The moment Ivy returned, every other heiress who’d been vying for the title of “Queen Bee” suddenly fell silent, their ambitions evaporating like mist in the sun.
When Emma was summoned outside, she caught the tail end of a group of socialites gushing over Ivy’s style and beauty.
She looked up and didn’t even have to search for her–there Ivy was, dazzling in white, impossible to miss..
Emma’s face went utterly pale, her expression frozen.
That evening gown–Ivy was wearing the new “Eternal Wings” from a famous designer’s latest collection, inspired by a thousand butterflies unfurling their wings. The symbolism was obvious: a bride, radiant and graceful, soaring into a future filled with happiness.
Emma had seen that very gown featured in magazines. She knew the Neo Haven flagship boutique had one on display, but it was a limited couture piece–strictly for show, not for sale.
Just days ago, she’d pestered Sheridan endlessly, begging him to pull some strings. Even renting it for just one day would have been enough. Sheridan had refused.
Yet now, Ivy wore that very dress.
She wasn’t even the main character tonight. She wasn’t the bride. And still, she’d gone to all this trouble to appear in a one–of–a–kind gown bursting with meaning–clearly to upstage Emma, to rub it in her face.
Emma stood rooted, memories of that humiliating encounter at the salon earlier flashing through her mind, anger flaring hot and wild inside her.
“Emma, your sister and the others have arrived,” Sheridan called out, striding over and grabbing her arm. “Come on, let’s say hello.”
Emma forced down her outrage, her voice taut with suppressed fury. “I’m not going.”
“Why not?” Sheridan turnéd, his face darkening in an instant. “Jamison’s here, too.
Don’t cause a scene.”
Emma heard the threat behind his words and snapped, “If you like Jamison so much, why don’t you marry him yourself?”
Sheridan stopped, turning to stare at her, expression thunderous. “Say that again?”
1/2
Guests nearby began to sense things weren’t right, and a few curious eyes drified their way.
The air was thick with tension, poised to break.
Thankfully, Rosetta swept in, her voice smooth as she tried to defuse the situation: “Sheridan, it’s a special day–don’t argue with Emma. All the guests have arrived, and the ceremony’s about to start.”
She turned to coax her youngest daughter, her tone softening. “Emma, be reasonable. This is your day. No matter how unfair it feels, you need to hold it together.”
Emma looked at her mother, eyes bright with unshed tears. “Mom, what do you even see me as? Does no one care what I want?”
Rosetta lowered her voice, pleading. “I know what’s in your heart, but everyone has their own fate. Meeting Sheridan was a blessing, you should be grateful.”
Worried that Emma might lose control and make a scene, Rosetta leaned in, voice barely above a whisper. “All the guests are here. Are you really going to embarrass yourself in front of everyone? That would just give your sister something to laught about.”
She knew exactly how to hit Emma where it hurt.
“And besides, you insisted on sending Ivy an invitation. Regretting it now?” Rosetta added quietly.
Emma bit her lip, speechless.
She’d sent the invitation hoping to prove to Ivy that she, too, could marry into wealth–that she was every bit as worthy.
Who could have guessed Ivy would show up in such dramatic fashion, clearly intent on stealing the spotlight?
But her mother was right–she couldn’t let Ivy win, couldn’t lose face on her own turf.
So Emma forced herself to pull it together, straightening her posture, squaring her shoulders. She even tugged the neckline of her already–revealing gown a little lower.
Her décolletage was now on full display.
Let’s see, she thought, if Ivy can really outshine me tonight.