Morana's Point of View
My grandfather held out his hand, his warm smile melting my heart. "Shall we?" he asked, his voice gentle yet full of pride.
I nodded, hooking my arm with his. "We shall."
Together, we descended the staircase, my hand resting lightly on his arm as we laughed and exchanged stories. For the first time in years, I felt… at peace.
The sound of the party grew louder as we reached the bottom of the stairs, but just as we stepped onto the floor, Sophia appeared in front of us, her steps hurried. Her smile faltered the moment her eyes landed on me, her gaze raking over my gown.
"Morana," she said, her voice tight, "I was just about to call you…" Her words trailed off as her eyes widened in shock, unable to mask her surprise.
I smirked, tilting my head slightly. "Take a picture, sis," I said, my voice dripping with mock sweetness. "It'll last longer. Trust me."
Sophia snapped out of her stupor, her forced smile returning as she fidgeted with her dress. "Sister," she said, her tone sugary yet strained, "you look… beautiful. Why did you change?"
I shrugged, playing the part of indifference. "I wasn't feeling the outfit, so I decided to change," I said, brushing a nonexistent speck of dust off my dress.
Sophia's smile tightened, and without another word, she turned and walked away. I knew her well enough to recognize the storm brewing beneath her facade.
A few minutes later, Isabella arrived, her eyes narrowing the moment she spotted me. Her gaze locked onto my gown, and her lips curled into a frown.
"What are you wearing?" she demanded, her tone laced with distaste.
I raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "What's wrong with it? Can't I change anymore?" I asked, my smile calm yet challenging.
"Everything is wrong with it," Isabella snapped, her voice rising slightly. "You look—"
Before she could finish, Sophia reappeared, her expression a mask of false kindness. "Mom," she said with a pretentious smile, "leave her to wear what she likes. It's her choice."
Her words caught the attention of those nearby, and in moments, a small crowd began to gather.
"I never knew Morana was this beautiful," one woman whispered, her eyes wide. "I always thought she was… well, plain."
Another chuckled softly. "Plain? I thought she was outright ugly. Look at her now! She's stunning."
"Compared to Sophia," someone added, glancing between us, "it's clear who's the real beauty. Morana makes her look ordinary."
"Ordinary?" another chimed in, laughing. "She looks downright dull next to her. Morana's glow makes Sophia seem invisible."
Sophia's fists clenched at her sides, her nails digging into her palms as her carefully constructed mask began to crack. I, on the other hand, was thoroughly enjoying the moment, my smile growing with every whispered word.
The voices grew louder, the crowd's opinions more pointed. "She can't hold a candle to her," someone murmured. "Morana outshines her in every way."
I turned to glance at Sophia, her face taut with barely contained rage, and then at Isabella, whose scowl deepened with each passing second.
I watched as Sophia raised her hands, forcing a strained smile to calm the murmurs around us. Her saccharine tone grated on my nerves.
"Everyone, please stop talking," she said sweetly, though the tension in her voice was evident. "It doesn't matter who's more beautiful. I love my sister no matter what."
I couldn't help the soft snort that escaped me. 'Indeed,' I thought, rolling my eyes inwardly. Her performance was almost impressive if I didn't know her better.
Isabella, ever the dramatic, turned to the crowd, her face twisting in anger. "How dare all of you!" she hissed, her voice rising. "My daughter is far more beautiful than… this thing!" Her finger jabbed toward me as if I were some offensive object.
A woman in the crowd folded her arms, a smirk playing on her lips. "Isabella," she said with mock sympathy, "I'd suggest you get your eyes checked. You're probably losing your vision due to old age."
The words hit their mark perfectly. Isabella gasped, her hand flying to her face. "Old?!" she screeched, her voice climbing an octave. "How dare you—"
"Mother, please!" Sophia interrupted, grabbing Isabella's arm. Her forced smile stretched painfully across her face as she tried to salvage the situation.
I almost laughed at the display. The tension in the air was so thick it was suffocating, and I was thoroughly enjoying every moment of it.
That's when I noticed him. A figure emerged from the crowd, tall and self-assured. His dark hair was perfectly styled, his sharp jawline accentuated by his faint stubble. Those piercing blue eyes of his scanned the scene, his charming smile plastered on like it always was. Davian.
Once upon a time, that smile might've melted my heart, but now? It only fueled my disgust. Memories of his betrayal resurfaced, and all I wanted was to wipe that smug expression off his face.
"What's going on here?" Davian's smooth voice cut through the murmurs.
His steps faltered as his gaze landed on me. He froze, his eyes slowly sweeping over my appearance, lingering for a beat too long. "Morana," he stuttered, his confusion clear. "What's… going on?" His eyes darted to my dress, and it was obvious what he was really asking.
I tilted my head and smiled serenely. "Nothing," I said lightly, as if his question didn't matter.
Sophia, ever the opportunist, jumped in before he could say more. "Davian," she said with false concern, "sister changed into this new outfit, saying she didn't feel like wearing the dress you picked out for her."
Davian blinked, his awe fading into a frown. "Why, Morana?" he asked, his tone sharper now. "I told you how much I loved that dress. Why did you change out of it?"
I shrugged, keeping my tone casual. "I felt the dress didn't match me, so I had to trash it."
Sophia gasped dramatically, her hand flying to her mouth. "Morana!" she exclaimed. "You trashed the dress your fiancé picked out for you? That's so disrespectful!"
Davian's frown deepened, his disappointment obvious. "Morana," he pressed, his voice sterner. "Why would you do that?"
I turned to him, meeting his gaze directly, and let my calm mask slip just enough to show my disdain. "Why should I dress like a beggar," I said, my voice cutting through the silence, "while my sister dresses as if she's the one being engaged?"
The room went still. You could hear a pin drop.
Sophia's face paled. "How can you say that, sister?" she whispered, though her voice lacked its usual conviction.
Davian seemed taken aback, but his frustration quickly returned. "Morana, this isn't about you or Sophia. I loved that dress, and I told you to wear it. This doesn't concern your sister."
"Of course it doesn't," I replied smoothly. "I'm simply pointing out an observation."
Isabella, ever the meddler, chimed in, her voice shrill. "That dress was beautiful, Morana! You should have kept it on! You're ruining the engagement!"
Sophia took a step closer, her voice dripping with condescension. "Sister, the dress Davian chose is perfect. You should respect his wishes."
I smiled, feeling the eyes of the crowd on me. They were all waiting for my next move, their curiosity palpable. I signaled to a maid standing nearby, and she approached quickly. Leaning in, I whispered a few words into her ear. She nodded and hurried upstairs.
A few moments later, the maid returned, carrying the dress I had removed earlier. I accepted it with a serene smile and turned back to Sophia, holding it out in front of me.
"Sophia, my darling sister," I said, my tone honeyed with mock kindness, "since you love this dress so much, why don't you have it? Go ahead and wear it."