All Chapters of I was more than pretty: Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

I had barely stepped out of the hallway when I felt a hand grab my wrist—sharp, desperate, trembling.“Eve, wait!” Serena’s voice cracked behind me.I turned, slowly. Her grip was tight, her perfectly polished nails digging slightly into my skin. Her eyes were wild—frantic, disbelieving—as though she could pull the truth back into silence by sheer force.“What did you mean by that?” she demanded, voice rising, every syllable teetering between fear and fury. “What do you mean everyone knows?”I tilted my head, studying her face. Her lipstick was smudged; her blouse slightly crumpled from the chaos of moments ago. Julian stood behind her, equally pale, his composure hanging by a single thread.“I meant exactly what I said,” I replied quietly. “There are cameras in this office, Serena. Cameras that have been recording everything.”Her grip loosened instantly. She stepped back, shaking her head, her voice falling to a whisper. “You’re lying.”I smiled faintly. “Am I?”For a moment, silence

The clink of glass echoed softly through Serena’s apartment, the golden light of the chandelier catching the rim of the wine bottle as Eve poured. A deep crimson stream flowed into their glasses, smooth and rich, like liquid victory.“Cheers,” Serena whispered, her grin wide and satisfied.Eve lifted her glass, her smile calm, poised, hiding the quiet storm that always brewed beneath. Their first plan had worked flawlessly—every detail, every deception, every step had unfolded with the kind of precision only fate could envy. The world had turned against Julian Vale and Serena Blake’s names like a tide, and the first domino had fallen just as they had intended.But even as they toasted, Eve’s mind was far from the taste of wine or the thrill of success.Across the room, Soren was bent slightly over the table, his fingers gliding across neat stacks of documents, arranging them with his usual quiet grace. He wasn’t doing anything special—just sorting papers—but somehow, the sight of him

    It felt strange coming home again after everything that had unfolded—the betrayal, the spectacle, the quiet aftermath that followed like a storm’s trailing wind. I haven’t seen mom days after the whole drama occured.The moment I stepped into the living room, the smell of my mother’s cooking wrapped around me like a memory—soft, familiar, and impossibly safe. It was almost enough to make me forget what the world outside looked like now. Almost.She was waiting for me, sitting on the couch with her shawl pulled over her shoulders, her kind eyes red from tears that had long dried. When she saw me, she stood up immediately, and before I could say a word, she pulled me into her arms.“Oh, Eve,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I’m so sorry for what happened. For everything between you, Serena, and Julian. You didn’t deserve any of that.”

  The afternoon sun was gentle, the kind that brushed against my skin like a whisper—too soft to hurt but too present to ignore. The air smelled faintly of roasted coffee and wet earth after the morning drizzle—a scent that felt almost nostalgic, like something from another lifetime.I sat by the window of the quiet café, my fingers tracing the rim of my mug absentmindedly. My message to Serena had been simple, almost disarmingly so: “Let’s talk. Not as enemies, but as sisters.” I hadn’t expected a reply. After everything that had happened—the betrayal, the humiliation, the avalanche of gossip—her silence had already been its own kind of answer.But against all odds, she replied.“Fine. Tell me when and where.”I remember staring at the message for a long time before typing back the address. A small café tucked in a quiet corner of town, hidden enough that

There was a new program everyone was talking about—something that seemed to sweep through every conversation, every post, every whisper in the city. It was everywhere: on billboards, in office chatter, at dinner tables, and even on the news. The Bellcrest Charity Gala and Business Auction—the kind of gathering that made headlines, where the wealthiest people came dressed in elegance, trading art, influence, and power under chandeliers that looked like frozen stars.At first, I didn’t care much about it. It sounded like another event for the polished and pretentious—people who smiled too wide and whispered too fast. But my mother wouldn’t stop talking about it.“You should go, Eve,” she told me one evening, her voice warm, full of that gentle insistence only mothers have. “You’ve been through enough. It’s time to make new memories… meet new people. Don’t let what happened stop you from living.”Her words stayed with me.For days, I thought about them—about how much she’d seen me break,