Chapter Five
1903 Words
The whisper of music pulsed through the mansion like a heartbeat. Guests had begun to arrive—friends from Daphne's college, Lucy's friends whose only job was to gossip. Cameras flashed, laughter echoed, and glasses clinked in celebration of Daphne’s 22nd birthday.
A few plastic balloons floated aimlessly near the stairs, some already sagging.
The music was loud enough to drown out awkward silences, but not loud enough to make the modest crowd forget the house wasn’t exactly dripping with wealth. The Lionel family wasn’t poor—but they weren’t close to rich either. Just okay. Comfortable enough to pretend.
Hazel stood just outside the large room that had been converted to a kind of ballroom, hidden partially behind the tall carved doors. Her hands trembled slightly as she smoothed down the simple black dress Lucy had forced her into—“Don’t you dare outshine Daphne,” she’d hissed.
As if she had the capacity to. All she's ever heard was how she was not good looking. Obviously even if she tried, she wouldn't be as pretty as Daphne.
She didn’t even want to be there. Every fiber of her body ached to disappear, to vanish into a place no one could find her. But she needed to see Anthony. She needed answers.
And maybe, a part of her needed to confirm what she already feared.
“Hazel,” came Lucy’s sharp whisper behind her. “Fix your posture. You look like a lost goat.”
Hazel gritted her teeth but obeyed.
When they entered the ballroom, her breath caught.
The lights, the grandeur, the illusion of perfection—it was dazzling and suffocating all at once. Daphne stood like a crowned queen at the far end of the room, silver-blue dress glowing under the chandelier, a champagne glass delicately raised as she laughed at something Anthony whispered in her ear?
What? What are they doing together?
Hazel’s heart cracked in two.
Her feet slowed.
Anthony looked... too comfortable beside her.
“What exactly is going on?” She muttered under her breath trying so hard not to head over to their direction.
Why is Daphne even acting like she's known Anthony since forever? She's never introduced Anthony to either her or Lucy.
And Daphne—oh, Daphne saw her. Her eyes slid to Hazel like a blade. Her smirk widened cruelly.
Hazel didn’t let herself falter. She kept walking, her head high, but her chest burned with betrayal. She hadn’t even reached the edge of the dance floor when someone bumped into her.
Hard.
She stumbled slightly. A hand steadied her.
“Woah, sorry—wasn’t looking,” came a deep, unfamiliar voice.
She looked up, tucking her rich bright strawberry blond hair behind her ear, and her breath caught in her throat.
He was tall—maybe six-three—with sharp cheekbones and dark eyes that carried a dangerous calm. His black shirt clung to lean muscle, sleeves rolled slightly, revealing veiny forearms. There was something magnetic about him, something… other.
And he was staring right back at her.
Who was this man? What was he doing here? Could it be one of Daphne's relatives she's never heard of? And why was her heart beating so insanely fast?
“You okay?” he asked, voice that seemed to drip like melted butter.
She nodded slowly, her voice caught. “Yeah… just—yeah, I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
“Excuse me?”
He leaned in slightly. “You looked like you were about to walk into a battlefield, not a birthday party.”
Hazel blinked, thrown by his directness. “You always talk to strangers like this?”
He smiled, and it was both charming and a little dangerous. “Only the interesting ones.”
She was about to reply when a sight broke her heart. Anthony, giving a light kiss on Daphne's cheek.
All this while it's been her? It would've hurt less if it was a stranger. What did it have to be her stepsister? Are they even step sisters after all the pretty bedtime stories Lucys been telling Hazel? How she's just a bastard George picked up from the thrash.
She turned away—choking on the air—and before she could vanish into the crowd, the stranger stepped closer.
“Do you want me to get you out of here?” he asked quietly.
She looked at him, surprised.
“I–I don't even know your name.”
He shrugged slightly, but something in his tone was steel.
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
“There you are, sister,” Daphne called sweetly, striding over, champagne still in hand.
Hazel turned away from the stranger to meet Daphne's mocking brown eyes.
“Did you find someone to entertain you already? How precious.”
Hazel swallowed, her pulse racing. She felt embarrassed, not for herself, but at how humiliating those words would sound to the stranger. She turned around to apologize, but he was nowhere to be found.
She looked around in genuine confusion.
“What the?” It was like he vanished into thin air.
Daphne continued, looping her arm into Anthony’s as he joined her. “Oh, and look—it’s your little boyfriend. Though he’s mine now, isn’t he, Anthony?”
Hazel flinched, eyes darting to him. “What—what is she talking about Anthony?”
Anthony didn’t speak.
He dragged off Daphne instead to the center of the room where the lights really dazzled on her dress.
Hazel felt the walls of the room start to close in. She couldn't even cry if she wanted to. That'll be her ruining Daphne's birthday party. Lucy's voice made her jump in fright, “What are you standing here looking like a mutt? Serve some drinks to the guests!” She shrieked.
