Daunting Dream

Chapter 3.

Chapter 3: All About Mum

Devon Drawson's POV

If you’ve never hosted a high-profile birthday for your mother who doubles as a society legend, consider yourself lucky. The Drawson mansion was a battlefield in pearls and scented chaos. I stood at the top of the stairs, taking in the whirlwind happening beneath me.

"Left, Gina! That vase goes to the LEFT!"

Georgina — Gina to most, and our housekeeper-s***h-house general — barked orders with the authority of a military commander. The grand ballroom sparkled under the influence of four chandeliers, ten flower arrangements too many, and a dramatic lavender theme that I may or may not have over-committed to.

Leo, my ever-faithful assistant, ducked under a dangling banner. "Boss, why does your mum’s birthday feel like a presidential inauguration?"

"Because, Leo, if this doesn’t go flawlessly, I’ll be disowned."

"I thought she already disowned you last Christmas."

"Temporarily."

Gina appeared beside us with her arms crossed. "Devon, the cake delivery is late. Again. Do I have your permission to—"

"—hunt them down like rabid dogs? Yes."

She marched off, muttering something about cream frosting and incompetence.

I smoothed down my already-perfect jacket and scanned the room. The lavender napkins matched the orchids. The champagne tower was steady. The waitstaff knew their cues. Still, I was nervous. Perfectionist? Maybe. But for Mum? I had to get it right.

The front doors opened with the elegance of a movie premiere.

Enter Dakota Dariela Drawson.

Mum.

She was a vision in gold — her smile warm, her posture proud, her eyes sharper than any scalpel. Everyone paused. The queen had arrived.

"Darling," she said, walking up to me and fixing the pin on my lapel. "This place is absolutely stunning. You did good."

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. "High praise coming from the woman who once rearranged an entire wedding she wasn’t even invited to."

She winked. "I only move chaos where it’s needed."

The guests started trickling in. Familiar faces. Colleagues. Friends. Family. And of course — Delly.

Wandell Wyatt Wellson. My best friend. Brother from another mother. Charmer. Joker. The complete opposite of me in every way.

"Where’s the birthday goddess?" he boomed, sweeping Mum into a dramatic hug.

"You’re late," she scolded, but smiled.

Delly grinned. "Fashionably, my queen."

And then came the cake. Two-stepped cake. Chocolate and velvet, raspberry glaze. Gina escorted it in like a sacred relic. Everyone clapped. Leo nearly wept.

The room continued its elegant buzz, and I did my best to keep my mind on hosting. My eyes swept across the room just in time to see Delly approaching Ivay.

Ivora Ivana Ishmael — general nickname: Ivay.

My girlfriend.

Statuesque. Sharp-tongued. Polished like a diamond and twice as cold. She stood with her usual pose: half-disdainful, half-bored.

"Hey, Ivy, nice dress," Delly said with a mock sincerity I knew too well.

"Let’s all sit down and eat," Mum announced.

The atmosphere at the table was picture-perfect—cutlery chiming softly against fine porcelain, the occasional laughter, a toast here, a clink there. Mum sat at the head of the table, her glass lifted in appreciation, eyes twinkling. Everyone leaned in when she raised her hand.

“Thank you all for coming to celebrate another year of laughter, life, and lavender,” she said, the last word teasing me with a side-eye. “To old friends and new memories.”

“Cheers,” the table echoed.

But just as the clinks settled, it happened.

Delly—calculating, casual, completely in character—shifted his seat ever so slightly. His wine glass tipped.

I saw it in slow motion. Crimson liquid arcing in the air like a scarlet ribbon.

Ivay didn’t have time to dodge.

The splash hit the left side of her pristine cream dress, soaking into the expensive fabric like a taunt. Gasps followed. Some muffled laughter. Mum’s eyes narrowed.

Ivay bolted upright. “Are you blind?!” she snapped, voice slicing through the room like a thrown dagger.

Delly, still seated, tilted his head and raised his brows. “Oops.”

I closed my eyes for half a second, praying this wasn’t happening.

Mum stepped in quickly. “It’s just an honest mistake—”

“Mistake? He did it intentionally!” Ivay pointed at Delly, her perfectly manicured nails trembling with rage.

Delly rose with exaggerated slowness and gave the fakest of apologies. “No, I’m honestly sorry. I must’ve slipped. My hand must’ve caught a lie or two in the air.”

A few guests chuckled under their breath. I wished the ground would open up.

Ivay’s nostrils flared. “I’m leaving.”

She turned to Mum, and with a tight-lipped smile, said, “Thank you, ma’am, for your hospitality.”

Mum returned the same weaponized smile. “You’re welcome anytime.”

“Dammy baby, can you please drop me off?” Ivay purred, clutching my arm like I was her last lifeline.

My jaw tightened. “Okay. Be right back, guys,” I said, rising stiffly.

As we walked away, the air behind us thickened with tension. Eyes followed us like whispers.

And when we left—oh, the silence we left behind was screaming.

Driving Ivay home was a blur. She ranted the whole way—about Delly, about disrespect, about how people envied her grace. I barely replied. My knuckles gripped the wheel harder with every mile.

“Your mother doesn’t like me,” she hissed at one point.

“She’s… hard to please,” I said vaguely.

“She was smiling when I walked in.”

“She smiles when she’s planning to fire someone.”

Silence.

When I pulled up in front of her apartment, she leaned over to kiss me. I turned my cheek.

Her lips hovered awkwardly before pulling back.

“Goodnight,” I said flatly.

“Whatever,” she muttered, slamming the door.

The car felt bigger when she left. And emptier.

By the time I returned to the mansion, the party had settled into soft murmurs and background jazz. But the moment I stepped in, all eyes flicked toward me—assessing, guessing, gossiping.

I hated it.

Delly was waiting. So was Mum. Their eyes met mine. No words spoken, but everything said.

They went quiet the moment I walked in. I caught the tail end of a sentence.

“I don’t like her,” Delly was saying.

“Me neither,” Mum added. “I think she has ulterior motives. I don’t know what Dammy sees in her.”

“I think so too, but he can't see it. He's too blinded by love to see it,” Delly said.

Their voices faded when I approached.

I stood by the balcony, sipping champagne, letting the chill air kiss my skin. The party inside hummed with soft jazz, laughter, and crystal chimes. My mind wandering.

I was lost in my thoughts.

Then Delly approached me and asked, “Dammy, are you happy?”

“I am very happy,” I said with a smile.

“Are you sure?” Delly asked me with a skeptical look.

“Delly, what are you on about now?” I asked.

“Are you happy with Ivay?” he asked, looking very serious, unlike his cheerful playful self.

“Why shouldn't I be happy with her?” I asked with raised brows.

“I mean...” He was trying to say something when Mum walked in and cut off the conversation.

“Mum!” I said. “Are you happy with everything we put together for you?”

“I am overjoyed, son,” Mum brimmed. “You honestly outdid yourself.”

“Nothing less for you,” I said, relaxing a little.

“Though…” she looked at me pointedly, her tone playful but edged with something sharper, “Next year, fewer orchids.”

I laughed, glad for the shift in mood.

But Delly hadn’t moved.

He was staring at me like he was still waiting for an answer I hadn’t given.

“We’ll talk later,” he muttered and patted my back.

I watched him go, his shoulders unusually stiff. Whatever he wanted to say, it wasn’t over. And now I was left wondering… was I truly happy? Or just used to the routine?

The night rolled on, the mansion glowing with soft lights and elegant conversation. But a seed had been planted in me.

And it was growing fast.