The ringing in her ears never stopped. Nor did she know how she had made it back home. The only thing she vaguely remembered was running—running through the empty streets, her face damp with tears.
Now, she lay on her bed, eyes wide open, staring at nothing.
"Who was that woman? Why was she with Jordan? Could it be that he was… cheating?"
"No!" Silvia shot up, rejecting the idea instantly. "He wouldn't do that. He loves me!" she muttered, clinging to the belief like a lifeline. "Maybe… maybe it was his sister. That's possible, right?"
But then, her stomach twisted. Then why did he look at me like that? Why did he shut me out?
"Is he still angry… because of what I said earlier?"
A sharp knock on the door pulled her from her spiraling thoughts. She turned her head sluggishly as the door creaked open, and in walked Lola and Esha.
"Mother said to tell you to get ready," Lola relayed, her voice quiet, hesitant.
Esha lingered near the door, arms crossed. "Father called for some help as well." she added.
Silvia sat there for a moment, heavy-hearted. She wanted to bury herself under the covers, disappear into the sheets, and pretend none of this was happening. But that wasn't an option, was it?
With a deep breath, she forced herself up.
Before she could even process what was happening, a flurry of movement entered the room. A group of women—dressed neatly, their hands carrying brushes, powders, and fabrics—filed in.
They weren't just anyone. They were the town's beauticians, summoned by her father, the Baron himself. Skilled, at least more skilled than Silvia could ever hope to be when it came to such things.
And now, they were here to make her… presentable for the ball.
She didn't resist at all and let them take charge of her because she had a lot of thinking to do, She needed a way that could ensure that Jordan would do something about this situation.
The ladies did what they were here for, Silvia had never been taken care of like this before.
Warm steam curled around her as she was guided into a bath filled with delicate flower petals. The scent of roses, lavender, and something faintly citrusy enveloped her, making her feel weightless. A pair of gentle hands scrubbed her skin with a smooth stone, rubbing away the exhaustion she hadn't even realized had settled into her body. Another set of hands carefully poured warm water over her head, washing her hair with something fragrant—something that smelled expensive.
She sat there, letting them tend to her, unsure how to react. It wasn't just the care she was receiving—it was the way they seemed excited about it, whispering amongst themselves as they worked.
"She's truly stunning, isn't she?"
"Like a swan, just like her mother…"
"If she catches his eye, everything will change for the better."
"The Baron's luck might finally turn!"
Apart from Jordan no one had praised her like that, She hadn't met many people so hadn't gotten such compliment, Now these words crawled on her, If what they said was true would she not get paired with someone tonight? Won't that be a disaster? She didn't want that but she had no way she could resist it.
They were praising her but that was also for their selfish motives. Silvia's fingers curled slightly in the water. She wasn't naïve—she knew exactly what they meant. If she managed to secure a rich noble's favor, the town's fate would shift. A wealthy son-in-law wouldn't leave his bride's family empty-handed. He would bestow something in return—land, gold, business opportunities. It had happened before, hadn't it? And they were all hoping it would happen again.
For them, she wasn't just a girl. She was a chance.
After the bath, they wrapped her in fine linen, dabbing scented oil onto her skin and hair. Her dark locks were carefully brushed and woven into a long, elegant braid, stuffed with golden ornaments that glittered under the candlelight.
Silvia sat motionless as soft powders and shimmering paints were applied to her face. She had never worn makeup before, not like this. A light dusting of shimmer accentuated her high cheekbones, and her black eyes were lined and dusted with soft gold, making them gleam like polished onyx. Her lips—full and naturally shaped—were tinted a deep red, the color bold, striking.
The room buzzed with admiration.
"She's nothing like her sisters. "
"No—she's far more delicate, more refined. I am sure she will catch the eyes of many noble, the more the better."
"Just like her mother."
Silvia barely heard them. She was staring at the mirror in front of her, struck speechless.
The girl looking back at her wasn't someone she recognized.
She had always known her long hair was one of her best features, but now, woven with gold and cascading in a neat braid, it looked… regal. Her face, often tired and withdrawn, now glowed softly, her lips catching the light like ripe fruit. She looked like someone who belonged to a different world—elegant, untouchable.
For the first time, she saw what they saw, No wonder they thought of her as their salvation.
And she wasn't sure how she felt about it.
As Silvia stared at her reflection, the door creaked open.
Gazel stepped inside, moving with the grace of someone who had always known she was beautiful. She was dressed exquisitely, her gown embroidered with delicate golden threads that shimmered in the dim light. Her own dark hair was done up in an elaborate style, her lips painted a perfect shade of red. But the moment her gaze landed on Silvia, something in her expression shifted.
Her eyes darkened, her lips pressing into a thin line. It was subtle—so subtle that if Silvia hadn't been watching closely, she might have missed it. But she didn't.
Gazel looked… sore.
Not just irritated. Not just displeased.
Jealous.
For a second, she seemed frozen, her fingers twitching at her sides. It was as if she couldn't quite believe what she was seeing, as if the image of Silvia—dressed, adorned, transformed—was something she had never even considered possible.
Then, as if shaking herself free of the thought, Gazel approached with a sudden, almost too-eager smile.
She reached out slowly, her fingers brushing against Silvia's thick braid.
"Your hair looks lovely," she murmured, her voice smooth, but there was something off about it—something forced.
And then—a tug.
Silvia felt it immediately. A few strands of her hair were pulled loose, yanked just enough to sting but not enough to cause real damage.
Her eyes shut instinctively at the brief pain, her breath catching in her throat.
She didn't say anything.
She didn't flinch away.
She just watched. Stunned.
Gazel's fingers lingered for a moment longer before she pulled away, her expression unreadable.
Silvia remained frozen in place. Not because of Gazel's touch, not because of the small act of pettiness—but because of the scent that suddenly filled her nose.
That same scent.
The one from the night before.
It wrapped around her senses like a phantom, chilling her to the bone.
Her fingers curled against the silk of her dress.
And for the first time since last night, she felt as though she was standing on the edge of a cliff.