Deborah's POV
As expected, the cunning Lugh had ensured that no one mentioned tonight's banquet to me in advance. The sudden notice from the maid carried an air of authority, leaving no room for refusal or escape. They clearly anticipated my lack of interest—or rather, my outright aversion—to attending any Thorne family event.
This so-called "banquet" was a premeditated trap, a staged occasion with one glaringly obvious purpose: arranging a "match" between Barron Thorne and me.
As the former darling of the Lee family, I was no stranger to such scenarios. My late siblings had also been pushed into family-arranged unions for the sake of alliances. The actors might have changed, but the script remained the same: the family's interests always came first.
But I knew—as Deborah Edwards—I had no right to refuse.
Swallowing my distaste, I resigned myself to the preparations. A team of maids entered with an array of dresses, each more dazzling than the last. Despite my irritation, I had to admit that the craftsmanship was impeccable. My gaze brushed over the silk, lace, and jewel-encrusted fabrics, a soft sigh escaping my lips.
"Miss Edwards," an elderly maid ventured hesitantly, holding up a long dress, "this one would suit you perfectly."
I glanced at the gown. It was a deep, elegant green, the skirt flowing like liquid emerald. Silver embroidery traced intricate patterns along the waist, and the V-neckline revealed just enough collarbone to exude grace without impropriety. The back dipped low, a tasteful display of sophistication and allure.
"Fine. That one," I said, my tone carefully neutral.
The dressing process was far more intricate than I'd expected. The maids moved with practiced precision, delicately easing the dress over my shoulders, fastening it securely, and adjusting every detail until it fit like a glove. The tightness of the corset left me momentarily breathless, but the maids worked quickly, giving me no time to protest.
"Please lift your arms slightly," one of them murmured as she arranged the flowing skirt. Slowly, the reflection in the mirror transformed into something unrecognizable.
Once the gown was settled, they turned their attention to my hair. A younger maid deftly swept my locks into a low chignon, securing it with a few understated silver pins. A few loose curls framed my face, softening the overall look.
"Miss Edwards, you look absolutely stunning," one of the maids said, her voice filled with genuine admiration.
I turned to the mirror and stared at the image before me. The tightness of the corset left me momentarily breathless, but the mDraped in the dark green gown, my skin seemed luminous, almost ethereal.aids worked quickly, giving me no time to protest. The silver accents in my hair caught the light, adding a subtle sparkle that drew attention without overwhelming. I couldn't deny it—I looked radiant, like someone born to command attention in a room full of powerful figures.
Yet, despite the awe-inspiring reflection, I felt strangely detached. The elegance and poise belonged to Deborah Edwards, the heir to the Edwards family. But deep down, I was still Lianora Lee, and this façade only reminded me of the distance between the two.
A soft knock on the door pulled me from my thoughts.
"Come in," I called, turning toward the sound.
The door opened, and Lugh stepped inside. He was dressed in a perfectly tailored dark suit, his hair meticulously groomed. Tonight, he looked every bit the powerful head of the Edwards family. But his usual commanding presence was softened by something unexpected—a rare, almost vulnerable expression.
His gaze fell on me, and he froze. His eyes glistened, and his throat worked as though he were struggling to find the right words. For the first time, I saw a crack in his impenetrable armor.
"Father?" I ventured cautiously.
He didn't respond immediately. Instead, he simply stood there, taking in the sight of me. His eyes, rimmed with unshed tears, appeared to hold a lifetime of regret.
The intensity of his emotions made my heart skip a beat. In that moment, I saw something painfully familiar in his expression—the kind of profound love I'd once seen in my real father's eyes. The realization left me momentarily speechless.
Could it be that Lugh truly loved Deborah? After all, she was his only daughter, his only family in this world.
But I couldn't let myself be swayed. I had to remember who he was—and why I was here.
Smiling faintly, I turned in a slow circle, letting the gown's fabric sweep gracefully around me. "Father, how do I look?" I asked, injecting just the right amount of playful curiosity into my tone.
