The heavy, dark red curtain fell across the stage, announcing the end of the successful night.
Family members went backstage to congratulate the performers, while others savored delectable finger foods and lively conversation in the elegant dining area, just outside the gala venue.
At the moment, only two eighteen-year-old girls were left in the backstage area. One of them was close to exploding.
"What!"
Miranda Cooper could hardly believe her ears.
"It's your big night and none of your family members care to give you a bouquet of flowers? You must be kidding me!"
She towered over her best friend, who sat on an ottoman, massaging her tired feet.
Once the adrenaline level in Izabella's blood subsided, she began to feel the full impact of her sore feet and exhausted muscles.
Her body was literally groaning in protest after weeks of relentless training in preparation for the gala.
"One bouquet of flowers more or less, it doesn't make much difference to me," Izabella quipped as she gestured towards the pile of bouquets and gifts on the dressing table. There were so many of them that she had to pile the rest on the carpeted floor.
"In fact, I am more interested in the upcoming summer holiday. I need to catch up with my life."
As summer vibes began to permeate her thoughts, Miranda's disgruntlement slowly faded into oblivion.
"That's right!" she exclaimed cheerfully. "We already promised to go on an all-girls trip to Italy!"
Izabella smiled.
"Make the plans with everyone and call me. I only need to pack up some necessities and then I am good to go."
Miranda playfully nudged Izabella in the ribs.
"And then you are off to Russia, hmm?"
Izabella laughed.
"Only for two years. I will be back before you know it."
The two girls exchanged loving hugs with each other.
"I am so going to miss you, Iza," Miranda sniffled into Izabella's shoulders. "You must reply to all my texts, do you hear me?"
"I will."
"And we must speak on the phone at least twice a week."
"We will."
Izabella smiled to herself.
Her dreams were slowly coming true.
She was going to become a world-renowned prima ballerina, gracing the same stage as the idols whose posters had adorned her childhood bedroom for years.
"Alright, Miss Ashworth."
Miranda gave her a light slap on the back.
"Change out of your costume. You are all scratchy."
"As if you aren't."
While teasing and laughing with each other, they slipped out of their costumes and changed into more comfortable clothes for the night.
When Izabella and Miranda stepped out of the dressing room, they found the venue largely deserted, save for a few cleaners flitting from corner to corner, meticulously restoring the hall to its pristine appearance.
Not bringing a bouquet backstage was one thing, but where were her father, stepmother, and Lucille altogether?
Miranda had the same question on her mind, but she quickly proposed an answer, "Maybe they went ahead of you to the dining hall. Come, let's quickly go there. I am famished."
The two girls went over to the dining hall. As expected, it was full of people, but the Ashworths remained out of sight.
Before long, Izabella's phone started ringing.
It was Whittaker, her family's butler.
"Good evening Miss, Mrs. Ashworth is experiencing a severe stomachache. Mr. Ashworth has asked me to come pick you up. I am currently waiting at the parking lot, ready to go whenever you are."
"Oh. Is she alright?"
"I understand that it is not a life-threatening condition."
Izabella heaved a sigh of relief.
"Are we heading to the hospital then?"
"No, Miss. Mr. Ashworth said that you must be tired, so he asked me to drive you straight back home."
The ride back to Ashworth House was going to take at least two hours, not to mention that she was utterly exhausted.
"I am leaving in fifteen minutes, Whittaker."
"Understood, Miss."
Izabella ended the phone call, right in time to see Miranda walk over with a plate of mini burgers and two glasses of fruit punch.
"Food is here, Milady!" she announced.
"I think I am heading home early," Izabella said with a grimace, already anticipating Miranda's disappointment.
"What? But why? Noo… Iza, we wanted to celebrate."
"We can celebrate during our summer trip to Italy," Izabella promised while squeezing her best friend's arm. "Lucinda is in the hospital. My father and Lucille are accompanying her. I should do what I can around the house, just in case Lucinda needs a bag of warm water or a bowl of chicken soup for the night."
Miranda rolled her eyes and clicked her tongue in distaste.
"Your stepmother is one hell of a diva."
Izabella laughed.
"Don't say that. Maybe it's real this time."
"Yeah, yeah."
Women like Lucinda did not contract stomach bugs. They were some kind of stomach bugs themselves.
Whittaker helped Izabella load the flowers and gifts she received at the conclusion of the night.
She liked the bouquet Rickard gave her the most.
The roses were not bought, but plucked fresh from the Wellington House's garden a few hours ago.
Cultivated with unique genetic heritage, the flowers boasted larger-than-usual blooms with vibrant, thick petals, radiating an aura of unparalleled elegance.
Izabella took a whiff at the roses and sighed happily.
The fragrance was literally out-of-the-world.
"How was the Graduation Gala tonight, Miss?" Whittaker suddenly spoke up as their car pulled away from the academy.
"Oh, it was all just wonderful, Whittaker. An amazing gala through and through, a fitting culmination to years of our dedicated pursuit of the art."
Whittaker smiled without turning his head.
"That's great, Miss. I am glad that you enjoyed the night."
Izabella threw a glance filled with longing through the window.
"I can't believe that I am leaving just like that," she said, almost to herself than to Whittaker.
"Twelve years, can you believe that, Whittaker? I have been in this academy for twelve years."
At first, Izabella used to commute between the Academy and Ashworth House every day.
But after her mother passed away and her father remarried, she decided to move into the dorm.
That way, she didn't have to feel like a stranger in her own house every single day.
Her father probably shared the same thought.
He never opposed Izabella's decision. He agreed in silence, and he didn't even bother to send Izabella off on her last day at home.
"We are all very happy to welcome you back home, Miss," Whittaker spoke again. "I arranged for the maids to clean your bedroom every day. You will see that nothing has changed from the day you left."
Izabella was touched to the point of being speechless.
"Whittaker, actually…"
She wanted to tell the butler that she planned to spend the next two years in Russia, but then she sensed something amiss.
"Whittaker, did you smell something?"
The butler stiffened in his seat when he too detected the unnatural odor.
"Miss, something seems to be wrong with the car. Let me pull over to see what's going on."
Whittaker's foot pressed hard against the brake pedal, but the car remained stubbornly fixed to its original speed.
A chilling dread washed over Whittaker when the realization set in.
"Whittaker? What's wrong?"
That was the last thing Izabella said before a scream erupted from her lips. A truck loomed into view from the other side of the junction, but their car remained stubbornly on course. Within the next second, everything plunged into darkness.