The next morning, the sky was filled with light clouds, but they didn't stop the sunlight from sneaking through the tall palace windows. Arwa woke up to the sound of Bibi gently opening the curtains, letting the light invade the ornate room.
"Good morning, my lady. Today is an important day."
Arwa groaned slowly and buried her face in the pillow.
"I don't want it to be important," she muttered.
Bibi laughed softly, then said, "You are invited to host your first aristocratic evening. The Countess wants to see how ready you are as Lady Strathmore."
Arwa sat up heavily in bed, her wavy black hair scattered like wings of night.
"How many guests?"
"About forty… They're supposed to be nobles, but…" Bibi paused, then leaned in and whispered, "They're all fake."
Arwa raised her eyebrows in surprise.
"Fake?"
Bibi nodded slightly. "The engagement is still secret. The Countess hired actors to play the roles of nobles. No one should know."
Arwa stood up slowly, her emotions conflicted. What is that woman planning? And why all this pretense?
Bibi answered, as if reading her thoughts: "The Countess doesn't trust easily. She wants to test you under the spotlight, but without risking the family name."
An hour later, Arwa sat in front of the mirror, as Bibi combed her hair into a low classical hairstyle, decorated with a dark pearl brooch.
"The dress suits you perfectly, my lady."
Arwa looked at her reflection. She wore a royal blue dress, adorned with light gold embroidery along the sleeves and waist, as if mimicking galaxies. The neckline was heart-shaped, and the long sleeves wrapped around her arms.
"Looks more like a queen's attire than a fiancée's," she commented sarcastically.
Bibi replied, "Because you will become queen of this palace one day."
Arwa smiled bitterly. "If we survive these plays first."
At exactly seven in the evening, the evening began.
The ballroom had been transformed into an ornate reception hall. Lights sparkled from crystal chandeliers, and candles danced quietly in golden holders. Classical music played in the background from a small band hidden behind curtains.
Arwa stood at the entrance of the hall, beside Sara and Kyle. The latter was handsome as always, wearing a black suit embroidered with silver threads, but his expression remained stiff.
"Remember," Sara whispered in her ear, "you are the hostess tonight. Smile as if everything is real."
Arwa replied, "Just like I've done all my life."
The "guests" began arriving. Men and women in flashy aristocratic outfits, laughing in forced ways, speaking with practiced accents. But Arwa's trained eye began noticing the inconsistencies: one wore a ring upside down, another repeated the same sentence to everyone.
When a woman with bright pink hair claiming to be a baroness from the north entered, Arwa nearly burst out laughing, but held herself.
"Lady Arwa," the woman said affectedly, "it's my greatest pleasure to meet you."
Arwa answered with a confident smile: "The honor is mine, Baroness. I love your unique hair color."
Later, a bald man approached her, claiming to be the Duke of the Eastern Sea, then talked about his sea voyages even though his shoes were wet from kitchen water, not smelling of the sea.
Arwa whispered to Bibi, who stood beside her like a shadow: "This feels more like a masquerade."
Bibi replied, "Are there truly any real parties?"
The evening went on, and Arwa played her part perfectly. She spoke, smiled, led short tours, and supervised dessert service. One of the guests tried to waltz with her, but Kyle stepped in with one move and interrupted, holding her hand without a glance.
He said in a low voice, "You're overacting."
She responded sharply, "And you're overdoing the coldness."
He walked away without a word, but his steps were heavier than before.
At the end of the evening, while everyone laughed and clapped, Sara approached Arwa, clapping slowly.
"Wonderful, Arwa. You were perfect tonight."
"Does that mean I passed the test?"
Sara answered with a sly smile: "This was just the beginning."
And at that moment, the sound of glass shattering echoed.
All heads turned toward the sound. It was Kyle, standing near the table, holding a broken glass.
His eyes blazed, and his gaze was directed at Sara.
"How long will you continue this nonsense?"
Everyone froze.
Sara said with a tense smile, "Kyle, not now."
But he didn't stop.