His lips curved into a tremulous smile, and he nodded. "Beautiful. So beautiful. Just like your mother." His voice was thick with emotion, and he blinked rapidly, as though trying to hold back tears. "Not being there for you and your mother during those twenty-two years… it is my greatest regret."
I took a tentative step closer, seizing the opportunity to bridge the gap between us. "Don't say that, Father. I'm here now. Meeting you has been… a blessing."
His expression softened further, a flicker of hope lighting his features.
I hesitated briefly before adding, "But… wouldn't it be even better if I could choose who I love? Just as you chose Mother?"
The words seemed to strike a chord. His gaze grew distant, and he murmured softly, "Mavis…" The name slipped from his lips like a prayer, his voice heavy with memories.
I watched as he became lost in his own thoughts, his emotions raw and unguarded. The moment was both poignant and dangerous—I had to tread carefully, knowing that every word, every gesture, could shape his perception of me.
***
As night fell over the city, the lights of the Thorne family estate illuminated the evening sky like scattered stars. The banquet hall was resplendent, its opulence designed to impress. Though the gathering wasn't particularly large, every attendee was a figure of significance.
Accompanying Lugh, I entered the hall with my arm lightly resting on his. My gown's shimmering green fabric caught the light, drawing subtle glances from all directions. Every step was deliberate, every movement a performance. I knew what they expected of me, and I intended to play my role flawlessly.
The Edwards family delegation was small but formidable: Lugh, Chad, myself, and a few trusted associates. Together, we exuded an air of authority that commanded respect.
Upon entering, we were quickly directed toward the evening's hosts—Mr. Thorne, his wife, and their youngest son, Barron Thorne. As we approached, Mr. Thorne greeted Lugh with a polished smile.
"Edwards," he said warmly, "your presence honors us. And may I say, your daughter is truly stunning."
Lugh nodded graciously. "Thorne, you've outdone yourself tonight. The arrangements are impeccable."
Mrs. Thorne's gaze lingered on me with a measured smile. "Miss Edwards, you're even more beautiful than I'd heard. We've prepared the garden especially for tonight; the flowers are in full bloom. Perhaps Barron could show you around?"
Lugh's expression remained composed. "Deborah has always loved gardens. I'm sure she'll appreciate your hospitality."
The unspoken implications were clear. Every step was dThis was no casual invitation; it was a carefully orchestrated ploy to bring Barron and me closer."eliberate, every movement a performance.
"Miss Edwards," Barron said, stepping forward with a polite smile, "if you don't mind?"
I returned his smile, a well-practiced mask of politeness. "Of course. Lead the way," I said smoothly, gesturing for him to proceed.
As Barron turned toward the garden, I trailed a step behind, my gaze flickering across the room. It was then that I noticed Chad, standing at the periphery like a shadow. His posture was unusually rigid, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, and his eyes—sharp and unrelenting—were locked on me.
Our eyes met for the briefest of moments. There was something in his gaze, something taut and unresolved. But just as I tried to decipher it, he averted his eyes abruptly, his jaw clenched as if restraining some unspoken emotion.
The tension in his stance, the subtle hardening of his expression—it gave me pause. A flicker of realization coursed through me.
Was that… jealousy?
Jealousy?That is unbelievable…
Before I could dwell on the thought, Barron's cheerful voice interrupted. "Miss Edwards, may I call you Dara?" he asked, his tone casual but carrying an air of familiarity that felt too presumptuous.
I turned my attention back to him, my smile polite but firm. "I'd prefer Deborah," I replied evenly, my voice leaving no room for argument.
"Deb it is," he said with an easy grin. "You're full of surprises. I've heard so much about you—how you were reunited with your father after so many years. What was life like on the surface?"
"Why do you ask?" I replied, intrigued by his curiosity.
"I've always been fascinated by what lies beyond the cities," he admitted. "The surface, the underground… all of it."
"Then we have something in common," I said, allowing a small smile.