The mirror in the drama club's rehearsal room reflected my comical appearance—wearing a white dress stained with red paint, I looked like a pigeon that had been splashed with paint. A few aristocratic girls around me covered their mouths and giggled. Victoria stood among them, her blue eyes filled with feigned apology.
"How careless of me," she said, shaking the paint cup that had "accidentally" spilled, her nails adorned with tiny diamonds that glinted in the light. "This cheap fabric really isn't waterproof, is it?"
I clutched the hem of my dress; the paint hadn't dried yet, sticky and clinging to the spaces between my fingers. Today was the first full-costume rehearsal for the adaptation of *The Tempest*. This dress had taken me three nights to alter by hand, and now it had become the latest casualty of this aristocratic game.
"It's okay," I released my fingers, forcing a smile. "Miranda shouldn't have been dressed so neatly on a deserted island anyway."
I picked up the brown eyeliner pencil from the makeup table and quickly sketched a vine pattern on the stained fabric, then tore off the headband and tied it around my waist as decoration. The laughter around me gradually died down, and when I pinned the skirt hem into an irregular shape with a hairpin, I even heard a few gasps.
"Let's begin." I walked to the center of the stage, barefoot on the cold wooden floor, "Act I, Scene V, Miranda's first encounter with Ferdinand."
William stood at the other end of the stage, wearing borrowed noble attire. He looked at my improvised costume, and a hint of approval flashed in his gray-green eyes. As we recited Shakespeare's lines about love and freedom, I almost forgot the ugly paint stains on my skirt.
"How perfect!" Professor Lecter clapped excitedly after the rehearsal, "Emily's improvisation captures Miranda's wild spirit perfectly!"
Victoria's red lips formed a thin line. She elegantly walked toward William, pretending to help him adjust his collar, which didn't need adjusting at all. "Father said Uncle Montague is very much looking forward to seeing our performance." She deliberately raised her voice, "He flew all the way back from Switzerland just for this."
William's body stiffened for a moment. He looked at me, as if he wanted to say something, but Victoria had already taken his arm and left.
"Don't mind Miss Rockefeller's... special welcome ceremony." Professor Lecter handed me a pack of wet wipes and whispered, "Your Miranda is great. Keep it up."
I wiped the paint off my hands and suddenly noticed that William had returned to the rehearsal room at some point, holding a paper bag.
"Here." He handed me a neatly folded white dress, "It should fit."
I unfolded the dress—it was a spare costume from St. Mary's College, made of fine fabric, with tiny pearls embroidered on the collar. "This..."
"I asked the costume team for an extra set." William scratched the back of his neck, a gesture that made him seem less aloof, "Your idea is great, but tomorrow is the public rehearsal, and the principal and board of trustees will be there..."
"So Mr. Montague is worried about family reputation?" I couldn't help but tease him.
"I'm worried about you." He looked straight into my eyes, his voice soft, "Victoria's father is the chairman of the board of trustees."
Those words were like a key, unlocking something in my heart. I took the skirt and nodded, "Thank you."
"And..." William hesitated, "If you don't mind, I can help you repair the original one. My grandmother taught me some embroidery."
So now, at nine o'clock in the library, I sat across from William Montague, watching his long fingers hold the needle and thread, carefully embroidering over the paint stains on my old dress. The scene was so absurd it made me want to laugh—the heir to the Montague family, helping a commoner girl mend her clothes.
"Why do you know how to embroider?" I couldn't help asking.
William's needle and thread paused for a moment: "My mother passed away early, and my grandmother raised me. She said that men of the Montague family must be skilled in everything." He gave a self-deprecating smile, "Including how to be a qualified heir."
The candlelight danced across his chiseled features, and I noticed for the first time a faint scar between his eyebrows.
"How did you get that?" I pointed to my own brow as a gesture.
