Zara tossed and turned in bed, her mind weighed down by the exhausting encounter with Celeste. She barely had time to process the rivalry brewing before her body surrendered to sleep. But rest didn't come easy. Instead, she found herself standing in an unfamiliar place—an ornate ballroom filled with dazzling light and elegant figures.
Her gown shimmered like moonlight, and jewels adorned her hair, but Zara didn't feel like herself. Something about the room felt off. It was too perfect, too pristine, like a portrait painted with secrets hidden in the strokes.
Suddenly, the world tilted, and a shadow fell over the grandeur. A cold voice echoed through the room, chilling her to the core.
"Beware the blade in the crowd, Lavinia. Beware the face of trust cloaked in lies. The one who stands at your side may hold your salvation… or your ruin."
Zara spun around, trying to find the source of the voice, but the room dissolved into smoke and darkness. The laughter of unseen figures rang in her ears, and then she saw them—a pair of burning crimson eyes staring directly at her.
"Who—what—" Zara tried to speak, but the words caught in her throat.
"You cannot run from fate, little pawn," the voice hissed.
As the darkness closed in, Zara screamed and jolted awake, her body drenched in sweat.
System Alert:
Prophetic Dream Detected.
New Quest: Survive the Grand Ball.
Details: At an upcoming event, a plot against you will unfold. The success or failure of this event will determine the course of your story.
Reward: Increased Favorability with Adrian Valmont.
Penalty: Loss of Life or Reputation.
Zara groaned, burying her face in her hands. "Grand Ball? Oh, sure, because that doesn't sound ominous at all."
Clara knocked softly at the door before peeking in. "My lady? Are you awake? The Duchess Dowager has summoned you to her study."
"Because of course she has," Zara muttered, dragging herself out of bed. "What now?"
The Duchess Dowager was seated by the window, sunlight filtering through and illuminating her sharp features. She regarded Zara with her usual air of authority, but today there was a spark of amusement in her eyes.
"You look dreadful, Lavinia," the Duchess said bluntly. "Did you not sleep well?"
"Just… strange dreams," Zara replied carefully.
The Duchess raised an eyebrow but didn't press further. Instead, she gestured for Zara to sit.
"Lady Celeste will be staying at the estate for a few weeks," the Duchess began.
Zara managed to keep her face neutral, though internally she groaned.
"She and Adrian grew up together, you see," the Duchess continued, "and I've always hoped they might…" She trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air.
Zara's stomach twisted. Great. Just fantastic.
"However," the Duchess added, her tone sharper now, "it seems Adrian has taken an interest in you."
Zara blinked. "An… interest?"
The Duchess leaned forward, her piercing gaze locking onto Zara's. "I don't know what you've done to catch his attention, but understand this, Lavinia: Adrian is not easily swayed. If you intend to entangle yourself further with him, you must be prepared for the consequences."
"I have no intentions of entangling myself," Zara said quickly, though the memory of Adrian's rare smirk at the tea table flashed in her mind.
The Duchess studied her for a long moment before leaning back. "Good. Now, about the Grand Ball…"
Zara's heart sank.
"The event will be hosted by the Duke of Crestmont, one of Adrian's closest allies," the Duchess explained. "It will be your first public appearance alongside Adrian since your engagement."
Engagement, Zara thought bitterly. It wasn't real—just a tool to keep Lavinia tethered to Adrian in the original story—but the implications of appearing together were enough to make her palms sweat.
"The Crestmont Ball is a dangerous game," the Duchess warned. "You will be under scrutiny, not just from other nobles but also from those who wish to see Adrian fall. Do not embarrass him—or me."
Zara nodded stiffly, trying to ignore the ominous weight of the Duchess's words.
Later that day, Zara found herself in the estate's training grounds, watching Adrian spar with one of the knights. He moved like a storm—precise, powerful, and utterly untouchable. She almost hated how captivating he was, but then he caught sight of her and approached, sword in hand.
"Why are you here?" he asked, his tone flat as ever.
"Charming as always," Zara replied. "I was just… getting some air."
Adrian didn't respond, but his gaze lingered on her longer than usual. Finally, he spoke. "You're worried about the ball."
It wasn't a question.
"Shouldn't I be?" Zara shot back. "Your mother made it sound like a battlefield, not a party."
"It is a battlefield," Adrian said simply. "The only difference is the weapons are words and alliances instead of steel."
Zara sighed. "Fantastic. I'm sure I'll fit right in."
Adrian tilted his head, studying her. "You're more capable than you realize."
The unexpected compliment caught Zara off guard, and for a moment, she saw something unguarded in Adrian's eyes. But then he turned away, leaving her to wonder if she'd imagined it.
That night, as Zara prepared for bed, a knock sounded at her door. When she opened it, there was no one there—only a folded note left on the floor.
She picked it up and unfolded it carefully. The handwriting was unfamiliar, but the message was clear:
"Trust no one at the ball. Especially not the ones closest to you."
Zara's blood ran cold.