Sophia's Point of View
I gasped, clutching my chest as if Morana's words had physically struck me. That dress was hideous, how dare she?
"Morana," I exclaimed, my voice filled with mock incredulity, "what do you mean by that? I should wear what your fiancé picked for you? No, I could never—"
But before I could finish, Morana let out a soft scoff, tilting her head with that infuriatingly calm smile that always made my skin crawl.
"Since it's so beautiful and you love it so much," she said, her voice honeyed with sarcasm, "why don't you wear it? I'm sure it'll look good on you."
I felt heat rise to my face as the crowd's murmurs grew louder. I could feel their eyes boring into me, their judgment thick in the air. I clenched my fists, struggling to maintain my composure. "Morana," I said, forcing a tight-lipped smile, "that's ridiculous. This is your engagement party. Why would I....."
But I faltered when I saw her smirk deepen, her sharp gaze daring me to continue.
I could feel the pressure mounting. Everyone was watching me, waiting for my reaction, their whispers like daggers in my ears. Before I could formulate a response, Davian stepped forward, his tall frame cutting through the tension.
"Morana," he said sternly, his voice low and commanding, "will you stop this?"
My heart lifted slightly at his intervention. Surely, he would put Morana in her place.
But she wasn't done.
"What?" Morana asked, her voice rising just enough to draw more attention. "So, it's okay for me to wear this?" She gestured to her dress, her tone dripping with mockery. "And not for her? Why, Davian?" Her eyes glistened, tears brimming at the edges. "You're my fiancé."
A wave of murmurs rippled through the room, the crowd clearly eating up her dramatic display.
Davian's frown deepened as he tried to calm her down. "Morana," he began, his voice softer now, "I love it when you wear less flashy clothes. It suits you. You don't need all this to stand out."
As he spoke, I felt the tide shift slightly in my favor. His words were meant to reassure her, to show that he preferred her simplicity over extravagance. But before I could relish in his defense of me, Morana interrupted.
"But today is my engagement party," she said, her voice loud enough to carry over his. Her tone was sharp, accusing.
"Shouldn't I be the star tonight? Shouldn't everything be about me?" She paused, her voice trembling just enough to make her look vulnerable.
"Or do you think it's right for me to dress shabbily while Sophia dresses as if she's the one getting engaged?"
Her words struck like a lightning bolt, and the murmurs from the crowd turned into outright murmuring.
"She's right," an older woman said, her voice carrying over the noise. "It is her engagement party. She should be the center of attention."
"Exactly," another chimed in. "Why is Sophia dressed so extravagantly? It's almost inappropriate."
"I was wondering the same thing," a younger woman added. "Morana's the bride-to-be. She should be the one everyone's looking at, not her sister."
Their words stung, cutting through my composure like knives. I clenched my fists tighter, my nails digging into my palms as I struggled to keep my expression neutral.
Inside, I was boiling with rage. How dare they? How dare she? I had spent years cultivating my image as the kindhearted, selfless daughter, while Morana had always been the reckless, irresponsible one. Yet, here she was, turning everything against me, making me look like the villain.
I took a deep breath, forcing my lips into a trembling smile. "Everyone," I began, my voice soft and trembling, as if on the verge of tears, "please, let's not misunderstand. I never meant to take attention away from my sister."
I turned to Morana, my eyes wide with feigned innocence. "Sister, I didn't mean to outshine you. I only wanted to look nice for your special day. You know how much I love you."
But Morana wasn't buying it. Her sharp eyes narrowed, and her lips curled into a smirk. "Of course, Sophia," she said, her voice saccharine sweet. "You always have the best intentions. How could I possibly think otherwise?"
The crowd's laughter, though soft, felt like a slap to my face.
I wanted to scream. To tell them all to shut up, to tell Morana to stop her petty games. But I couldn't. Not here, not in front of all these people.
I turned to Davian, silently begging him to step in again, to take control of the situation. But he seemed torn, his gaze flicking between me and Morana, unsure of what to do.
The crowd's murmurs continued, their voices a mix of amusement and judgment.
"Maybe Sophia just wanted to outshine her sister," someone said, their voice tinged with mockery.
"I've always thought she was a little too perfect," another added. "Maybe it's all just an act."
I could feel my carefully constructed image crumbling around me. The walls were closing in, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
Morana stood there, calm and composed, her victory evident in the glint of her eyes. She had succeeded in turning everyone against me.
My chest tightened, and my breaths came in shallow gasps as the whispers grew louder, their voices mocking and accusatory.
I couldn't take it anymore.
Suddenly, the booming voice of my father, Edward, cut through the chaos. "What's going on here?" he demanded, his tone commanding silence from everyone in the room.
Relief flooded me as I turned to him, my savior. "Daddy," I cried, clutching his arm with trembling hands, my voice quivering with the perfect amount of vulnerability.
His stern expression softened as he patted my head gently. "Calm down, Sophia," he said, his tone fatherly and reassuring. "I'm here now."
I clung to his presence like a lifeline, glancing at the crowd with a pitiful expression, hoping to garner their sympathy once again. My father turned to Morana, his piercing gaze locking onto her. "And you," he said, his voice sharp, "why did you disobey your fiancé? Davian chose that dress for you. Do you have any respect for him?"
Morana opened her mouth, no doubt ready to launch into one of her sarcastic retorts, but before she could utter a word, a voice even more authoritative than my father's boomed from the back of the room.
"Enough, Edward!"
All eyes turned to her grandfather, Adam, as he strode forward, his cane tapping rhythmically against the floor. His face was a mask of fury, his voice laced with the weight of decades of command.
"You dare to question Morana?" Grandfather said harshly, pointing an accusatory finger at my father. "When you've spent her entire life neglecting her? You dote on your mistress and your illegitimate daughter while your real daughter stands here humiliated!"
My heart sank, panic flooding my veins. 'No, no, no, not here, not now. Someone tell the old man to shut up' I thought frantically. The blood drained from my face as whispers erupted anew, the crowd now buzzing with scandalized curiosity.
"Keep quiet!!!!!" I wanted to scream, but my voice wouldn't come out. Instead, I could only watch in horror as the old man continued his tirade.
Isabella, my mother, stepped forward, her face flushed with embarrassment. "Edward," she hissed, her voice low but sharp, "control your in-law before he ruins everything!"
My father sighed heavily, his shoulders sagging as he walked over to him. He leaned in, whispering just loud enough for me to catch the words. "Not here, Father. Let's not ridicule our family in front of everyone."
Adam scoffed but fell silent, though his disapproving glare lingered on my father and me.
I forced a smile, my lips trembling as I faced the crowd, trying to salvage the situation. But inside, I was seething.
Morana.
I swore under my breath, my nails digging into my palms.
'You'll pay for this'.