The lamps along the Cross estate's drive threw gold across the wet gravel as Serena's car approached the entrance. Rain had come and gone throughout the afternoon, and the scent of it lingered in the air — clean, cold, and sharp, like memory.
Inside, the hum of violins and laughter spilled faintly from the tall windows ahead. Serena could see the blur of carriages lined in succession, each carrying names the papers still printed in reverent tones.
She wasn't meant to be one of them anymore. And yet, tonight, she was.
Emily had left the house earlier by another route — deliberate, as always.
They could not be seen arriving together; their public rivalry remained too useful to abandon.
The world remembered them as two ambitious women who had once vied for the same crown, and even though those days had turned to ruin, the gossip never faded. Let them believe that rivalry lingered — it was safer that way.
