Chapter 7

The car door swung open, and the flood of white light from outside stabbed into Victoria's eyes.

Tonight was the Stellar Brilliance International Jewelry Design Awards, a glittering stage for the industry's elite.

Victoria stepped out in her gray cashmere gown, the fabric heavy and soft against her skin. Beneath the thick layer of foundation, the angry red welts and raw scratches hid in silence. She had painted over them not for beauty, but to erase the evidence of pain.

This was her final public appearance as a designer. There would be no encore.

The moment she placed her heel on the red carpet, the flashbulbs erupted around her—relentless, blinding, claustrophobic. Cameras clicked like a swarm of locusts. There was no escape, only the slow walk forward through the gauntlet of stares.

"Look, that's her. Edward's new wife."

"She's shameless. Her sister barely cold in the grave, and she's already in her sister's lover's bed. And now she's here, collecting an award... who knows how she got it?"

"She doesn't even look sad. Anne must be turning in her grave, regretting she ever saved that bitch."

Shameless? Yes. The word fit. She wore it like a second skin.

Victoria's expression didn't flicker. She kept moving, each step precise, the click of her heels steady over the carpet. The smile she carried was one she had rehearsed countless times—the warm, gracious curve that belonged to Anne. Her spine stayed straight, her posture unyielding.

The venom in their voices no longer cut deep. Pain had dulled into something heavier, colder.

She found her seat and lowered herself into it, alone.

"What's with that smug look?"

"She really thinks a woman who seduced her sister's lover can parade herself here? Disgusting."

The ceremony dragged on, speeches and applause blurring into meaningless noise. She heard nothing until her name was spoken.

Her piece—"Swan Song".

It was the last design she had submitted before leaving her creative post. Perhaps the last she would ever make.

She rose, moving with the same calm grace Anne had once embodied, climbing the steps to the stage. No signature flourish, no wave to the crowd. Only silence, thick enough to choke.

She took the trophy in both hands, leaned toward the microphone, and said a single word.

"Thank you."

The whispers swelled again, Anne's name surfacing like a ghost in the air. She stepped down quickly, her pace brisk, as if the stage itself burned under her feet.

Yes. She had killed Anne—if not by her own hands, then by the chain of choices she could never undo. What right did she have to stand here?

Backstage, the noise faded to a muffled hum. Victoria pressed her back to the cold wall, drawing in sharp breaths, letting the chill bite into her skin to smother the fire beneath.

Down the corridor, a woman in a tailored designer suit called out.

"Ms. Windsor."

Victoria turned. It was Jasmine Carter, one of the judges—renowned in the world of fine jewelry, her reputation as precise and rarefied as the gems she appraised.

"Your work was... breathtaking." Jasmine's eyes held nothing but pure admiration. "I heard you've moved into an administrative role."

A sigh escaped her. "Why? Someone with your talent should never be buried like that."

Victoria's fingers tightened around the trophy. How long had it been since anyone spoke to her about design? Since anyone used the word genius for her?

But the image of Anne's face—bloodied, still—rose unbidden, and she looked away from Jasmine's hopeful gaze.

"Some things lose their meaning," she said softly.

"I don't believe that." Jasmine shook her head. "I saw defiance in your work. Struggle. Don't give up on what you love most."

The words pierced something fragile inside her.

What she loved most? Once, it had been freedom. The stage lights. The rush of sketching ideas that felt alive.

Now, she was not allowed to love anything. Her life was bound to Anne's memory, the price she paid for every breath.

Jasmine's sincerity loosened the rigid mask she had worn all night. For the first time in months, her smile was real—small, grateful, tinged with release.

"Thank you."

She reached into her clutch and drew out a velvet box, offering it forward. "This is one of my older pieces. Please... take it as a keepsake."

Inside lay a pair of diamond studs, delicate and alive with light.

Jasmine hesitated, then accepted them. "Thank you. But I'll be waiting for your next creation."

Victoria didn't answer. She only smiled again, turned, and walked away.

From the shadows of the second-floor balcony, Edward had been watching.

He saw her speaking to Jasmine. Saw that smile—the one that didn't belong to him.

Anne had smiled like that once. Warm. Clean. Like sunlight breaking through clouds.

Anne was rotting in the cold earth, and Victoria stood here in Anne's favorite gray, smiling at someone else as if happiness were hers to claim.

The woman who had destroyed Anne, who had climbed into his bed with no shame, dared to wear Anne's face and look... content?

By what right?

She was living in Anne's place, wearing Anne's life, shattering what should have been their future.

"Damn her."

Edward drained his glass in one swallow. The whiskey burned down his throat, but it couldn't scorch away the twisted fury boiling in his chest.

She wasn't allowed to smile. Not in this world. Not while Anne remained dead. Victoria had forfeited the right to joy.

Two hours later.

Russell Manor.

When Victoria pushed open the front door, the night had deepened into silence. Her skin was aflame under the gown, each step sending pain sharp enough to make her gasp.

But pain was hers to bear. She had earned it.

She let out a low hiss as she slipped off her heels, her bare feet meeting the icy marble.

Only one lamp lit the vast hall, its dim glow pooling on the floor, leaving the corners drowned in shadow.

Edward sat in the center of that darkness, one leg crossed over the other, a glass of whiskey in his hand. The air around him was heavy, oppressive.

Her heartbeat stuttered. She froze at the threshold.

He lifted his head slowly.

His gaze cut through the stillness, locking on her face. It was the kind of look that could strangle.

"Back already?"

His voice came from the dark—calm, but dangerous.

"Had a good time?"

"I only went to the awards ceremony..."

"The awards ceremony?" He rose, each step deliberate, closing the space between them.

His height swallowed her, the scent of alcohol thick in the air, mingling with something sharper—danger.

"All I saw was a face that made me sick."

He stopped in front of her, eyes fixed on the fatigue that even her heavy makeup couldn't hide. In his mind, the image of her smiling at Jasmine burned, blinding, infuriating.

"You were smiling out there, Victoria."

His hand came up, fingers cold against her mouth. He rubbed hard, as if to erase the trace of it.

"At home, you're a corpse. Out there, you can smile?"

His grip shifted, clamping around her chin, his mouth curling into something cruel.

"If you love smiling so much... then smile for me until you choke."