The Worthington household prepared a simple dinner, though "simple" in this house still meant a five-course meal prepared by a team of chefs and served on china that cost more than most people’s monthly rent. The dining room had been transformed for the evening, the long mahogany table draped in white linen and adorned with centerpieces of white roses and baby’s breath.
Crystal glasses caught the light of the chandelier, casting tiny rainbows across the walls, and the silverware gleamed under the soft glow of the candles that flickered in their ornate holders.
Livia wore her elegant silver dress, the fabric shimmering with every movement, and wore one of her expensive shoes that Dahlia had bought for her during a shopping trip the week before.
The dress was beautiful, designed to catch the eye and hold it, the kind of garment that made people stop and stare. She had chosen it carefully, had spent hours in front of the mirror perfecting her hair and makeup, ensuring that every detail was flawless.
Hah! With this, I’ll surely have that Maeve’s attention and seduce her!
That was Livia’s plan. She had seen the way Maeve looked at Kamilah, had noticed the possessive gleam in the CEO’s eyes during the engagement meeting, and she had decided that she wanted that attention for herself.
Maeve Belvedere was powerful, wealthy, and utterly captivating in a way that made Livia’s heart race with a mixture of desire and ambition. If she could just get Maeve to look at her the way she looked at Kamilah, if she could just make the CEO see that she was the better choice, the more beautiful choice, the more worthy choice...
Then she got down the stairs and excitedly showed Chris, her father, her silver dress. "Papa! Look, the dress Mama bought me was beautiful!" She said excitedly, twirling slightly to show off the way the fabric caught the light.
Chris looked up from his phone, his expression was neutral, though inside his mind was a storm of conflict. He looked at Livia—the girl he had once adored, the daughter he had treated as the center of his world—and for the first time, he didn’t see a precious child.
He saw the calculated glimmer in her eyes and the way she clung to the luxury he had provided, unaware that his perception of her had shifted. The dress that would have once seemed like a mark of her beauty now looked like a costume for a predator, a carefully constructed disguise designed to hide the ambition that lurked beneath.
Ever since he had begun to hear Kamilah’s thoughts—the echoes of a future where Livia’s ambition turned into a blade that gutted his family—the sight of Livia’s excitement felt like a performance.
He couldn’t look at her without remembering the images that had flooded his mind, the hologram that Kamilah had seen in heaven, the deaths of his children, the destruction of his legacy. And Livia, the golden child, the one they had all adored, was the architect of it all.
"Yes, it’s very... Silver, Livia," Chris replied, his voice was devoid of the usual warmth. He didn’t compliment her. He didn’t tell her she looked like a princess. He simply stared at her, his mind flashing back to a memory that wasn’t his own—a vision of his own downfall and the cold smile Livia wore while it happened.
The words hung in the air between them, awkward and stilted. Livia’s smile faltered for just a moment, confusion flickering in her eyes. This wasn’t the reaction she had expected.
Her father had always been her biggest supporter, always the first to compliment her, to praise her, to make her feel like the most important person in the room. But now he was looking at her like she was a stranger, like he didn’t recognize the girl standing before him.
Dahlia, standing nearby, mirrored her husband’s hesitation. She reached out to smooth a fold in the dress, but her touch was mechanical, lacking the genuine affection she used to pour into Livia.
Her fingers brushed against the silver fabric without warmth, without the pride that had once accompanied every gesture she made toward her adopted daughter. She was thinking of Kamilah—the daughter who had been ignored, the daughter who had suffered in silence while they pampered this girl who now stood before them like a peacock displaying its feathers.
"You look lovely, dear," Dahlia said, though the words sounded hollow, almost scripted. She looked toward the front door, her heart hammering in her chest. She wasn’t waiting for Livia’s approval; she was waiting for the arrival of Maeve Belvedere and the daughter she was only now realizing she had failed.
Livia noticed the distant look in her mother’s eyes, the way her attention seemed to be fixed on something far away. She felt a flicker of unease, a cold knot forming in her stomach. Something was wrong. Something had changed, and she didn’t know what it was or how to fix it.
