At that moment, Marcellus gently squeezed her hand again. The warmth of his touch eased Alia's turbulent emotions, grounding her in the present. He didn't say much, but his small gesture spoke volumes. She looked up at him, their gazes meeting briefly but meaningfully. His silent reassurance seemed to say: Even if that man cannot support you, I will always be here.
This quiet support gave her the strength to bury her tangled feelings deep within. Straightening her back, Alia resumed her graceful composure, ready to face the social demands ahead.
When the topic turned to her mother, Alia felt a sharp pang in her chest. Though she had never truly met this mother, the emotions carried by this body were overwhelmingly intense. Her mother's presence hovered like a mist—distant and intangible, yet ever-present. Alia's gaze lowered instinctively, her mood shadowed by an unshakable heaviness.
Marcellus noticed her shift in demeanor and stepped in smoothly, speaking in a calm yet apologetic tone. "She's been exercising regularly to regain her strength. Her earlier collapse was entirely my oversight; I failed to care for her properly." His voice carried warmth, but his eyes remained steady as he addressed her formidable father.
Edgar gave a slight nod, his tone as measured as ever. "Let me know if you need anything."
Alia opened her mouth to respond but was interrupted by a gentle female voice. "Darling, let them get to their serious discussions. Don't dwell on trivial matters."
She turned to see her father's new wife. The woman, poised and elegant, exuded the confidence and grace of a noble lady. Vivienne Rinehart—her name and demeanor carried a quiet strength, soft yet commanding. Vivienne offered Alia a slight smile before speaking warmly. "Livia, come, accompany me for a stroll. Let your father and Marcellus talk business."
Though taken aback, Alia nodded and agreed. Vivienne looped her arm through hers, guiding her towards a side hall. Her steps were unhurried, her gaze gentle but sharp. Alia couldn't shake the feeling that this woman was far more complex than she seemed.
"You've just recovered, so don't push yourself too hard," Vivienne said softly. "This ball is well-organized, but if you ever need help with such events, don't hesitate to ask me. After all, we're family."
Alia pressed her lips together, her thoughts swirling as she listened to Vivienne's warm but probing words. Forcing a faint smile, she replied casually, "Of course, you're right. We're family, after all."
Vivienne studied her with a gaze that seemed both curious and deliberate. Her smile deepened as she said, "I know you might not like me much, but our relationship is what it is. You should visit home more often. Your father… and I would like that." She paused, her hand resting lightly on her abdomen, before continuing, "Especially now, with a new baby on the way. I hope we can grow closer."
The words pierced Alia—or rather, Livia—like a blade. Pregnant. A new life. Family. Each phrase seemed to mock her place in this household. Her breath caught. Her mother's shadow loomed once more, painful and indistinct. This woman, occupying her mother's role, spoke calmly of familial happiness and even sought to use a new life to bind them together. Meanwhile, Livia—an outsider—was left to watch from the sidelines, excluded.
Anger surged within her, and her fists clenched involuntarily. But Alia wasn't Livia. With a deep breath, she quickly composed herself. She couldn't afford to lose control; Vivienne's words were clearly intended to provoke her.
She forced a faint smile and replied evenly, "A baby is wonderful news. Congratulations. I'll make time to visit more often. I'd love to be a good sister—and perhaps a mentor—to my future sibling. I'll be sure to teach them well." Though her tone was calm, her gaze grew colder, a subtle chill beneath her polite words.
Vivienne's expression shifted briefly, her smile almost imperceptibly faltering before she regained her composure. She patted Alia's hand lightly and said with a warm tone, "That's good to hear. I know this may take time, but I hope we can learn to understand one another."
Alia gave a slight nod, her faint smile distant and indifferent.
Just then, the elegant strains of music filled the hall. The atmosphere shifted instantly. Guests placed their glasses down, and as the first dance began, they moved to invite their partners to the floor. The vibrant chatter of the ball transformed into a scene of grace and romance. Gowns swirled, suits brushed past, and the interplay of light and movement wove a tapestry of subtle emotions.
Marcellus made his way through the crowd toward Alia. Extending his hand with a faint smile, he spoke softly, "Madam, may I have this dance?"
Alia looked up at him, her weariness briefly flashing in her eyes. Still, she nodded and placed her hand in his. He guided her to the dance floor, her gown trailing elegantly behind her as they moved.
With one hand on her waist and the other holding hers, Marcellus led her in a smooth waltz. His movements were as steady as ever, his presence offering her a sense of security. Yet, his gaze didn't miss the flicker of worry on her face. Leaning closer, he murmured near her ear, his voice gentle and discreet, "What did Vivienne say to you?"
Alia hesitated but finally answered in a low voice, "She told me she's pregnant." Her tone was tinged with complexity.
Marcellus' eyes darkened briefly. His grip on her hand tightened slightly, as though conveying silent strength. After a pause, he said in a deep, resolute voice, "Alia, no matter what happens, this is your home. And you are Livia, his daughter. No one can change that."
His words, firm and unwavering, felt like a soothing balm to her troubled heart. She looked up at him, a flicker of gratitude mingling with her lingering emotions. "Thank you, Marcellus," she replied softly, her voice laced with both appreciation and unspoken feelings.
As the music swelled, their movements grew more synchronized, the distance between them subtly closing. Marcellus' gaze lingered on her, his expression softening with an unmistakable tenderness. His hand on her waist moved with a natural ease, while Alia, gradually relaxing, followed his lead with effortless grace.
Their chemistry was palpable, their bond undeniable. The two moved seamlessly across the floor, drawing the attention of onlookers. Whispers and envious glances trailed their elegant dance, as if the atmosphere between them told a story all its own.