The party Mira had spoken of took place just two months before Lara’s abduction—a memory now dulled by time but etched with emotional scars. It was a banquet at Marlon Norse’s manor, thrown in honor of Mira’s elder sister’s debut into society.
Mira, only sixteen then and flushed with infatuation, had her heart set on one person: the son of the Duke of Silverstone—a striking young man with cold eyes and careless charm. Determined to catch his attention, she had dragged along her quiet, younger cousin, Lara, whose presence was more prop than companion.
When they entered the hall, Mira spotted him at the wine table, casually requesting a goblet from the attending waiter. Her pulse quickened. Eager to approach, she brushed too close to the table, her hand snagging the edge of the crisp white tablecloth. In an instant, bottles toppled, crystal shattered, and dark red wine bled across the floor like spilled secrets.
Panic seized Mira. Without thinking, she shoved Lara forward. "It was her!" she cried. "She knocked it over!"
Lara, just turned into a teenager, stood firm despite the sudden attention and humiliation. Her voice was steady, her eyes unwavering. "Cousin, I didn’t even touch the hem of the tablecloth." There was a quiet dignity in her words, the kind that silenced whispers.
Mira, exposed and trembling, was harshly scolded by the elders. She turned to look at Sigfred Silverstone, who looked at her mockingly. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she fled the hall, the echo of judgment trailing behind her.
Amelia’s voice pulled Mira back to the present.
Amelia stood beside Mira. Lara stood nearby, aloof and distant, as if the intimacy of their shared past had been buried somewhere she could no longer reach.
"Lara, you’ve changed so much," Amelia said, her voice catching as unshed tears shimmered in her deep brown eyes. "I don’t recognize you anymore. It’s as if the girl I once knew has simply faded away."
Lara’s sigh was almost inaudible. "I’m sorry, Amelia. I don’t remember much of our time together. But... why don’t you sleep over tonight? We could talk, catch up." There was a tentative warmth in her offer, a flicker of willingness to reconnect. Lara was willing to welcome a friend into her life because she didn’t have any in her previous life.
Amelia halted mid-thought, her heart racing with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. Wouldn’t this be the perfect opportunity to get close to Gideon? She had liked Gideon since she became a teenager. A rush of memories flooded her mind—those fleeting moments from her when her heart had fluttered at the mere sight of him. Back then, she wanted to know him better, to get closer, but Lara was kidnapped.
"Really?" she asked, eyes lighting up as she moved to take Lara’s hand.
But Lara instinctively stepped back, a subtle recoil that sliced through the moment like a blade.
"Lara?" Amelia looked hurt at the rejection.
"I..." Lara stammered. Could she say she did not want strangers to occupy her personal space? That would hurt her more, right?
A soft, mocking laugh spilled from Mira’s lips. "My, my. Where is the sincerity in your words, sister? You are inviting Amelia, and you wouldn’t even let her hold your hands? Didn’t you say before that she is your soul sister? You didn’t want me to become your older sister because you said you already had one." Mira’s words were like venom she spewed at Lara.
Lara’s right eyebrow lifted in a graceful arch. Her voice was cool and controlled. "Mira, this is between me and Amelia. What does it matter to you?"
Mira’s cheeks flushed crimson with rage. "I just feel sad for Amelia, watching how you’re treating her now," she spat through clenched teeth.
"That’s why I am inviting her to have a sleepover," Lara replied with unnerving calm, "so we can get to know each other again."
There was something in her tone—measured, almost condescending—that made Mira bristle.
Is she mocking me? Looking down on me? Mira seethed inwardly.
"Sister," Lara continued, her voice now edged with command, "you came here to shop, didn’t you? You should get back to it. Don’t waste your time—or mine."
Mira clenched her fist. Damn, now she sounded so domineering. I am older than her. How dare she command me?
"Oh, so now you’re ordering me around?" Mira snapped.
"Mira," Peredur’s voice was gentle, attempting to soothe the mounting tension. "Maybe this isn’t the place—"
But Mira cut him off with a raised hand. "I’ll leave, Peredur. No need to scold me." Her voice quivered with self-pity. "I am, after all, just an adopted daughter. It is normal for you to side with your sister."
"I wasn’t scolding—" he began, but she was already storming off toward the rear of the shop, past rows of jewel-toned gowns and brocaded dresses that glimmered under the lights. Her entourage—including a stunned Amelia—followed closely behind.
She did not want to buy clothes in the shop anymore. She would buy from the next shop.
As Mira and her followers disappeared into the adjoining shop, the atmosphere in the store lightened slightly—like the oppressive humidity after a storm begins to lift.
Lara exhaled slowly, her gaze lingering on the door through which her cousin had vanished.
Why did she not feel any connection at all? Unlike Reya, even though she initially rejected her when she woke up, she felt a certain familiarity with Reya, a sense of security. But why not with Amelia?
Peredur studied her face—every flicker of emotion, every pause in breath. Lara looked composed, but beneath the surface, her shoulders were taut, her fingers curled tightly at her sides.
"I’m not sure if Amelia’s intentions are any better," he said gently.
Lara nodded. "Maybe not. But people change. And I need to figure out who they are now... not who they were before I vanished."
She turned to the shopkeeper, who stood silently by a rack of silk dresses, pretending not to have overheard a thing. "Can I try on the velvet one?"
"Of course, my lady." The woman’s voice was respectful, careful.
Lara disappeared into the changing room. Inside, away from watching eyes, she stared at her reflection.
The dress was beautiful—rich velvet that hugged her waist, the color of twilight. But she was not looking at the dress. She was looking at the young woman in the mirror. A stranger’s face. Who was Lara now? A survivor? A daughter returned?