"Where is Kamilah? I bought her some dresses." Samantha said as she and the others walked through the front door, their arms laden with shopping bags. They had just returned from a last-minute trip to the boutique, a frantic attempt to find something appropriate for Kamilah to wear to dinner.
"Eh? Sister, you guys went shopping without me?" Livia suddenly asked, her voice was rising with a note of wounded indignation. She looked at her siblings with wide, hurt eyes, the same expression that had always melted their hearts and made them rush to comfort her.
"Sorry, Livia. It was a sudden change of plans," Samantha said, though her voice lacked the usual apologetic warmth. She didn’t meet Livia’s eyes, instead busying herself with the shopping bags. "Don’t worry, we bought you something too. A golden watch."
Christine stepped forward and handed her a leather box, the kind that expensive jewelry came in. The box was small and elegant, wrapped with a silk ribbon that gleamed under the chandelier light.
Livia excitedly took the box and was so happy to see the golden watch inside. It was beautiful, a delicate piece with a mother-of-pearl face and tiny diamonds around the bezel. She had admired it in the store window weeks ago, had dropped hints about it, had dreamed of owning it. The source of this chapter is g.com.
"Thank you, sister!" Livia said, and Christine just showed a shallow smile. It was a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, a smile that was polite rather than genuine. Christine had always been close to Livia, had always been her ally in the complicated politics of the household. But now, after everything she had heard, after the echoes of Kamilah’s thoughts that still rang in her ears, she didn’t know what to feel anymore.
"Mom and Dad, where’s Kamilah?" Garett asked, his voice was cutting through the awkward silence.
"Well, she hasn’t come downstairs yet. Probably preparing," Chris answered, though his voice lacked its usual authority. He was distracted, his mind still churning with the images that Kamilah’s thoughts had planted there.
Suddenly, a butler approached and bowed slightly. He was an older man, dignified and discreet, who had served the family for years. "Sir, Ms. Maeve is outside," he announced.
"Great! Let her in," Chris said, and the butler immediately carried out the order.
The tension in the foyer shifted the moment the heavy front doors opened. Maeve stepped inside, and for a second, the air seemed to thicken with her sheer presence. She was dressed in the antique white suit, the fabric pristine and perfectly tailored, the color light enough to seem approachable yet striking enough to command attention.
She looked every bit the powerful executive, but there was something different about her—a certain softness in the set of her jaw and a lack of the usual predatory coldness in her eyes. She looked almost nervous, though she would never admit it.
In her hand, she held a curated bouquet of peonies and anemones, the flowers were carefully arranged in a way that spoke of thoughtfulness rather than extravagance.
The peonies were soft pink and white, the anemones deep purple with dark centers, a combination that was unexpected yet harmonious. She didn’t lead with a demand for attention or a display of wealth; she simply held the flowers, her gaze immediately scanning the room.
She ignored the silver-clad Livia, who had already stepped forward with a practiced, dazzling smile, intending to captivate her. Maeve didn’t even look at her. Her eyes swept past Livia as if she were invisible, as if she were nothing more than a piece of furniture, a decoration that held no interest.
Livia’s smile froze on her face, her eyes widening with shock. She had expected Maeve to notice her, to admire her, to be drawn in by her beauty and charm. She had spent hours preparing for this moment, had imagined the way Maeve’s eyes would light up when she saw her, the way the CEO would forget all about Kamilah and focus entirely on her. But Maeve was looking right through her, as if she didn’t exist.
"Good evening," Maeve said, her voice was smooth and resonant, though it carried a hint of a tremor she hoped no one noticed. She nodded curtly to Chris and Dahlia, but her eyes remained focused on the staircase, searching for the one person who actually mattered in this house.
Livia’s smile faltered, her expression flickering into a brief flash of confusion. She was used to being the sun around which everyone revolved, yet Maeve was treating her as if she were part of the wallpaper. The attention Livia had planned to seduce was currently focused entirely on the empty space where Kamilah should be.
