Chapter 3 Beneath the cracks

The Imperial Luxe ballroom glittered like a fantasy spun from wealth, ambition, and gold.

Light fell from crystal chandeliers in a thousand jeweled shards, scattering across silk-draped walls and polished marble floors. Waiters in black and white moved with trained precision, refilling glasses and offering trays of hors d'oeuvres crafted like edible art. Everything shimmered with opulence-like a royal affair stolen from a dream.

Sheryl Lancaster stood just past the entrance, breath momentarily caught in her throat.

She looked like she belonged here. In her flowing sapphire gown stitched with tiny, hand-sewn crystals, her caramel-brown curls pinned with diamonds, and her elegant posture passed down from etiquette classes and careful years under the Lancaster name, she resembled a woman born of prestige.

But inside, she was trembling.

Not from fear-no. From hope.

This night... it had to be what she thought it was. The ballroom had been booked exclusively, and the guest list included half the city's elite. Nathaniel had gone all out. The man she had loved silently for nearly a decade-who had shown just enough affection to keep her heart alive-had finally made a move. Surely this was it.

A proposal. Her moment.

She glanced at her step-sister, Bethany, who stood beside her like a Vogue cover come to life-confident, sharp, regal in a velvet emerald pantsuit that clung to her figure like power itself.

Sheryl leaned in and whispered, "He really rented all this... for me?"

Bethany nodded slowly, though a flicker of doubt passed through her eyes. "Looks like it. Bold gesture."

Sheryl let out a soft breath, her lips curling into a nervous smile. "I knew it. I just... felt it. He's finally going to ask."

Bethany remained quiet. Too quiet.

As they walked further into the ballroom, heads turned.

Sheryl could feel the stares-some warm, some curious-but many... dismissive. Some eyes slid right over her and landed on Bethany instead. There were smiles exchanged, nods of recognition. A few muttered her name with mild surprise: "Is that Sheryl Lancaster?"

But most didn't bother hiding their confusion. Or disdain.

Still, Sheryl kept walking, chin up, smile soft. Maybe it was nerves. Maybe people were just shocked to see her so dressed up-she was rarely in the spotlight, after all.

She was the quiet Lancaster. The illegitimate one. The unpolished gem tucked in the family's back drawer.

But tonight, she dared to shine.

Until the air shifted.

It happened slowly, like the drop in pressure before a storm. First, there were whispers. Then the sound of footsteps. Then a hush so thick it pressed against her chest.

Bethany turned her head, brows furrowing. "Something's wrong."

Sheryl followed her gaze.

Guests were parting like a wave disturbed by an incoming force. Phones tilted up. Murmurs sparked like matches.

"She's here."

"Is that her?"

"My God, she looks like a goddess."

"Estelle Godfrey. I heard she's been in Europe-Paris, Rome, Monaco..."

Sheryl's entire body froze.

That name.

No, it couldn't be. It shouldn't be.

A figure appeared at the entrance-graceful, commanding, wrapped in a champagne silk gown that clung to her like liquid starlight. Her long black hair flowed down her back in glossy waves, her skin radiant under the spotlight, lips painted the color of blood and secrets.

Estelle Godfrey.

The girl who had once made Sheryl's life a living hell.

The name still tasted like acid.

Years ago, Estelle had turned their high school hallways into a battlefield. She hadn't just been cruel-she was calculated. Beautiful, popular, and venomous, she knew exactly how to break a person without leaving fingerprints. Sheryl had been her favorite target.

"You're pathetic," Estelle had once whispered after locking Sheryl in a bathroom stall during prom. "A charity case in a designer dress."

Because of her, Sheryl had lost friends, self-worth, and her final year in silence.

And now, Estelle was here-walking into her birthday party like the grand finale of some twisted joke.

Bethany stiffened beside her. "What is she doing here?"

Sheryl couldn't breathe.

The room seemed to tilt slightly as Nathaniel descended the stage, that same confident smile on his face. He walked with ease-no urgency, no hesitation-straight toward Estelle.

He reached her, took her hand...

And kissed it.

No. No, no, no.

Then he turned back toward the crowd, his voice loud and rich as it filled the ballroom speakers.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to officially welcome you tonight. Thank you for celebrating with us-this evening is very close to my heart."

Sheryl's breath hitched.

Here it comes.

He smiled wider. "Tonight isn't just a celebration. It's an announcement. One I've waited years to make."

She straightened slightly, hand tightening on her clutch.

"Please join me in toasting the woman of the hour... my beloved fiancée."

Fiancée?

Sheryl felt the blood drain from her face.

Nathaniel turned, gently pulling Estelle forward as if presenting a masterpiece to the world.

"Estelle Godfrey."

There was a second of silence.

Then applause. Gasps. Cheers.

And then...

Every head turned to look at Sheryl.

Realization rippled like a cruel wave across the room. Someone laughed. Another whispered, "Isn't that the girl Estelle destroyed in high school?"

Sheryl's entire world crumbled.

Bethany stepped in front of her protectively, one hand already curled into a fist. "You've got to be kidding me. This is-this is psychotic."

But Sheryl wasn't listening.

She could only see Nathaniel, holding Estelle's hand like it had always belonged there. His smile... his smile was genuine.

He knew.

He knew exactly who Estelle was.

And still, he chose her.

Over her.

Again.

Suddenly, the chandeliers didn't sparkle. The walls didn't shimmer. The air was no longer sweet.

It was suffocating.

Her vision blurred, but she refused to let a single tear fall.

Estelle met her eyes across the room-those same, vicious eyes that used to smirk when no one else was looking-and smiled.

Not kindly. Not apologetically.

But triumphantly.

As if to say: I win. Again.

And in that moment, Sheryl realized-

She hadn't just lost the man she loved.

She had lost her dignity. Publicly. Cruelly.

Under lights she thought were meant to celebrate her.

Under the gaze of a city that would feast on her humiliation by morning.

The cracks beneath the glitter had finally split open.

And she was falling.

Would you like the next chapter to show her breaking point-or her first act of quiet revenge?