Chapter 1 — The Gala of Illusions

Olivia

The Hudson Estate gleamed like a frosted jewel under the winter night’s sky, its grand façade illuminated by an array of soft golden lights. Snow blanketed the sprawling gardens beyond the wrought-iron gates, muffling the crunch of approaching tires and footsteps as the city’s elite arrived in their finest. Olivia stood at the top of the grand staircase in the foyer, her chestnut waves cascading over one shoulder, the neckline of her emerald gown skimming her collarbone. She had chosen the dress carefully, knowing its rich color complemented her porcelain skin and hazel eyes. Its simplicity stood apart from the ostentation of the evening, a quiet statement of defiance against the oppressive grandeur that surrounded her. And yet, defiance was a dangerous thing in this house.

From her perch, she could see the ballroom ahead, its high ceilings adorned with crystal chandeliers refracting light like shattered stars. Guests milled about with glasses of champagne, their laughter and carefully modulated voices drifting like smoke. She toyed absently with the silver locket around her neck, her fingers brushing the etched floral design as she scanned the crowd below. The locket’s cool, familiar surface grounded her—a small comfort in a world that demanded her to be everything and nothing at once.

“Chin up, darling,” came Evelyn Hudson’s silken voice at her side, cutting through Olivia’s thoughts like a knife through ice. Olivia turned to find her mother-in-law’s sharp gray eyes appraising her. Evelyn stood like a statue carved in frost, her tailored silver gown clinging to her slim frame with a precision that left no room for vulnerability. Even her perfectly coiffed hair seemed to glint with steel under the chandelier’s light.

“You’ll want to look composed when the press inevitably snaps their photos,” Evelyn continued, her tone a blend of condescension and command. “A wife is an extension of her husband, after all. And Ryan deserves nothing less than excellence.”

For a fleeting moment, Olivia wanted to laugh at the absurdity of Evelyn’s words. Excellence? What did Evelyn know about excellence beyond appearances and control? Instead, she smoothed her expression into polite compliance, a mask she had perfected during her years in the Hudson household. “Of course, Evelyn,” she replied, her voice calm and measured, betraying none of the sharp retorts that burned at the back of her tongue. “I wouldn’t dream of letting him down.”

Evelyn’s smile was brittle and cold, devoid of any warmth. “Good. Then make yourself useful. The Andersons have just arrived, and Ryan will need you to charm them. His deal with their firm requires a unified front.”

Without waiting for a response, Evelyn disappeared into the throng, her presence cutting through the sea of guests like the prow of a ship. Olivia stayed where she was for a moment, letting her fingers tighten around the locket. It wasn’t defiance—not yet—but something stirred within her, a quiet rebellion that was gaining strength with every icy word Evelyn spoke.

She descended the staircase with practiced grace, each step echoing faintly in the grand space. The polished marble floor reflected the faintest ghost of her movement, a pale shadow gliding through a sea of opulence. Despite her elegant poise, her every step felt heavy, as though the train of her gown were shackling her. Just before reaching the crowd, her gaze caught on a flaw in the pristine symmetry of the Hudson Estate—a hairline crack in the marble flooring, almost imperceptible but there nonetheless. The sight of it sent an unexpected surge of hope through her. Even perfection could fracture.

She found Ryan near the bar, standing among a group of men who all wore the same uniform of tailored suits and restrained arrogance. His jet-black hair was immaculate, and the platinum wristwatch on his wrist gleamed like a badge of his place in the world. Olivia approached quietly, unnoticed until one of the men chuckled at something Ryan said, their laughter low and conspiratorial.

“Olivia,” Ryan greeted her, his piercing blue eyes flicking over her briefly before returning to his companions. His tone was polite—too polite, like a host acknowledging a distant guest. He didn’t smile. “The Andersons are here. Evelyn wants you to speak with them.”

“I know,” Olivia replied smoothly, masking her irritation with a practiced smile. “I’m on my way.”

As she turned toward the Andersons, she caught the faintest flicker of a smirk on one man’s face, as though her obedience were a private joke. The familiar sting of humiliation burned at the edges of her composure, but she swallowed it down and moved forward.