Hazel went to fill up the glasses, and dreaded going over to Daphne and her friends to serve them.
Her friends were clustered around her, oohing and aahing in unison.
"Girl, your uncle really hooked you up this year!" squealed one of them. Hazel's known her to be Annie. She was literally always around whenever Daphne called for an errand girl. "This dress is fire! And don’t even get me started on his tech company. Man's swimming in money."
"Right? He’s a billionaire! Imagine having an uncle like that," another said. If Hazel isn't mistaken, she's Porsha. "You’re so lucky, Daph. This dress alone probably costs more than my tuition."
Daphne smirked, tossing her perfectly styled curls over her shoulder with practiced ease. “Well, I can’t help it if my family is just blessed. I told him simple—but you know how he gets. Always goes all out for me.”
The girls swooned. “You’re living the dream!”
Daphne batted her lashes, soaking in their admiration like champagne. She lived for this—the praise, the envy, the pedestal.
But her mood only got better when she noticed Hazel.
Hazel, in her modest gown—borrowed, ironed to the bone, her hair pulled back in a neat, cheap clip—was carrying a tray of champagne flutes, trying not to call attention to herself. She knew what was going to happen. She dreaded heading to Daphne’s direction. Can't she just serve every other person and not her?
Daphne’s eyes gleamed like a predator spotting a mouse. She took a step forward, raising her voice just enough for the others to hear.
“Well, well, well. Look who finally showed up to do her job. Wearing the same sad face she always wears. Must be hard… being born just to suffer.”
Her friends laughed.
"Some people hustle every day, and still stay broke. Can you imagine? Talk about being cursed."
Another girl chimed in, fake-pity lacing her voice, “She must’ve thought she’d glow up and impress someone here. Sorry babe, no amount of fake perfume can hide poverty.”
Hazel’s grip tightened on the tray. Her heart stung, her cheeks burned, but she kept her face straight and moved past them, refusing to give them a show. But their voices followed her like shadows.
“Hey, don't trip and drop the food now! Wouldn't want your bad luck spreading around,” one added with a cruel giggle.
Hazel found a quiet corner, setting the tray down. Just a few more minutes, she told herself. She’d slip away when the music got louder. Nobody would even notice—
The front door swung open.
Hazel turned.
Anthony.
She hadn't even noticed that he had stepped outside earlier after leaving Daphne to talk with her friends.
Her breath caught. He was holding a bouquet of fresh flowers, dressed in his cleanest white shirt and dark jeans which she failed to notice before when he was joined hips to hips with Daphne.
She stepped forward, blinking in disbelief. “Anthony? What's going on? Why are you with Daphne?”
But he didn’t smile at her. Didn’t even look apologetic. His voice was cold. Flat. Final.
“I’m not here for you, Hazel, can't you get it?”
Her heart dropped.
“What?”
Anthony walked past her like she was invisible. Hazel turned slowly, confusion building in her chest, then freezing over as she saw him approach Daphne, already smirking.
Hazel’s mouth opened in horror. “Anthony… what are you doing?”
He turned, and for the first time, looked her in the eye. “Do I need to spell it out for you? You’re not that stupid, are you?”
Hazel flinched.
“It’s over, Hazel. We’re done.”
She didn’t even feel the tears until they burned down her cheeks. Her legs trembled.
Porsha hooted with laughter. She raised a glass and cackled, “Aww, the maid thought she was Cinderella!”
Annie added with venom, like they had planned this already and was just waiting for the scene to play out. “You should go check a mirror, Hazel. Ain’t no prince choosing you over Daph.”
Hazel backed up slowly, heart pounding in her ears.
Then Anthony knelt down in front of Daphne.
The room erupted into squeals of excitement.
He pulled out a small velvet box and opened it to reveal an elegant, expensive-looking ring. Actually, two rings. Matching ones.
“For you,” he said.
Daphne gasped. “Oh my God. Are you serious?”
Hazel’s mouth dropped open. No. Those rings—
Her voice cracked. “Anthony… Those are the rings. I bought those for us. With my savings. You said—”
Daphne snorted, her voice sharp. “As if you could afford these. Please.”
“But I…”
“You bought them? Really? You got proof?”
Hazel said nothing.
The laughter was louder now. Mockery bouncing off the walls like bullets.
Just as Hazel took a step forward—ready, for once, to say something, to scream if she had to—the front door opened again.
The room quieted.
Ash stepped in, sharp in all black, with piercing eyes and a dangerous calm. Behind her came a refined-looking man in a grey suit: Oliver, the financial secretary of Clyde Enterprises.
Ash gave a charming yet sharp smile as he held up a wrapped box. His voice cut through the tension like a knife.
“We come bearing gifts... for Miss Lionel’s birthday.”
- Writer