"You hire clowns, test people like they're slaves. Do you think we're in a play?"
Arwa approached him, whispering, "Kyle, stop."
He looked at her, and for a moment, his eyes were different… filled with sorrow.
"Arwa… I'm sorry you're part of this."
Then he left the hall.
Sara tried to ease the atmosphere, but the tension had already spread. The fake guests looked at each other, then began leaving the hall one by one.
Arwa remained standing, her heart pounding.
She began to realize that behind this palace was something much greater than a fake engagement… there were deeper secrets, and older wounds.
And Kyle's last look wasn't just anger.
It was a call.
The next morning, Arwa woke to a gray light slipping through the window, as if the sun hesitated to appear after the night before. She sat on her bed without a word, a hidden tension weighing on her chest.
It wasn't just Kyle's outburst that worried her, but the look he left behind… it held more than just anger.
Soft knocks on the door cut through her thoughts.
"My lady?" It was Bibi's voice, soft as always. "Countess Sara is waiting for you in the tea room."
Arwa sighed slowly, then said, "I'm coming."
She wore a simple dress in pale ash color, and tied her hair back in a loose braid. When she entered the tea room, she found Sara sitting alone, sipping tea with elegance as if nothing had happened.
"Good morning, dear," she said with a faint smile.
"Good morning," Arwa replied cautiously and sat down.
Sara raised her cup, then said, "Kyle… was impulsive last night. Don't take his words personally."
"Why not?" Arwa asked in a calm but deep tone. "He told the truth. The party was fake. The guests were actors. And I… was just a test subject."
Sara placed the cup gently on the table, then looked straight into Arwa's eyes.
"Arwa, this world is unforgiving. In the empire, beauty or kindness isn't enough. You must be smart. Strong. Able to wield influence like holding a teacup without your hand shaking."
She paused, then added, "Kyle… doesn't understand that. But he will, eventually. As for you, I wanted you to see how things really work here."
Arwa stared at her face, then asked, "Has everything since I arrived been a test?"
"Of course not," Sara replied. "Only the part about your endurance. The rest… begins now."
She raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
Sara smiled, then clapped twice.
A maid entered, followed by a new woman dressed in a simple amber uniform, with sharp features and hazel eyes.
"This is Clara. She'll be your new personal assistant in palace affairs. She'll accompany you in staff rounds, meal preparations, mail organization, and daily expense tracking."
Arwa was stunned.
"You mean… I'm going to run the palace?"
"As part of your training, yes," Sara answered.
Clara approached and bowed formally. "Your orders, Miss."
Arwa had no choice but to accept. In her heart, she felt this wasn't just a test… but a long-term trap.
After breakfast, her first tour began.
The palace was like a maze of luxury. Servants at every corner, fresh flowers, endless corridors. Clara guided her with a neutral tone, taking notes and pointing out maids by name and task.
"This is Anne, she washes the silk linens. And that's Rose, she cooks only for family members."
After two rounds, Arwa stood on the balcony overlooking the gardens.
She took a deep breath. The air was cold and fresh, but something inside her felt heavier than marble.
She heard a voice behind her.
"You look like you're lost."
She turned. It was Kyle, standing behind her, hands in his pockets, his eyes tired.
She said cautiously, "I thought you were angry."
He nodded silently, then walked closer.
"I'm not angry at you, but at all this. The plays, my mother, myself too."
She looked at him for a while, then asked, "Why did you say sorry last night?"
Kyle sighed, as if carrying something heavy for a long time.
"Because I know my mother chose you not because you're from a duke's family, but because you're moldable. I thought you'd leave with your family, but you insist on staying."
She raised her eyebrows. "Are you upset I didn't collapse?"
He smiled bitterly. "Maybe. Or maybe because I've started seeing you differently."
A long silence fell between them.
Then Kyle added, in a quiet tone: "Be careful, Arwa. Not everything that glitters is gold."
He left, once again leaving her alone.
But this time, he left behind a new curiosity… and a new worry.
To be continued...