The assistant helped us pack the last of our shopping bags. I noticed Aunt Grace pause, her gaze lingering on something just outside the shop's window. Her expression shifted, subtle, but unmistakable. Something had caught her off guard. I thought to ask, but the look in her eyes said not now. Instead, I pretended not to notice and smiled when she turned back to me.
"Thanks for shopping with us," she said to the assistant, flashing a bright, effortless smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
Mr. Darcy stood at the entrance, perfectly still, hands behind his back. He hadn't moved an inch since we stepped in. He hadn't even glanced around. It was as if he couldn't wait to be out of here.
He took the bags without a word, his gaze only softening when it landed on Aunt Grace. They exchanged a silent nod. I slid into the backseat while Aunt Grace followed. As the door shut, I caught the faintest sigh escape her lips.
The car pulled away from the boutique-lined street. I looked over at her. Her posture was poised, her chin lifted in that familiar Grace way, but something was off. Her mood had shifted, and I could feel it like a cold front creeping in.
I turned back to the window and let the city blur by.
As we approached Dynasty Hall, my heart gave a soft thud. I hadn't realized until now that this was the same place we'd said goodbye all those years ago, after the funeral. Something about this building felt important. Symbolic, even. What does this place really represent? I wondered aloud, my voice nearly a whisper.
The car rolled to a gentle stop at the grand iron gates. Aunt Grace turned toward me.
"Now, Mel," she began, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. "There are a lot of girls here, models, mostly. I thought about getting you a separate room, but that would only draw attention. We want this to feel… normal."
Laughter floated toward us from an open window above. I could already hear the chorus of high-pitched giggles and the melodic clatter of heels on marble. A pang of nervousness bubbled in my chest.
"I've never really had friends," I admitted, voice soft. "I mean, there was Jeremy once. But Mother made sure I never saw him again."
Aunt Grace rested her hand on mine. "That's not a problem, darling. You can handle this. It's just two days," she said, though her voice held a hint of uncertainty. "Right?"
I nodded, even though I wasn't so sure.
She glanced at her watch. "I trust that you can," she said quickly. "I have an errand to run, but I'll be back in about an hour. Mr. Darcy will help you settle in."
I looked at her, searching for something, assurance, maybe.
"Aunt Grace… what if I don't fit in?"
She smiled, her eyes warming. "Oh, my darling. You don't need to fit in. You're the perfect fit." She ran her fingers gently through my hair, smoothing it as she used to do when I was a child.
I took a deep breath, trying to steady my racing heart.
Mr. Darcy stepped forward and picked up my bags. "Miss Melody," he said, his voice calm and steady.
I followed him, my steps slow, deliberate. I told myself not to look nervous, even though every fiber in me screamed otherwise.
The side of Dynasty Hall we entered looked like something out of a royal dream. Ornate crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceilings, glinting in the sunlight. The grand hallway was framed with golden archways and hand-painted floral details that reminded me of the forbidden wing of Mother's estate, the one she kept under lock and key.
My eyes were wide, drinking it all in. Each corridor held more elegance than the last, and yet it didn't feel cold. It felt alive. Teeming with people, stories, and secrets.
Girls passed by in every direction, some chatting, others practicing their runway walk or striking poses for invisible cameras. Their skin tones, hair colors, and accents were a beautiful spectrum of the world. I was in awe. I wanted to memorize every detail.
The walk to my room felt endless, not because I was tired, but because there was so much to see. I spotted dancers twirling in practice rooms, stylists arguing over fabric swatches, makeup artists mid-contour. It was like stepping into a world I didn't know I'd been missing.
And for the first time in a long while, I didn't feel like a prisoner.
"I belong with the writers," I whispered to myself. "But hey, if I learn how to move my waist, maybe I'll be a dancer too." I laughed, loudly. Too loudly.
A few girls looked over, curious smiles forming.
"Oops," I muttered under my breath, cheeks flushing.
We finally reached the room. Mr. Darcy gently placed my bags beside me.
Knock knock.
"I'll take my leave now, Miss," he said with a respectful bow before walking away.
I knocked again.
And again.
On the fourth knock, the door creaked open.
A girl stood before me, blinking like she'd just woken up. She had dark, short brown hair that curled slightly at the ends, and warm brown eyes that tilted upward at the corners, giving her a foxlike charm. Her waistline was sharp, her posture confident. It took only two seconds for me to notice all of that. Don't judge, I'm a writer. Observation is survival.
"Hi., Melody, right?" she said with a smile.
My brows furrowed. "How do you know my name?"
She stepped aside and let me in. "Miss Grace always gives us a heads-up on who we're being paired with. Makes things less awkward."she said.
The room was sunlit and cozy, more like a boutique hotel than a shared dorm. Two beds, a wide vanity with a mirror framed in golden bulbs, and a small balcony that overlooked the back gardens. Clothes were half-unpacked on one bed. The other, untouched. Mine.
She dropped onto her mattress and resumed unpacking.
"So you just got here?" I asked, placing my journal carefully on the nightstand.
"Yeah, about thirty minutes ago. I'm ava, by the way. I'm here for the campaign shoot. You?"
"Writer. Observer," I said, shrugging. "Though I might try moving my waist."
She laughed. "I like you already."
I smiled back, genuinely. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.
Outside the window, the gardens were coming to life with evening sun. Models rehearsed in elegant gowns, their voices blending into the rustling leaves. I sat on my bed, watching it all, and felt something unfamiliar settle in my chest.
Hope.