Hermia'S POV
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"You're not going tonight."
Selena's words struck like a slap, sharp and sudden.
I blinked, caught off guard by the attack. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me," she hissed, her perfectly manicured nails tapping against the edge of her plate, each click echoing louder in my ears. "You'll embarrass us. Do everyone a favor and either reject the invitation or lock yourself in your room like you usually do."
Like I always do?
Heat rose to my face. My fists clenched beneath the table, nails biting into my palm. Her voice was as smooth as silk but laced with poison, and that smirk curling her lips—God, I hated that smirk—was a silent reminder that in Selena's world, I would always be the shadow trailing behind her light.
"No."
The word came out before I could stop it, firm and steady—startling even me. I wasn't sure I'd meant to say it out loud, but there it was, hanging in the air between us like a challenge.
Selena's smirk faltered. "What did you just say?"
"I said no," I repeated, this time lifting my chin. "Do you remember yesterday? When I asked you for help? When I begged you to keep what happened a secret, and you refused? You ran home and told everyone the second you got the chance."
She rolled her eyes so dramatically I thought they might fall out of her head. "Spare me the sob story, Hermia—"
But I wasn't done. Not this time.
"Well, now it's my turn to say no," I cut her off. "And you know what? I'm actually looking forward to tonight. I need to step out, meet people, and get some fresh air—away from you, from this house, from everything." I leaned forward, matching her gaze, refusing to back down. "You're not holding me back this time."
Her lips thinned. For the briefest moment, I saw it—the flicker of surprise in her eyes—but it was gone as fast as it appeared.
"You're pathetic," she spat, leaning back in her chair with a scoff. "You think Dad actually cares about you? This is a pity assignment, nothing more. He doesn't want you there. You're going to embarrass yourself—like you always do."
Like I always do.
The words burrowed into me, dragging me back to that summer after high school. It was supposed to be a break—one weekend here before I returned to the US—but Dad had asked me to help with an important meeting.
I remember how hard I'd worked, memorizing the guests' names, researching their businesses, trying so desperately to prove myself. This was supposed to be my chance.
But then… Selena and Mariela cornered me in my room, their laughter echoing as Selena locked the door from the outside.
I pounded on it until my fists were sore. By the time one of the maids found me, the meeting was over.
And later, my stepmother's voice had sliced through the humiliation like a blade: "You're an embarrassment, Hermia. You couldn't even show up on time."
Worse than the words was the silence from my father—the way he didn't yell or scold me. Just the coldness in his eyes.
I wasn't going to let it happen again.
I forced myself back into the present, refusing to let the memory drown me. My heart pounded, but not from fear—this was something else. Something fiercer.
"I'm not missing this," I said quietly but firmly. "Not for you. Not for anyone."
Selena's nostrils flared ever so slightly. I'd hit a nerve.
"Fine," she sneered, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "Go ahead and embarrass yourself. But don't come crying to me when Dad sees you for the disaster you are."
I smiled faintly, though the tension in my chest refused to ease. "Don't worry, Selena. I won't need you."
She shot up from her chair, the scrape of wood against the floor splitting the air like a whip. One last scathing look—and then she was gone.
I waited until her footsteps faded before exhaling shakily, placing my utensils carefully on my plate. My appetite was long gone, but the fire burning in my chest? That stayed.
Never again.
This time, I'd show them who I really am.
It wasn't even noon, but my mind refused to settle.
The night felt like a storm gathering on the horizon—distant yet looming. I couldn't stop thinking about it.
The event wasn't just about dressing up or making small talk. It wasn't about the food or the music or even the people I'd meet.
It was about Dad.
It was about walking into that room and making him see me—not as an afterthought or a pity case—but as someone who belonged there.
I needed this.
With a smile tugging at my lips and a heart beating too fast for someone simply going shopping, I rushed upstairs.
My room felt smaller than usual, the walls closing in, the mirror's reflection sharper than I'd remembered.
I stood in front of it, my golden-brown eyes staring back at me, flickering with something unfamiliar—determination.
I smoothed the wrinkles on my dress, swallowing the lump in my throat. "This isn't just about clothes," I whispered to myself. "This is about making Dad see me."
The words sent a jolt of energy through me.
This was war.
I didn't need anything flashy—I wasn't Selena, and I wasn't going to pretend to be.
I slipped into a short dress, simple but elegant—easy to move in, easy to breathe in. The fabric felt soft against my skin, almost as if it sensed the battle brewing inside me.
Tonight, I didn't need sequins or diamonds.
Tonight, I would do the talking.
Grabbing my bag, I slipped out of my room, keeping my footsteps light. The estate was too quiet, the kind of silence that felt more like a trap than a comfort. I didn't want to run into my stepmother—or worse, Selena again.
As I stepped outside, the afternoon sun hit the polished cars lined neatly in the driveway. They gleamed, all sleek and perfect—a cruel reminder of what I couldn't have.
I knew better than to ask for a ride.
My stepmother had made it clear to the staff—no chauffeurs, no cars, and definitely no Ubers allowed past the estate gates. Not for me.
I clenched my jaw, my fingers curling tighter around my bag.
This wasn't protection—it was control.
I started down the long driveway, my heels clicking softly against the pavement.
I'd walk if I had to. Whatever it took.
But then I heard the sharp sound of approaching footsteps—heels striking the ground with the kind of confidence that didn't belong to anyone but her.
I didn't have to turn to know who it was.
Selena.
I kept walking, faster now, but I could feel her presence like a shadow breathing down my neck.
A sleek black car pulled up in front of her, the chauffeur moving quickly to open the door.
I didn't look. Didn't react.
But then the window rolled down, and her voice—sweet as poison—cut through the air.
"Walking again like an outcast, dear sister?"
I didn't stop. I didn't even blink.
But inside?
The fire in me blazed hotter than ever.