Chapter 4 Sisterly Smiles, Hidden Blades

The Vaughn Foundation Gala was always the highlight of the social calendar.

Held annually in the crystal ballroom of the family's luxury hotel, it wasn't just about charity-it was a stage. A parade of power, prestige, and perfectly masked intentions.

This year, the lights seemed brighter. The cameras lingered longer.

Because this year, Isabella Vaughn had returned.

She stepped out of the black car with the kind of poise only money and pain could teach. Her navy blue gown shimmered like midnight silk, hugging her figure, shoulders bare, chin high. Diamond earrings winked beneath her upswept hair. Her lipstick was a shade too bold for politeness-and exactly right for war.

The flash of paparazzi cameras followed her up the steps, but she didn't stop to pose.

She was a Vaughn.

She didn't need to.

The ballroom doors opened into a world of elegance-chandeliers like falling stars, orchestral music curling through the air, and the soft clink of champagne glasses in the hands of the elite. The city's most powerful had gathered here, dressed in designer masks and velvet lies.

And at the center of it all-Celeste.

She stood beneath the chandelier like a queen returning from conquest. Her crimson gown flowed like wine, every jewel placed with precision. Her smile was warm enough to melt ice. Too warm.

The crowd parted subtly as Isabella entered, a silent ripple of curiosity and whispered speculation.

> "She came after all..."

"I thought she vanished after the funeral..."

"Is that tension-or just fashion?"

Celeste's eyes found Isabella's instantly.

She glided over, flanked by two board members and a socialite too drunk to care whose side she was on.

"Sister," Celeste greeted, voice smooth as buttercream. "I was beginning to think you wouldn't come."

Isabella smiled, cool and slow. "And miss your favorite performance of the year? Never."

They kissed cheeks-a brief, careful press that fooled no one.

"You look well," Celeste said.

"I could say the same," Isabella replied. "You've mastered the art of looking untouched."

Celeste's smile tightened by a fraction. "Tell me-do you still remember which fork is for salad, or have the years in hiding stripped you of your charm?"

"I remember everything," Isabella said sweetly. "Especially who used which knife."

Their eyes held for a long second.

Then Celeste turned gracefully to a guest approaching behind her. "Enjoy yourself," she said, before drifting away, a trail of admiration and envy following her.

Isabella exhaled slowly. Her fingers tightened around her champagne glass. The taste was sharp and dry, but it grounded her.

"Subtle," Damien said from behind her, his voice low and amused.

She didn't turn. "She always did prefer to draw blood without leaving a mark."

"Remind me to never piss you off," he said.

She finally faced him, eyebrow arched. "That ship sailed five years ago, remember?"

"Right." He gave her a crooked smile. "Still paying for that one."

"You should be."

"Does that mean you're forgiving me eventually?"

"Depends on what you show me."

He glanced at her glass. "Want to get out of here? The rooftop terrace is quieter. Less venom in the air."

She paused.

Then nodded.

They stepped out onto the terrace where the music was a soft hum through the glass. The cool night air kissed her bare shoulders, and the city stretched out below like a field of diamonds.

"You two have quite the act," Damien said, folding his arms. "You smile like sisters. But underneath..."

"She's smiling with teeth," Isabella murmured. "And I brought a sharper pair."

Damien studied her. "What happened between you two? Really."

Isabella sipped slowly. "You want the short version?"

"I want the truth."

She looked out over the city. Her voice, when it came, was barely above a whisper.

"She used to protect me, you know. When we were little. Before the ambition sank in. Before Dad made her choose loyalty over love." She paused. "Then one day, I stopped being her sister and started being her threat."

"And you think she had something to do with Harold's death."

"I don't think," Isabella said coldly. "I know she's hiding something. And I'm going to find out what."

Damien hesitated. "And what happens when you do?"

She turned to him, eyes sharp as glass. "Then I decide what kind of woman I'm willing to become."

For a moment, the night was still. And then Damien pulled the flash drive from his pocket.

"I brought something," he said. "From the security logs the night your father died. It's old, but it might lead to something-if you're ready to look."

She stared at the drive.

So small.

So much weight.

"I'm ready," she said.

But even as the words left her lips, she felt it-

The shift in the wind.

The faint sense that nothing would be the same after tonight.

And far inside the ballroom, Celeste turned to glance toward the terrace-

Her smile still perfect.

But her grip on her champagne glass had tightened.