An Invitation to Hell and the Heir's Bearing

Selena's POV

Deep into the night, the guests had dispersed. The massive Windsor mansion sank into darkness, undercurrents churning beneath the silence.

I did not go to my father's study as he had instructed. Instead, I took a familiar route around to the side corridor at the far end of the second floor, a passage rarely frequented.

There hung a row of heavy, deep crimson velvet curtains, concealing a small door leading to the terrace. More importantly, this spot was separated from Lillian's room by only a single wall.

I hid myself completely in the shadows behind the curtains.

Before long, the sound of hurried high heels echoed through the hallway. Vera and Lillian's figures appeared.

Lillian's door had barely closed when a sharp, violent crash erupted from within.

The sound of a vase being smashed to pieces.

"Useless! A bunch of useless fools!"

Vera's voice was shrill and piercing, completely tearing through the gentle facade she usually maintained.

"I told you to tamper with the script to make her look bad, not to make such an idiotic, low-level mistake that even that fool Selena could spot!"

Through the crack in the door, an assistant scrambled out on hands and knees, not daring to breathe.

The room fell silent for a few seconds, then Lillian's suppressed sobbing began.

"Mom! Tonight was completely ruined!" Lillian's crying mixed with extreme anger and unwillingness. "I prepared for this banquet for an entire month—the dress, the hair, I even memorized that backup speech perfectly! And for what? I became her backdrop! All evening, everyone's eyes were glued to her, those camera flashes, those compliments... they should have all been mine! But now, no one even remembers that the Windsor family has a second daughter!"

"Calm down." Vera's voice carried a cold irritation.

"How can I calm down? Mom, do you know what I hate most?" Lillian's voice suddenly turned sharp. Through the door crack, I could clearly hear her frantic pacing in the room.

"I hate that she's stood in the light, rightfully and properly, since birth!" Lillian sounded like a wild cat whose tail had been stepped on, her jealousy and hatred completely undisguised. "I'm also Father's biological daughter! I also have Windsor blood flowing through my veins! But I was hidden away like something dirty that couldn't see the light, kept outside for twelve whole years! And her? She has everything! The best schools, the most expensive clothes, a house full of servants worshipping her like a deity, calling her 'Miss Windsor'!"

Outside the door in the shadows, my breathing suddenly tightened, my fingers slowly clenching on the velvet fabric.

Even though in my previous life, before death, I had learned this cruel truth, hearing Lillian shout it out now as ammunition against me still caused a wave of intense, visceral nausea and pain to surge through me.

My father, Richard Windsor. While my mother poured her heart and soul into Windsor Jewelry, traveling to mining areas, he was outside with another woman, nurturing their so-called "fruit of love."

"Be patient, my darling. Today was just a small accident. Now, it's our turn to strike back." Vera soothed her gently.

"It's not enough!" Lillian gasped for breath, her crying mixed with hysterical greed. "I want everything she has. Not just that empty title of heir, not just the trust fund! I want the red diamond, I want Kaine! I want everyone who hears the name 'Windsor' to only see my face in their minds, not that bitch's daughter!"

"You'll have it, darling. You'll have everything you want." Vera's tone instantly shifted to sharp viciousness.

"No need to wait any longer. First thing tomorrow morning, I'll notify Mental Health Facility to expedite the competency assessment. A girl who's usually crazy and spineless suddenly changes personality, becomes articulate, even terrifyingly calm... this typical sudden onset of mixed depressive and manic episodes—your father will accept it completely."

Mental Health Facility.

The moment I heard those five words, the burning pain of fire seemed to pierce through time and space, crawling back onto my skin.

Very good. It seems my performance tonight made them feel truly threatened, forcing them to significantly advance their plan to "destroy me." They could no longer wait to push me back into that burning hell.

I silently returned to my own room. My tense back leaned against the heavy wooden door panel as I exhaled a long, turbid breath. Tonight's victory was merely an insignificant opening move.

My mind was extremely excited, but my body was utterly exhausted. I forced myself to lie on the bed. Before long, I fell into a deep sleep.

The next morning, I was forcibly awakened by a series of urgent, continuous phone vibrations.

Sunlight penetrated through the gap in the heavy velvet curtains, casting a narrow band of light across the room, heralding the arrival of a new day. Unlocking my phone, I found Beatrice's absolutely insane message bombardment.

"Selena!!!! Wake up!! Answer the phone!! Or look at the links I sent you!!"

"Oh my God! You completely detonated the entire New York fashion scene last night!"

"Look at your Instagram, your follower count is skyrocketing like a rocket!"

"[Link share: From Beatrice Dubois's Blog]"

"[Image]"

"[Video clip]"

"AHHHHH my queen! You absolutely slayed last night!!"

My foggy consciousness was jolted awake by her string of exclamation marks. I sat up, leaning against the headboard, and instead of looking at the media coverage first, I directly clicked on the link Beatrice had shared from her personal fashion blog.

Beatrice Dubois, known on social media as "Bea's Eye," was a sought-after fashion influencer on the East Coast. She had carved out a bloody path in the fashion world with her ruthless eye and sharp writing. In my previous life, when my reputation was in ruins, she had also used her blog to defend me, only to be drowned out by my own failures and netizens' abuse.

And now, on her blog's homepage was a giant photo of me standing at the podium last night.

The headline boldly read: "The Dress Code of Power: How Selena Windsor Used a Black Dress to Define Heir Style"

"When everyone expected the Windsor heir to wear an ornate custom gown, attempting to attract attention with jewels and colors, Selena chose the simplest yet most difficult-to-master Armani black floor-length dress. No excess lace, no gaudy sequins, not even jewelry beyond a single necklace from the most understated scattered diamond 'Morning Mist' collection designed by her mother Eleonora."

"...This look was completed the moment she closed that speech script and began speaking off-the-cuff... This is true 'Heir Style'! It tells everyone: Windsor's next generation helmsman is ready. The heiress has taken the stage."

Beatrice's article, published in the early morning hours, had already been frantically reposted by major financial and fashion media outlets within just a few hours.