Victory should have tasted like champagne. After that interview with The Society Scribe, I had 'checkmated' Diana in her own game — dressed the whole thing up in polished words about "family legacy," and ensuring that "the Sterling name remains synonymous with trust". I had watched her practiced smile tremble at the edges. I should've been celebrating.
But the next morning, my skin wouldn't stop crawling.
I was halfway through my coffee when I heard it — humming. Soft, careless, sweet in that way only girls with secrets could manage.
Chloe strolled into the breakfast room, wrapped in pastel cashmere and smugness. She poured herself orange juice like she owned the place, humming a tune I didn't recognize. "Kiss the mirror, fix your curls. Rule the world that isn't yours..."
"Someone's cheerful," I said lightly.
She blinked, feigning surprise. "Oh, am I? Sorry. Just a good morning, I guess."She smiled as she absentmindedly brush a strand of hair off her face. Too bright. Too knowing.
Across the table, Diana looked up from her paper, eyes flicking between us. She took a slow sip of coffee and said nothing — just that faint curve of her lips. Not pride. Satisfaction. Like a chess player who'd just set her next move in place. What's going on?
Something in my stomach turned. I didn't know what yet — but I had a feeling I knew why.
By Wednesday, I could see the pattern forming. Liam's texts came clipped, polite. "Sure." "You decide." "Trust your judgment."
The old me — the girl who used to believe in his "trust" — would've smiled at that, thinking he respects my decisions and wants me to be happy. Now, I saw something else. I saw distance, wrapped up in courtesy. And I think I knew the reason why. Was this when it started? Before we got engaged? I tried recalling this portion of my memory in my past life, but it was all a blur. I was too happy then, too self absorbed.
When I called to confirm the engagement menu, he didn't even argue about the wine list. "Sorry, sweetheart," he said, voice muffled like he was driving. "Swamped with the Island project. You've got better taste than me anyway."
"That's what I thought too," I said softly.
He didn't hear it. Or pretended not to.
Later that evening, I was in Father's study going through the communications plan for the Island Residence when Diana breezed in — perfect timing, as always.
"Charles, darling, are you ready for dinner? Oh Elara, why are you still here?"
I looked up, puzzled. "Where should I be?"
Diana sat down nearby, glancing at the stack of papers in front of me. "I thought Liam left a message for you earlier today — something about the floral arrangements for his family's tables. Didn't anyone tell you? I thought one of the maids did."
I frowned. "You mean, he called here? The mansion?"
Diana nodded, looking genuinely surprised. "You mean you didn't get the message? Let me ask the maid."
She swept out of the study and returned moments later, all sympathy and sugar. "Don't worry, dear. Chloe overheard the message and went there instead. Really sweet girl, isn't she? Helping out her sister, who's always so busy." She chuckled. "Don't fret — she has excellent taste."
Her hand patted my shoulder, light and precise as a knife stroke.
That evening, just when I came out of shower, Sienna called. Twice. And Sienna never called twice unless something was on fire.
"El," she said, her voice low and conspiratorial. "I saw your sister earlier — at Vancourt Tower. Is she involved in the Island Residence project too?"
My grip tightened on the phone. "She isn't, but apparently she went to confirm some details of my engagement party with Liam."
Sienna went quiet for a second. Then: "Funny. She wasn't near any event planner's office. I saw her coming out of the private lift — you know, the one that goes straight to the penthouse. And she wasn't carrying papers. Just a little gift bag."
My heart thudded once. "Maybe she dropped something off for him."
"Maybe," Sienna said. "Still… why is she confirming things with Liam and not with you?"
She hesitated, her tone softening. "Keep an eye on them, El. Sometimes we girls just can't be too trusting."
I'd heard that line before. In my past life, I'd laughed it off. Told her how stupid it was to doubt family.
But now, knowing what I knew — she was right.
I stared at the darkened screen after Sienna hung up, her words echoing in the silence.
Sometimes we girls just can't be too trusting.
I checked the time. 7:48.Chloe still wasn't home.
Of course she wasn't.
I stared at the phone for a long time before hitting Liam's name.