"Where is she?" Maeve asked, not bothering with pleasantries. The directness was typical of her, but the tone was devoid of its usual arrogance. It sounded almost... Anxious. Almost vulnerable.
"Oh, Kamilah is still upstairs, preparing. Please come in, Ms. Maeve. Feel at home." Dahlia said and guided Maeve to sit on the living room sofa. Her voice was warm, almost eager, a stark contrast to the coldness she had shown Kamilah for years.
"Hello, Ms. Maeve." Livia greeted her with a bright smile, stepping forward to intercept the CEO before she could follow Dahlia. She positioned herself in Maeve’s path, her silver dress shimmering under the light, her posture was perfect, and her expression was calculated to be both welcoming and alluring.
Maeve gave Livia a brief, clinical nod—the kind of acknowledgment one gives to a stranger in an elevator—before following Dahlia into the living room. She didn’t stop, didn’t pause, didn’t give Livia even a moment of her time. She simply walked past her, the bouquet of flowers still held carefully in her hands, her focus entirely on the staircase.
Livia stood frozen in the middle of the foyer, her cheeks are flushing with humiliation. She had never been dismissed like that before, never been treated as if she were unimportant, invisible. She could feel the eyes of her siblings on her, could sense their confusion and their pity, and it made her blood boil.
What the hell? Did she just ignore me?!
The words ran inside Livia’s head, and she was annoyed but she didn’t let it get to her. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to remain calm.
I have a plan, and I’ll stick to the plan, Livia. That Kamilah should become the center of contempt tonight.
She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin, refusing to let the humiliation show on her face. She would find another way to get Maeve’s attention. She always did.
Maeve sat on the living room sofa, her posture poised but tense. She didn’t sit with her usual sprawling dominance; instead, she sat with a quiet, controlled energy, the bouquet of flowers resting carefully on her lap. She was acutely aware of Livia’s proximity and the effort the girl was putting into her "bright" smile, but to Maeve, it felt like a cheap performance, a transparent attempt to manipulate. This chapter was copied from novelping.com without permission.
Her mind was a chaotic whirl of Hannah’s advice and the image of Kamilah. She wondered what Kamilah was wearing, or if she was currently staring at her reflection with that look of profound exhaustion. The thought made Maeve’s chest tighten. The desire to simply reach out and pull her away from this house—a place that felt more like a mausoleum than a home—was almost overwhelming.
As she sat, Maeve’s gaze drifted back toward the stairs. She ignored the conversation around her, the polite chatter of the Worthingtons, and the attempts of Livia to insert herself into the discussion. Her focus was narrowed to the sound of a distant footstep, the creak of a floorboard, the rustle of fabric.
She wasn’t interested in the Worthingtons’ hospitality or Livia’s charm. She was waiting for the one person who could call her a manchild to her face, and for some reason, that was the only thing that made her feel alive in this sterile room.
Then suddenly, Kamilah came out and slowly descended the stairs.
She wore a fluid ivory strapless dress, its clean fabric was folding sharply across her waist before falling to her ankles in a cascade of silk. The dress was simple, elegant, devoid of the embellishments and frills that Livia favored. It was the kind of dress that relied on the wearer’s beauty rather than the designer’s excess, and Kamilah wore it like she had been born in it.
Over her shoulders draped a matching oversized cream knit cardigan, its thick, plush weight softening the sleek lines of the gown. With dropped sleeves pooling at her forearms, the monochrome look felt entirely effortless—a striking blend of cozy warmth and minimal elegance. Her hair was loose, falling in soft waves past her shoulders, and her face was bare of the heavy makeup that Livia wore, her natural beauty shining through.
Maeve’s mouth hung open the moment she saw Kamilah in that outfit. She was still the same, consistent woman. She wasn’t trying to gather attention, because the spotlight was literally hers. She didn’t need to try. She simply existed, and the world rearranged itself around her.
