Chapter 24: I Want Her Caught in Bed with Some Random Man!

Mia emerged from the room, her knuckles white as she gripped her phone, her nails digging deep into her palms.

The crystal chandeliers in the banquet hall fractured the light into tiny spots above her head. The champagne tower reflected the surrounding opulence, but it couldn't illuminate the storm swirling in the depths of her eyes.

The door to the second-floor lounge clicked shut behind her. She strode toward the balcony at the end of the corridor, the hem of her silk gown sweeping across the Persian carpet with a hushed rustle in the silence.

"You said it was foolproof!" she hissed into the phone, the black pearls on her earrings swaying violently with her frantic breathing. "Clara is standing right there in the hall, perfectly fine, talking to my parents! What on earth did you—"

The line went dead.

Mia came to a jarring halt, her twelve-centimeter stilettos sinking deep into the carpet.

At the end of the corridor, a sliver of blue light leaked from the gap in the storage room door.

It was the unmistakable cold glow of a phone screen, flickering in a rhythmic, steady pulse.

Cold sweat trickled down her spine and pooled at the pearl waistband of her dress.

The moment she pushed open the carved wooden door, a heavy scent of blood hit her.

Three men in formal suits were slumped amidst the cleaning supplies. One was bleeding profusely from his forehead, staining a cleaning apron embossed with the Vance Group logo.

"Wake up!" Mia kicked the closest man in the ribs, the lace tip of her shoe catching a dark red bloodstain. "Where’s the camera? You said once you caught her in bed with some random man—"

Her voice cut off abruptly.

Broken camera parts were scattered near the mop bucket, the memory card snapped in two.

Bloody fingerprints on the white tiles were glaringly obvious, leading all the way to the edge of the ventilation duct.

Applause suddenly erupted from the banquet hall.

Mia shuddered. Through the small window of the storage room, she saw the crowd below surging toward the center.

Clara stood under the crystal lights in a pale pink strapless gown, the imperial emerald at her neck shining like a sharp blade, piercing straight into Mia’s pupils.

"Sister?"

The soft, sweet call made Mia recoil half a step.

As she spun around, her skirt caught on the door handle, tearing a half-foot-long gash with a sharp

rip

.

Clara stood at the top of the spiral staircase, holding a champagne glass, her eyes filled with innocent, shimmering light. "Mom sent me to find you. She said it's time for the family photo."

Mia slammed the storage room door shut, her back pressed tight against the cold wood.

She looked at the swaying emerald pendant on Clara’s neck and suddenly remembered the conversation in the dressing room this morning.

Back then, this girl from a small town had timidly tugged at her zipper, saying she was afraid to wear expensive jewelry to her first banquet.

"The necklace suits you," Mia said, her teeth grinding. "Do you want a pair of earrings to match? I have a pigeon-blood ruby set in my room..."

"No need." Clara’s fingertip brushed over the emerald surface, and she offered a pure, animal-like smile under the lights. "I still haven't found the pearl bracelet you gave me last time. Maybe a kitten carried it away."

Rhythmic clapping echoed from the bottom of the stairs.

Mia leaned over the railing and collided with Alistair Vance’s mocking gaze.

Breaking his usual habits, he wore a silver-gray suit today, leaning against a Roman pillar while toying with his lighter. The flickering flame cast a golden glow across his jawline.

"Brother Alistair hasn't left yet?" Clara jogged down the stairs, her skirt sweeping over Alistair’s polished leather shoes. "My father said he wanted to talk to you."

Alistair reached out to steady the girl who nearly tripped, his watch visible as his cuff slid back.

He took the empty glass from Clara’s hand, but his gaze bypassed the staircase to meet Mia’s venomous stare in mid-air.

"I just caught a few rats."

His Adam's apple vibrated as he let out a low chuckle, but his voice was as cold as an ice bucket from a cellar. "Too bad they ran too fast. I only had time to keep a few souvenirs."

Clara tilted her head in confusion, the diamond clips in her hair reflecting tiny shards of light.

Mia’s grip on the railing tightened. She finally smelled it—the faint scent of agarwood from the storage room, identical to the sachet Alistair always wore.

The emcee’s voice boomed through the microphone: "Now, please welcome the Chairman of the Jian Group, his wife, and their daughters!"

In the shadows of the second-floor landing, Alistair pulled out his phone.

The latest video in his gallery showed three men installing miniature cameras, while the voice instructing them—though distorted—still clearly said: "I want Clara’s reputation destroyed before the family photo is taken."

He pressed 'Save' and looked up at the massive floor-to-ceiling mirror in the hall.

The mirror reflected Clara helping Mia straighten her skirt, while a flash of lethal coldness flickered in the depths of Mia’s eyes.

The flashbulbs made her lashes feel hot. Clara’s fingers trembled slightly as she held the microphone. The emerald pendant against her skin felt icy cold. The truth about her identity, just announced by the emcee, was still ringing in her ears.

"Though fate played a joke on us..."

Clara looked toward Mia, who sat pale-faced among the socialites. The golden canary embroidered on Mia’s pearl-white gown seemed to be pecking at the emerald leaves on Clara’s chest.

"...Sister will always be my sister."

A wave of applause washed over the gold-plated stage.

Clara saw her mother dab her eyes with a handkerchief, while her father gently patted her trembling shoulder.

She was all too familiar with this gesture, yet no one had ever done it for her before.

Mia suddenly stood up, her diamond-encrusted skirt sweeping past a champagne tower.

She walked toward the stage in ten-centimeter red-bottomed heels, the sound of her footsteps on the marble drawing everyone’s gaze.

"Clara is right."

As Mia took the microphone, the sapphire ring on her finger flashed like a cold blade before Clara’s eyes.

She pulled her sister’s slender shoulders into an affectionate embrace, catching the faint scent of sandalwood soap from Clara’s hair—identical to the cheap soap sold in village convenience stores for three dollars a bar.

Cameras clicked incessantly.

Clara felt her shoulder blade being pinched painfully by Mia’s pearl-tipped nails, yet she tilted her face up to reveal her dimples. "I haven't quite mastered the waltz steps Sister taught me yet."

Those words made Mia’s pupils contract.

Three days ago, she had intentionally locked Clara in the dance studio, watching through the glass as the country girl bruised her knees falling against the mirror.

After all, Clara knew classical dance, and Mia had intentionally taught her the most difficult waltz steps.

Now, those purple bruises were perfectly concealed by nude stockings, just as all the dark undercurrents between them were wrapped beneath lace gloves.

"Miss Clara is truly beautiful and kind-hearted," sighed the wife of a jewelry mogul, dabbing her crocodile-skin bag. "If it were me, I couldn't bear to be around a fraud..."

The murmurs were cut short by the sudden strains of a birthday song.

A three-tier cake was slowly wheeled out through the revolving doors, pushed by Julian.

"Before we cut the cake, do you want to say something?" Julian asked, spinning a cake knife between his fingers like a silver flower. "Just like on a birthday, you should make a wish."

Clara suddenly seized her sister’s cold hand and offered a cloudless smile to the cameras.

"I want to be with Sister forever."