He answered on the third ring. "Hey, you," he said, voice warm but distracted — the kind of tone people use when they're half in another conversation.
"Hey," I said lightly. "Where are you?"
A pause. "Just leaving a meeting downtown. You okay?"
"I'm fine. Just…" I let out a small sigh, soft enough to sound unplanned. "I miss you. We've barely seen each other this week."
Another pause — too long, too quiet. I could picture it: him sitting in his car, hand still on the steering wheel, glancing sideways at Chloe before answering.
"I know. It's been insane with the Island project. But soon, yeah?"
"Why not tonight?" I said. "Dinner. Just us. Like before."
He hesitated. I heard the faint click of his turn signal. "Tonight?"
"Unless you're busy."
There it was — that careful silence, thick with calculation.Then, guilt smoothing the edges of his voice: "No, no. Dinner sounds great. Where do you want to go?"
"Brasserie L'Orée," I said, the corner of my mouth curving. "Eight-thirty."
"Perfect," he said, and hung up.
Brasserie L'Orée was glowing that night — golden light spilling from the chandeliers, the hum of crystal and quiet laughter.Liam looked immaculate, as always, but a little too polished. The kind of polish that comes from trying to look unbothered.
"You look beautiful," he said, brushing a kiss against my cheek.
I smiled. "You too."And then, the faint trace hit me — something floral, young, sugary. Not mine.
We settled into our seats. The wine came. Small talk filled the gaps. He looked at me, but not into me.
"So," I said casually, tracing the rim of my glass, "I heard you called the mansion earlier today."
His fork paused for a fraction of a second. "Right, yeah. About the flowers."
"Diana said Chloe went to meet you."
He nodded quickly. "Yeah, she just dropped by for a minute to confirm the color palette. Didn't want to bother you — she said you were tied up at the office."
"Was I?" I asked, keeping my tone mild.
He blinked. "Weren't you?"
I smiled, slow and deliberate. "Maybe I was. Maybe I wasn't."
He gave a small, nervous laugh. "You know Chloe. She's… helpful."
"Helpful," I repeated, tasting the word. "That's one way to put it."
He shifted in his seat, reaching for his wine. "El, don't read too much into it. She was just—"
"—confirming colors," I finished for him. "Right." I leaned in slightly. "What shade did you pick, then?"
His brow furrowed. "Shade?"
"The flowers," I said gently. "If she was confirming colors with you, you must've decided on one."
He stared at me for a second too long. "Ivory," he said finally.
I smiled, all teeth. "Good choice."
The waiter arrived, mercifully interrupting him with our mains. He started talking about the project again, but I barely heard him. The scent on his collar hadn't faded — soft, sweet, and unmistakably Chloe's.
We were halfway through mains when it happened.
"Oh! What a coincidence."
That bright, airy voice.
Chloe stood in the doorway, hair perfectly curled, pastel silk skimming her figure like she'd walked out of an editorial.
"Liam! Elara! What are the odds?"
I looked at her. "Astronomical," I said smoothly.
She beamed, as if she didn't hear me. "I was just around the corner and thought I'll drop by for a quick bite."
Liam's hand tightened slightly around his fork. "Chloe," he said, forcing a smile. "Didn't expect to see you here."
Her eyes flicked between us, assessing. "Well, I am helping with your engagement decor. Can't plan without knowing your tastes, right?"
My stomach turned. "Oh, don't worry," I said. "I'm sure you'll learn them all soon enough."
She laughed lightly, sliding closer. "Would you mind if I join you then? I'm starving and it feels weird to eat alone. I won't intrude, I promise."
But she already had.
Without even waiting for an answer, she signalled for a waiter to bring her a chair and set the table.Chloe leaned forward, chin resting on her palm, smiling at Liam as though I weren't there.
And for the first time, I saw it clearly — not the girl she pretended to be, but the one hiding underneath.The way her voice dipped just enough to sound intimate. The way he didn't pull back fast enough.
They weren't careless.They were testing how much they could get away with.
And I was watching, every second of it — calm, smiling, calculating.
Because I'd learned something in my past life:betrayal always starts with small permissions.