The Hong mansion sparkled like a palace. Rows of lanterns lined the driveway, casting a golden glow on the neatly trimmed hedges. Inside, the grand ballroom was alive with music, laughter, and the soft clinking of champagne glasses. No expense had been spared for this moment—the grand return of Amelia Hong, the eldest daughter and heiress of the Hong family.
It had been four years since she left for the States to study business, and her return was more than just a family celebration. To the outside world, Amelia's homecoming was a carefully staged event meant to remind everyone of the Hong family's influence, wealth, and power. And it was working. Guests had come from all corners of the country to see the golden girl of the Hong empire return in style.
"She's been gone for too long," Mrs. Wu one of the prominent guest whispered to her husband as she scanned the room. "I hear she graduated with honors."
"Of course she did," Mr. Wu replied, taking a sip of champagne. "She's a Hong. Perfection runs in their blood."
The guests, dressed in designer gowns and sharp tuxedos, buzzed with anticipation. Everyone wanted to be the first to catch a glimpse of Amelia. But not everyone in the house shared their excitement.
In the kitchen, Elara the poor maid adjusted her apron and stared down at the tray of drinks she was supposed to carry around to the hundreds of guests. Her hands trembled slightly, and she cursed under her breath. She'd been working at the Hong mansion for as long as she could remember, practically growing up within its walls. But unlike Amelia, she had not been treated like a beloved daughter.
When Amelia cried as a child, Elara was blamed. When Amelia scraped her knee or broke a toy, it was always Elara's fault. She still remembered the sting of the whip on her back, her young body shaking with sobs as the head maid punished her for Amelia's tantrums. All Amelia had to do was pout, and Elara would be dragged away like some criminal.
"Elara!" the head maid greta barked, snapping her out of her thoughts. "Hurry up! The guests are waiting, and this is no night for you to mess up."
"Yes, ma'am," Elara muttered, grabbing the tray and heading toward the ballroom.
She pushed open the door and stepped into the dazzling room, her eyes immediately catching the sight of the towering chandelier hanging from the ceiling. It was breathtaking, even for someone who saw it every day. The guests barely noticed her as she weaved through the crowd, but she felt their presence all the same—powerful, polished, and utterly out of her league.
As she passed by a group of men, she caught a snippet of their conversation.
"Amelia Hong is everything her father promised she'd be," one man said. "Smart, beautiful, and ready to take the family business to new heights."
"Not to mention eligible," another added with a chuckle. "Half the young heirs in this room are probably planning their proposals already."
Elara rolled her eyes and kept walking. The way they spoke about Amelia made her sound more like a prize than a person. But that wasn't new. Amelia had always been the princess, the one everyone adored. Even now, after four years away, she still commanded the attention of the entire room.
Elara didn't envy her—not even a little. Or so she told herself.
---
Outside the mansion, a sleek black car pulled up to the front steps, and the waiting photographers immediately sprang into action. Camera flashes lit up the night as the car door opened, and Amelia Hong stepped out, looking every inch the heiress she was expected to be.
Her long, dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her designer dress shimmered under the lights. She smiled for the cameras, her heart pounding as she raised a hand in a small wave.
"Miss Hong, over here!" a reporter called.
"How does it feel to be back?" another asked.
Amelia ignored them, her smile never faltering. She had spent years perfecting this mask, the one that made her seem untouchable, flawless. It was exhausting, but it was necessary.
As she walked up the steps, her father stood waiting at the entrance, his broad shoulders and sharp suit giving him the air of a king welcoming his queen.
"Amelia," he said, pulling her into a hug. "You've made us proud."
"Thank you, Father," she replied, her voice steady even though her chest felt tight.
Her mother stood just behind him, her lips curved in a polite smile. "You look lovely, dear. Though I wish you'd worn something a bit more traditional. The guests would appreciate it."
Amelia's smile twitched, but she said nothing. She had learned long ago that pleasing her mother was an impossible task.
---
The party was in full swing when Amelia stepped into the ballroom. All eyes turned to her, and for a moment, the room fell silent. Then came the applause, polite but enthusiastic. Amelia's cheeks ached from smiling as she greeted one guest after another, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries.
Across the room, Elara watched the scene unfold as she refilled glasses and cleared plates. The heiress looked like she belonged here, like she was born to shine under the chandelier lights. But there was something in her eyes—something almost sad.
For a moment, Elara was transported back to when they were children. Amelia, crying after falling off the swing. Elara, punished for not catching her in time. She'd been scolded, whipped, and locked in the storage room while Amelia was cradled and comforted by the staff.
"Elara!" the head maid snapped again she was always watching Elara, yanking her back to the present. She quickly looked away, focusing on her work.
---
As the night wore on, Amelia found herself slipping away from the crowd and into the quiet of the garden. The cool night air was a welcome relief from the stifling atmosphere inside. She leaned against the marble railing, staring up at the stars.
"Four years," she murmured to herself. "And it still feels like nothing's changed."
She had spent years building a life for herself overseas, a life where she wasn't just the Hong heiress. But now that she was back, it felt like she had stepped into a role she wasn't sure she wanted to play anymore.
"Escaping your own party?"
She turned to see Ethan Hong, her younger brother, standing a few feet away. Unlike their cousin Damian, Ethan's smiles were rare, but they were real.
"Just needed a break," she said, offering him a small smile.
He joined her at the railing, his hands stuffed into his pockets. "It's good to have you back."
"Is it?"
He gave her a sideways glance. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Amelia shrugged, looking back up at the sky. "I don't know. Sometimes I wonder if I belong here anymore."
"You're the heiress," Ethan said, as if that explained everything.
"Exactly," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.
---
Back in the kitchen, Elara scrubbed dishes with more force than necessary. It wasn't just Amelia's return that unsettled her. It was the memories, the old wounds that refused to heal.
As she glanced up, her eyes landed on the family portrait hanging in the dining room. She had seen it a hundred times before, but tonight it felt different.
The woman in the portrait—the late matriarch of the Hong family—looked eerily familiar. For a moment, Elara couldn't breathe.
"Elara!"
The head maid's sharp voice broke her trance, and she quickly returned to her work. But the unease lingered, growing stronger with each passing minute.
As the party wound down, Amelia stood at the top of the grand staircase, looking out over the guests as they said their goodbyes. Her father stood beside her, his hand resting proudly on her shoulder.
"This is just the beginning," he said. "You're going to do great things, Amelia."
She nodded, but her mind was elsewhere. She couldn't shake the feeling that something about this homecoming wasn't right—that beneath the surface of her perfect life, something was waiting to unravel.
And in the quiet shadows of the kitchen, Elara couldn't shake the same feeling.