After a quick but lavish lunch in the dining hall—crystal glasses, silver cutlery, and more courses than she could finish—Luara excused herself, claiming she had something important to plan.
Back in her room, she slipped off her heels, stretched out on the velvet chaise lounge, and grabbed her phone. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard before she took a breath and typed:
> Hey guys~ I'm hosting a small reunion party tonight. Grille Supper Club. 6 PM sharp. Don't be late.
She hit send to the private school group chat and waited.
The replies came almost instantly.
Lina:
What?! Luara is holding a reunion? I am SO in!
Yasmin:
Reunion at Grille?? That place is impossible to book! Can I bring my fiancé?
Lina:
Wait, you're engaged?!
Yasmin:
YES! Just last week!
Marco:
Hurrah! Finally a chance to enter Grille without contacting Balck market for selling a kidney. Thanks, Luara!
Luara gave a half-smile at the flurry of messages. Of course they're excited. They always came running when Luara threw a party.
Even the notification she dreaded—and expected—soon popped up.
Ciel:
I'm in.
She stared at his message a moment longer than necessary, her smile fading slightly.
Of course you're in. That's how it always started, didn't it? Luara flaunted her wealth, Ciel showed up to bask in it, and Elara stayed as far away as possible.
Her thumb hovered as she refreshed the chat again, looking the one message she was waiting for.
Still no message from Elara.
Luara's brows furrowed. Her jaw tightened.
Where is she?
She refreshed again. And again.
Nothing.
A slow wave of frustration settled in her chest. This is pointless if she doesn't come. I need her there. If I can't talk to her, if I can't show her I've changed... then I'm still the villain. Snd I am still on the path to destruction.
She flopped back against the lounge cushion, one hand over her forehead in exasperation.
"Come on, Elara," she muttered to the ceiling. "You're supposed to be the kind one. The understanding one. The heroine."
But in her heart, she already knew.
Elara Monique wouldn't come just because of food or status.
She'd only come if there was a reason.
And Luara would have to give her one.
After thirty more minutes of refreshing the chat like a madwoman, Luara had enough.
Tch. This is ridiculous. I'm a twenty-year-old heiress with ten different assistants and a wardrobe worth a luxury car—I shouldn't be this stressed over one person replying to a text.
But she was.
Because that one person could change everything.
Without hesitating, she tapped into her contact list and scrolled to the name: Giena Lark.
Elara's bestfriend and roommate. Emotional support pillow. And—most importantly—the key to getting her to the party.
The phone rang twice before Giena picked up. "Hello?"
Luara turned on the warmth. "Giena! Hi! It's been so long, how are you? You're coming to the reunion, right?"
"Oh. Uh, yeah, I saw the message. I'm coming," Giena replied, sounding a little confused but not unfriendly.
Luara smiled. Step one, secured. "Great, great! I can't wait to see everyone again. You have to tell me what you've been up to... Oh!" She added, like it was a casual afterthought. "Is Elara coming too?"
There was a brief pause.
"Hmm... maybe not," Giena said, voice unsure. "She's not really... in the mood for crowds."
What? Not in the mood, now is the time for talking about moods?! This isn't just any party—this is my one shot to fix things!
Luara sat up straight, throwing off her lounge blanket with flair. "No, no, no, she has to come! It's been years since we all got together. Tell her I'm personally inviting her. It'll be fun, I promise!"
"Luara…" Giena said cautiously. "You and Elara haven't exactly been close."
"I know," Luara replied, dropping her usual haughty tone for something gentler. "I know we've had… differences. But this is exactly why I want her there. I want us all to reconnect. For the past bitterness and make new pleasant memories, you know?"
Silence on the other end. Then the muffled sound of someone else talking in the background.
Luara sat frozen, holding her breath. That had to be Elara. C'mon, you soft-hearted heroine, don't make me beg...
After a moment, Giena came back. "Okay. We'll come."
Luara blinked. "Wait. Really?"
"She said fine. But if it's anything weird, we're leaving early."
Luara grinned so wide it hurt. "Deal! Thank you, Giena. You're the best."
As she hung up, she let out a loud sigh of relief.
Elara Monique was coming to the party.
This is an opportunity she can't miss, if only Ceil wouldn't have come, than that would have been best.
With Elara finally confirmed, Luara tossed her phone aside and sprang up from the lounge with sudden energy. This is it. First impressions matter—and I can't afford to look like the same spoiled tyrant they remember.
She strode toward the massive walk-in wardrobe that looked more like a designer showroom than a closet. Rows of luxury shoes glimmered under soft lights, shelves stacked with custom accessories, and racks of gowns in every imaginable shade stretched along the walls.
But tonight wasn't about flaunting power.
It was about making an impression—refined, elegant, but harmless.
Her eyes stopped on a sleek, sophisticated outfit she hadn't even remembered writing into Luara's inventory: a tailored black silk top with intricate embroidery, paired with a matching high-waisted skirt that flared just enough at the hem to add grace. The matching scarf added a regal flair, softening the sharp silhouette.
Perfect. Alluring, but not aggressive. Classy, but not cold. The kind of look that says 'look guys I have changed'... without saying a word.
She changed quickly, styling her long platinum waves into soft waves pinned on one side with a vintage clip. A pair of diamond studs, a swipe of muted rose lipstick, and a touch of highlighter gave her the perfect soft glow. She checked her reflection.
Luara Velvette. Beautiful. Poised. But tonight—not a villain.
She descended the grand staircase with purpose, keys already in hand. The butler offered to call a chauffeur, but she waved him off with a smile.
"No need. I'll drive."
The garage doors opened to reveal an enviable lineup of luxury cars, but she went straight to the one that always drew eyes: a Porsche 911 Turbo in Rubystar.
The color was deep, bold, and impossible to miss. Like her personality.
As she slid into the driver's seat and turned the engine, the soft purr beneath her fingertips felt empowering.
She glanced at the clock.
5:17 PM.
Fashionably early. Just right for a grand entrance.
With a deep breath, she stepped on the accelerator and sped out onto the tree-lined road, city lights glimmering in the distance.
Tonight wasn't just a reunion.
It was the beginning of her rewrite.