Chapter 7

Meanwhile, Sophia had already learned everything from inside the ballroom.

After Brielle was taken away, she'd returned to her private dressing room to touch up her makeup before the gala began.

And that scene outside—Brielle being abandoned—she'd watched every second of it unfold on the security monitors.

"Heath's no saint either. Brielle and that family are perfect for each other. But her life's gonna be hell from now on," Niamh muttered beside her.

"Hell?" Sophia let out a soft laugh.

In her past life, when Brielle framed her and the Russell family cast her aside, none of them thought she was pitiable.

Noticing the shift in Sophia's expression, Niamh immediately shut her mouth and handed over the mask resting nearby. "I think your brother's whole mask thing is so cliché. You're gorgeous—why hide it? If it were up to me, you'd walk out there and blow everyone away."

Sophia took the mask and slipped it on. "I think Atticus's idea is brilliant. I want to see what kind of faces those people make before they recognize me—and after."

She looked up at Niamh with a smile. "Don't I look good like this?"

"Of course you do. You look amazing," Niamh said quickly.

Sophia really was stunning. Delicate features, flawless skin—like a living doll.

Especially in that gown made from some special fabric, all flowing tassels that looked understated but shimmered under the lights, shifting with every movement. Low-key luxury at its finest.

Right now, she looked like a princess stepping out of a fairy tale.

Niamh kept staring, and Sophia started to feel self-conscious. She instinctively reached up to adjust the mask.

"Don't." Niamh stopped her. "Just go down like this. Everyone's waiting."

She grabbed Sophia's hand and led her downstairs.

The moment they descended, every spotlight in the room swung onto Sophia.

With Niamh at her side, people quickly pieced together who she was.

"Ms. Douglas has such an elegant figure. She must be absolutely stunning."

"Mrs. Douglas is gorgeous, and Mr. Douglas is ridiculously handsome—there's no way Ms. Douglas isn't a knockout."

"Wonder which lucky guy's gonna end up marrying her."

Victor stood in the crowd, wine glass in hand, eyes locked on the figure bathed in light at the center of everyone's attention.

He'd never seen a woman like this.

Her face was hidden, sure—but that presence, that aura? Every socialite he'd ever met combined couldn't touch her.

He had to marry her.

If he could tie himself to the Douglas family, the Russells would finally break into the top-tier elite circle.

Although…

Her figure did remind him a little of Sophia.

Victor almost laughed at himself.

Sophia was a waitress. No way she could be the Douglas family's precious daughter.

He took a deep breath and pushed through the crowd toward her.

At that exact moment, Sophia's gaze swept across the room—and landed on him.

She even extended her hand toward him.

"Ms. Douglas…" Victor's eyes widened in shock, flattered beyond belief.

Without hesitation, he grabbed her hand and led her onto the dance floor.

But Sophia didn't move.

Victor looked at her, confused. "Ms. Douglas… don't you want to dance?"

Sophia gave a slight nod, deliberately altering her voice. "Mr. Russell, I'd like to talk to you about something. Would that be all right?"

Victor's face lit up. "Ms. Douglas, it would be my honor."

Watching Victor transform into this overly eager version of himself, Sophia's eyes flashed with mockery.

They moved to the balcony. Victor immediately offered her a glass of champagne, ever the gentleman.

Sophia accepted it.

She swirled the glass lightly, her peripheral vision catching Victor's gaze glued to her. "I heard Mr. Russell has a sister. Recently kicked out of the family?"

"Sophia?" Victor's brow furrowed instantly, disgust flickering openly in his eyes. "Ms. Douglas, how do you know about her? Did she say something to you?"

Sophia worked here as a waitress—if she'd been whispering things in Ms. Douglas's ear, it was entirely possible.

Panic crept into his chest.

He rushed to explain. "Did she feed you some story? Please, don't believe a word she says. Sophia's always been twisted, even as a kid. Our family spent a fortune raising her, and instead of being grateful, she constantly went after Brielle."

Listening to Victor trash her without restraint, Sophia's eyes grew colder by the second.

She tightened her grip on the champagne flute. Her voice turned icy. "Is she really that awful?"

