

I didn't linger around after that, I walked out of the room, my heart beating with the rhythmic, calm precision of a machine. As I stepped through the front door and into the cool evening air, I let the meek girl mask melt away, replaced by the ghost of a smile.

I going to buy a dress and I was also going to meet Leo. By the time I walked into that gala tonight, I was going to be the only thing anyone in that room would be talking about.

The city air felt different when you owned a piece of it. I met Leo at a private, nondescript coffee shop downtown. He was hunched over a tablet, his eyes darting across lines of code, but he looked up the second I approached. 

He didn't ask questions; he just handed me a black, heavy-stock card. It was a private, high-limit credit line issued through one of my shell companies, the kind of card that didn't just buy clothes; it bought entry.

"Everything is prepped," he muttered, sliding another small bag across the table. "The micro-cameras you asked for.They are high definition, motion-activated, and they sync directly to the cloud. You won't even see them."

"Perfect," I said, sliding the bag into my purse.

I hit the fashion district, specifically the boutiques that catered to the ultra-elite, the kind of places that didn't even have signs on the door. I walked in, and the staff treated me like royalty, sensing the silent command I projected. 

It didn't take me long, I walked all the way to the end rack and I found it: a midnight-blue gown, it was hand-stitched with subtle, iridescent beading that caught the light like trapped starlight. It was a masterpiece. Next to this, any other woman in the room would look like a child playing dress-up.

Then, I bought the second dress, the bait. It was a beautiful, elegant silk piece in a pale, soft lavender. It was objectively better than anything Nysa had picked for herself, but it was nothing compared to the midnight blue-gown in my trunk.

I finished my transformation at a salon that cost more per visit than most people’s rent. I got a manicure, a pedicure, it was a subtle enhancement of my features that made me look like I’d been touched by a professional artist. By the time I walked out, the timid girl was still there in my posture, but the edges were sharper.

I parked the car in the garage, leaving the midnight-blue gown and the matching diamonds hidden deep in the trunk. I walked into the house carrying only the lavender bag.

My mother and Nysa were waiting in the grand hallway. The moment I entered, Nysa’s eyes locked onto the bag.

"Show me," she demanded, her voice tight.

I pulled out the lavender dress, letting the silk drape beautifully over my arm. It was stunning, refined, delicate, and clearly expensive. Nysa’s face darkened, her jaw tightening as she realized this dress would easily outshine her own selection.

"It's... just a dress," I whispered, keeping my eyes cast down.

"It's a disgrace," Nysa spat, even though I could see her hands trembling with rage. 

"You’re going to look like a desperate child."

"I'm sorry," I murmured, clutching the dress to my chest. "I’ll just go up and prepare, I need to shower before I get ready."

"See that you do," my father stepped in, his voice cold. He held out the invitation card. "The car leaves at eight. If you aren't ready, don't bother coming at all."

I took the card, my fingers brushing his. "Yes, Father."

I turned and walked toward the stairs, keeping my gait light and submissive. I could feel Nysa’s gaze burning into my back,she was already plotting. I didn't even need the cameras to know what she was going to do. She was going to wait for me to get into the shower, sneak into my room, and destroy that lavender dress.

 She was going to try to ruin me, just like she did before, thinking she was leaving me with nothing to wear, but she had no idea she was walking right into the center of my trap.

I reached my room, closed the door, and locked it. I moved quickly, pulling the micro-cameras from my bag. I placed them with surgeon-like precision one near the wardrobe, one in the vanity mirror, and one hidden in the vent. Every angle of the room was covered.