Chapter 175: The Banquet of Masks
The villa's grand ballroom shimmered under a canopy of crystal chandeliers, their light refracting into a thousand rainbows across the marble floor. Eva stood at the threshold, her breath catching as she took in the opulence: gilded columns wrapped in ivy, tables adorned with arrangements of rare orchids, and a string quartet playing a delicate waltz.
Dressed in a midnight - blue gown tailored precisely for her, Eva looked quietly luminous — poised, but unmistakably eight. The fabric draped elegantly along her small frame, structured yet soft, with delicate stitching that caught the light only when she moved. It whispered luxury without demanding attention. Nothing glittered. Nothing shouted. And somehow, that made her shine even more.
Her chestnut - darker brown hair, naturally full of waves and soft curls, had been carefully brushed and left down, cascading past her shoulders. In the right light, it shimmered with a faint blue hue — something barely noticeable, like the memory of twilight tangled in her strands. Nestled just above her right ear was Seraphina's silver comb, shaped like a folded leaf with a single opal at its center. It didn't match the gown, but Eva hadn't cared. It matched something more important.
She'd used Seraphina's perfume too — the soft floral one with the pale gold cap and velvet ribbon. Just a drop behind her ear, and another on her wrist. It smelled like peonies and clean skin and summer rain. It made her feel less alone. Like Seraphina was with her, even here.
Her pale grey eyes stared back at her in the tall mirror. Steady. Thoughtful. They didn't sparkle or widen like in photos. They watched. They calculated. Her face was bare, still round with childhood, but her expression wasn't. Her maman had once told her, "You don't need to perform. You're already unforgettable."
Tonight, Eva wasn't pretending.
She was the message — and she knew exactly who it was meant for.
Reginald appeared beside her, his presence commanding in a tailored tuxedo. "Remember," he murmured, "you are Evangeline Claire Ainsley to most. But carry yourself with the grace of a Maxwell- Lioré. Let them wonder."
As they entered, conversations hushed momentarily, eyes turning to the enigmatic young girl on Reginald's arm. Whispers followed.
"Ainsley's daughter?"
"Never heard of her."
"But look at her poise…"
Eva felt the weight of their scrutiny, the sting of their dismissal. Yet, she held her head high, each step measured, each smile practiced.
Reginald guided her through the crowd, introducing her to dignitaries, aristocrats, and military officials. Each interaction was a dance of diplomacy:
"Ambassador Liu, may I present my daughter, Evangeline."
"Evangeline, this is Countess Marisol of the Spanish delegation."
Faces blurred, names became a blur of titles and accents. Some offered polite nods, others barely concealed their indifference. Yet, a few lingered, their gazes probing, as if trying to decipher a puzzle.
At the refreshment table, Eva sipped a glass of sparkling water, her eyes scanning the room with quiet precision. The crystal glass was cool against her fingers, its contents fizzing gently — more ornamental than refreshing. She had yet to spot Aristea Arethusa Celestine Artemis Kallistráti Rousseau – Parnassos. "Aristea," as she preferred. The girl she'd been instructed to charm had not made an appearance.
"Looking for someone?" a voice cut into her thoughts, smooth and curious.
Eva turned with practiced calm. A young man — early twenties, maybe — stood beside her, balancing a flute of champagne with careless ease. Tousled blond hair, tailored navy suit, and a smile that looked like it had gotten him out of trouble more than once.
"Just taking in the crowd," she said, her voice mild. Polite. The kind of answer that left nothing to challenge.
"Quite the gathering, isn't it? I'm Antoine, by the way."
"Evangeline."
He tilted his head. "Ainsley's daughter?"
She gave a small nod, unreadable.
"Interesting."
Eva didn't blink. "Is it?"
"Well," he continued, swirling his drink, "you're the talk of the evening. Some say you're a charming ornament. Others think you're here to observe. Strategize."
"And what do you think?" Her tone was light, but her eyes had sharpened.
"I think you already know what everyone thinks. And you're deciding how useful that is."
She sipped again. "That's a fair guess."
"You're not easily flustered, are you?" he asked, sounding more amused than annoyed.
"No. But people sometimes mistake quiet for uncertainty." She tilted her head, offering a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "It's helpful."
Antoine laughed under his breath. "You're sharper than you look."
"And you talk more than most people do before knowing who they're talking to."
He raised his glass a little in mock salute. "Touché."
Eva gave him the briefest of nods, then turned her eyes back toward the room — already done with the conversation.
"Don't worry," he added, more thoughtful now. "She'll come. The ones worth watching always wait until the last possible moment."
Eva didn't answer.
She just smiled faintly and adjusted the comb behind her ear.
As the evening progressed, Eva continued to navigate the sea of guests, each interaction a test of her composure. Yet, a sense of anticipation grew within her. Where was Aristea?
Near the end of the evening, Reginald approached her. "You've done well."
"Thank you," she replied, though her thoughts were elsewhere.
"Aristea will arrive tomorrow. Her schedule was delayed."
Eva nodded, a mix of relief and renewed anxiety washing over her. The true test awaited.
As the final notes of the string quartet dissolved into polite applause, Eva slipped quietly out onto the balcony. The door shut behind her with a soft click, muting the chatter and laughter still echoing through the banquet hall.
Outside, the night was sharp and clear. The breeze off the sea carried the faint scent of salt and citrus, brushing against her arms and cooling her flushed skin. The marble beneath her heels was smooth, cold. She walked to the edge, resting her hands on the balustrade.
Above her, the sky stretched wide — ink - blue, scattered with stars that blinked softly like secrets waiting to be deciphered. She tilted her head back and searched instinctively for the constellations she'd memorized in N•••••. They felt smaller here, somehow. Or maybe she was the one who felt smaller.
Eva pulled her phone from the slim clutch at her side and opened the gallery. A photo from last week: Seraphina's blurry smile mid - laugh, her oversized cardigan wrapped around both of them like a shield. Eva had taken it without warning. She smiled now, faintly, brushing a thumb across the screen.
"I miss you," she whispered, before locking the phone again and slipping it away.
The villa behind her hummed with light, but out here, it was different. Real. The air didn't demand anything. For a few breaths, she let herself just be — not the daughter of Reginald Leonardo Ashlee Lioré known "Ainsley", not the girl in the midnight gown, not the whisper everyone was watching.
Tomorrow she would meet Aristea Arethusa Celestine Artemis Kallistráti Rousseau – Parnassos.
Aristea, as she preferred.
Eva let the name settle in her mind like a pebble in still water. She didn't know exactly what to expect — only that it mattered. This girl mattered. And Reginald expected something of her that he hadn't put into words.
She drew a slow breath, squared her shoulders, and turned back toward the doors. The room would still be watching.
But so was she.