"Sorry for being late. I hope I didn’t make you guys wait." Kamilah said as she descended the stairs, her voice calm and steady. She didn’t look at Livia, didn’t acknowledge the silver dress or the golden watch or the obvious competition. She simply walked toward the living room, her movements graceful and unhurried.
Livia was both shocked and angry, but she hid it by clenching her fist secretly at her side. Kamilah was undeniably beautiful and elegant, and the sight of her made Livia’s carefully constructed confidence crumble. She had thought she would be the center of attention tonight, had thought she would outshine Kamilah effortlessly. But looking at her sister now, she realized that she had never stood a chance.
Maeve felt the air leave her lungs. She had seen Kamilah in many states—exhausted, sarcastic, and wounded—but this was different. The ivory dress was a masterpiece of understated luxury, and the oversized cardigan gave her an ethereal, soft quality that made Maeve’s heart hammer against her ribs.
It wasn’t just the clothes; it was the way Kamilah carried herself, as if she were a ghost haunting her own life, possessing a quiet power that made everything else in the room—including Livia’s silver dress—look like cheap trinkets.
For a few seconds, Maeve completely forgot how to breathe. She didn’t just see a beautiful woman; she saw the fragile, stubborn soul she was becoming obsessed with. The sight of Kamilah’s elegance, paired with that slight, detached apology, made Maeve want to stand up and shield her from every single pair of eyes in the room.
Slowly, Maeve stood, her movements almost instinctive. She didn’t care who was watching or the strategic game Livia was trying to play. She stepped toward the base of the stairs, her gaze locked on Kamilah with an intensity that was almost feral, yet tempered by a new, desperate kind of tenderness.
"You’re not late," Maeve said, her voice was low and slightly rough, stripped of its usual corporate polish. She held out the bouquet of peonies and anemones, her eyes searching Kamilah’s for any sign of the contempt she had come to expect. "I would have waited all night. For you."
The words hung in the air between them, heavy with meaning. The Worthingtons watched in stunned silence, their eyes are darting between Maeve and Kamilah. Livia’s face was a mask of barely concealed fury, her fingers digging into her palms as she watched the scene unfold.
Kamilah approached and shook her head, a small, almost imperceptible smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Stop daydreaming and let’s finish this dinner already." She said, her voice clearly just teasing.
Maeve felt a small, involuntary jolt of electricity at the teasing tone. It was exactly what she had been craving—that sharp, playful edge that cut through the oppressive formality of the Worthington household. The fact that Kamilah had dismissed her romantic gesture as "daydreaming" didn’t annoy her; it made her heart race. It was a sign that the wall wasn’t entirely impenetrable.
A genuine, lopsided smirk touched Maeve’s lips. She didn’t pull the flowers back, instead stepping closer, the scent of the peonies mingling with the subtle, clean fragrance of Kamilah’s skin. For a moment, she forgot the audience—the parents, the siblings, and the seething Livia.
"Is that so?" Maeve murmured, her voice humming with an amused, private intimacy. She leaned in just slightly, her gaze dropping to the ivory fabric of the dress before meeting Kamilah’s eyes again. "I find it quite difficult not to daydream when you look like this. But if you’re hungry, I suppose I can be persuaded to prioritize the meal."
She didn’t hand over the flowers immediately, instead using the gesture to guide Kamilah toward the dining area, her presence acting as a silent, protective barrier between her wife and the rest of the family. The territorial instinct was still there, but as she glanced at Kamilah, she remembered Hannah’s words. She consciously relaxed her grip, trying to offer a sense of safety rather than a claim of ownership.
Kamilah allowed herself to be guided, though she didn’t take Maeve’s arm. She walked beside her, her posture straight and her expression neutral, but there was a softness in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. She was still wary, still guarded, but the walls were lowering, just a fraction.
As they walked toward the dining room, Kamilah glanced back at Livia, who was still standing in the foyer, her face was pale with fury. For a moment, their eyes met, and Kamilah allowed herself a small, knowing smile.
The game was far from over, but for the first time, Kamilah felt like she was winning.