The Andersons were pleasant enough at first glance, with their practiced smiles and polished small talk. But Olivia quickly recognized the subtle probes in their conversation. Their questions weren’t born of curiosity; they were assessments. How well did she understand Ryan’s business? Was she capable of playing her role as the flawless wife? With each veiled judgment, it became clear that she was little more than another component of Evelyn’s grand chessboard, her presence a carefully calculated move to secure Ryan’s deal. Olivia navigated their inquiries with the skill of a seasoned diplomat, deflecting their judgments with measured charm, but every smile she offered felt like another small surrender.

A warm hand on her arm broke her focus. “Mrs. Parker,” Pete Whitman drawled, his easy grin brightening the space around him. His sandy blond hair was slightly tousled, and his relaxed posture was a deliberate contrast to the stiff formality of the evening. “I hope you’re not monopolizing the Andersons all to yourself.”

Olivia stepped back slightly, her polite smile masking her irritation. “Mr. Whitman,” she said coolly, “I’m sure you’ll find more entertaining company elsewhere.”

“Oh, but you’re the most entertaining one here,” Pete replied, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. His eyes sparkled with mischief, though there was something calculated behind them—a sharpness hidden beneath the charm. She wondered briefly if he was testing her patience or Ryan’s.

The Andersons chuckled politely, excusing themselves to mingle elsewhere, leaving Olivia and Pete alone. She turned to face him fully, her hazel eyes cool despite the heat rising in her chest. “What exactly do you want, Pete?” she asked, her words clipped.

He shrugged, his grin widening. “Only to liven up an otherwise dreary evening. You look like you could use some fun.”

“Fun is a luxury I don’t have time for,” Olivia replied evenly. From the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of Ryan across the room, his jaw tightening as he watched their exchange. Satisfaction flickered through her—a quiet, defiant spark. If Ryan wanted to see her as a pawn in this twisted game, then she would play her part. But she would play it her way.

Pete leaned in closer, his voice softening. “You know, you’re wasted in this place. You’re like a wildflower trapped in a hothouse. No wonder the air feels so stifling.”

“Careful,” Olivia said softly, her lips barely moving. “Your metaphors might get you into trouble.”

“Oh, I live for trouble,” Pete replied, his voice light, but his gaze lingered on her a moment too long. Then, with a quick wink, he was gone, disappearing into the crowd like smoke.

Olivia allowed herself a breath, her hand once again finding the locket at her neck. The weight of the evening pressed down on her—the constant performance, the glances and whispers, the oppressive grandeur of it all. She turned toward the glass doors leading to the garden, the snow shimmering under the light spilling from the house. For a moment, she considered stepping outside, letting the cold night air wash over her, but she knew Evelyn would not approve. Instead, she retreated to the edge of the ballroom, where she could watch without being watched.

The hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses blurred into a dull roar as Olivia’s gaze drifted over the scene. It was all so meticulously choreographed, every gesture and smile a part of the Hudson empire’s carefully constructed image. And yet, beneath the perfection, there were cracks—tiny, almost imperceptible, but there. Ryan’s tension, Evelyn’s sharpness, the whispered exchanges that followed her wherever she went. The Hudsons’ world was not as impenetrable as it seemed.

When the last of the guests finally departed and the house settled into uneasy quiet, Olivia lingered in the now-empty ballroom. The chandeliers still sparkled overhead, but their light felt hollow, the evening’s magic stripped away to reveal only its artifice. She clutched the locket tightly, her nails digging into her palm, as her breath trembled. The weight of her discontent surged, no longer contained by the careful walls she’d built around herself.

She would not let this be her forever.

With steady hands, Olivia slipped the locket open, revealing the tiny photograph of her mother inside. Her mother’s warm, reassuring smile seemed to whisper to her, a reminder of the quiet strength that lived within her. Closing the locket, Olivia straightened her shoulders, her mind already churning with possibilities. Change would not come easily, but it would come. It had to.

As she ascended the staircase to her room, Olivia caught her reflection in one of the gilded mirrors lining the hall. For the first time, she did not shy away from the woman staring back at her.

Her gilded cage might still hold her, but the cracks were already forming. All she needed was time.