Victor was on a roll now, completely oblivious to her change in tone. "Honestly? Her real dad's a deadbeat, and her real brother's a junkie. That kind of thing runs in the blood—you can't change it. Thank God my parents saw through her early on and never got attached. Otherwise, who knows what kind of damage she would've done."

Hearing Victor self-righteously tear her apart, Sophia almost wanted to laugh.

She'd thought he might at least keep up appearances in front of strangers. Maybe show a shred of affection for the sister he'd lived with for eighteen years.

Clearly, she was wrong.

She set down her glass and let out a cold laugh. "But she didn't say anything."

Victor froze, finally noticing something was off.

"I—"

Before he could backtrack, Sophia raised a hand to cut him off. "Mr. Russell, a man who can trash-talk a sister he lived with for eighteen years behind her back…"

She turned her head slightly, voice flat. "The Douglas family can't afford to associate with someone like that."

With that, she swept up the hem of her gown and turned on her heel, leaving nothing but a cold, indifferent silhouette in her wake.

Victor's face turned ashen, like he'd just been slapped in public.

He wanted to chase after her, explain—but his legs felt like lead.

Sophia walked back into the ballroom without looking back.

When she returned to Wesley's side, Elysia immediately noticed her daughter's low spirits.

Elysia took her hand gently. "What's wrong? Did someone upset you?"

Feeling her mother's concern, Sophia's mood lifted slightly.

She looped her arm affectionately through Elysia's and shook her head. "It's nothing. I just stepped outside for some air. I'm a little tired."

Elysia immediately motioned for the butler to bring a shawl.

Watching Elysia fuss over her like she might catch a cold, warmth flooded Sophia's chest.

In her past life, after she'd upset Brielle, she'd been left standing in the rain until she spiked a fever of 102 degrees. Heath's only response? "If she dies, she dies."

The contrast with this moment hit her hard.

Wesley spoke up too. "You haven't even seen the gift we prepared for you yet. Want to take a look?"

"Sure." Sophia collected herself and nodded.

An assistant immediately brought over Wesley's gift.

It was a stack of property deeds—nearly half as tall as a person.

Sophia's mouth twitched. "Dad, this is…"

Wesley gazed at her with pure adoration. "You're my precious daughter. You deserve the best of everything. You'll have a vast future ahead of you, so I bought you a property in every country. Wherever you go, you'll always have a place to call home."

Every country…

Sophia stood frozen, emotions tangled in her chest—part bitter, part moved. She'd never seen such an extravagant, unabashedly grand display of favoritism in her entire life.

Next, Elysia presented her own gift.

Elysia's wasn't quite as overwhelming as Wesley's.

But the thick stack of folders still carried a weight that made Sophia's heart skip.

Elysia picked up one folder and handed it over, her expression warm. "I didn't know if you preferred gemstones or gold, so I got you one mine of each."

A mine?

Sophia's face went completely blank.

This was… a little too extravagant.

"And me!" Atticus, who'd been quietly standing in the corner, finally stepped forward with his gift.

At least it was just a few crowns that looked like antiques.

Atticus placed one of the crowns gently on her head, smiling softly. "My sister is the princess of the Douglas family. Naturally, she deserves the finest crown. These belonged to some of the happiest princesses from the medieval era. I hope you'll be just as happy as they were—forever."

Medieval? Crowns from actual princesses?

Her head suddenly felt a little heavy.

Sophia reached up to remove the crown.

"Sophia! Get out here right now!"

A sharp, piercing voice tore through the room.

Every head turned.

Brielle stormed in from somewhere, hair a mess, makeup smeared, eyes blazing with fury.

She scanned the crowd and quickly zeroed in on Sophia, surrounded by the Douglas family.

There she is.

"Stop pretending! You're just a damn waitress—how dare you stand there pretending to be Ms. Douglas?"

Brielle charged forward and reached for Sophia's mask. "Hiding your face because you're ashamed, huh? I saw everything earlier—you and Niamh were in on this scam together!"

It all happened too fast. Atticus's face went pale as he lunged to stop her.

But it was too late.

Brielle's fingers hooked the silk ribbon and yanked!