"On my tenth birthday, I fell while escaping from the family portrait gallery." William's voice carried a hint of nostalgia, "I didn't want to memorize those boring family precepts, so I climbed out the window to play with the gardener's son."
"And then?"
"Then I was locked in the tower study for a whole week, copying the family genealogy." He finished the last stitch with a wry smile, "There, how does it look?"
I took the skirt. The original paint stains were now covered by exquisite vine embroidery, making it even more beautiful than before. "This is amazing!" I couldn't help but praise, "You actually know how to do this."
"Part of noble education." William packed away his sewing kit, "We learned embroidery, horsemanship, Latin—just not how to take the subway."
We exchanged smiles, and the candlelight suddenly felt warmer.
"Why did you choose St. Mary's?" William asked suddenly, "With your grades, you could have gone to a more... free school."
I ran my fingers over the embroidery on my skirt: "Full scholarship, and..." I hesitated, "My mother used to work here, and she said the library's collection was worth enduring all the arrogance of the nobility."
William raised his eyebrows in surprise: "Your mother worked here? When?"
"Twenty years ago, I think. I'm not exactly sure." I changed the subject, "By the way, will you be attending next week's charity auction?"
"I have to go." William made a face, "The Montague family donates 'precious artifacts' every year." He imitated his father's serious tone, making me laugh out loud.
The laughter rang out crisply in the quiet library. In the shadows nearby, something flashed—like a smartphone camera....
On the day of the charity sale, the weather was unusually sunny. I fiddled with the handmade jewelry on my stall—earrings, bracelets, and bookmarks made from recycled materials, each one unique. The aristocratic girls at the neighboring booth displayed designer handbags and jewelry, casting disdainful glances at my "junk."
"All proceeds will go toward supporting underprivileged students," Principal Watson announced at the opening ceremony, "thanks to the generous sponsorship of the Rockefeller family."
Victoria stood on the podium in her custom-made gown, looking like a true princess. Her gaze swept over my stall, and the corner of her mouth curled into a cold smile.
Surprisingly, after the sale began, my handmade jewelry attracted quite a few people. Even a few aristocratic girls secretly bought a few pairs of earrings, quickly stuffing them into their handbags as if they had done something shameful.
"How much is this necklace?" a familiar voice asked.
William stood in front of my booth, pointing at a necklace made from blue-and-white porcelain shards. The shards were from a second-hand market, supposedly fragments of Ming Dynasty blue-and-white porcelain.
"Thirty... no, fifty dollars." I raised the price on the spot, after all, this was a "charity" sale.
William pulled out his wallet: "I'll take it."
"Master Montague is interested in... folk art?" Victoria appeared beside William like a ghost, her blonde hair shimmering in the sunlight.
"A unique aesthetic," William said casually, putting the necklace around his neck, "more interesting than mass-produced luxury goods."
Victoria's blue eyes narrowed. She scanned my stall and suddenly raised her voice: "I'll pay a thousand dollars for everything here!"
The crowd gasped. Principal Watson rushed over, smiling broadly: "What a generous gesture, Miss Rockefeller!"
Victoria signed the check and looked at me triumphantly. Then, under everyone's gaze, she picked up each piece of jewelry and tossed it into the nearby trash can like garbage.
"Now these things belong to me, and I can do with them as I please, right?" Her sweet voice was like a knife coated in honey.
My blood boiled instantly. But before I could speak, William stepped forward: "Pick them up."
The entire hall fell silent. Victoria stared at William in disbelief: "What?"
"I said, pick them up." William spoke slowly, his voice not loud but clear enough for everyone to hear, "Or should I call your father and ask him if this is how the Rockefeller family practices 'generous charity'?"
The principal's face turned pale. Victoria's精致 makeup couldn't hide the shock and anger on her face. The most ironic part was that the blue-and-white porcelain necklace was still hanging around William's neck, shimmering with a subtle glow in the sunlight.
"William, you shouldn't speak to Miss Rockefeller like that," the principal tried to mediate. "This is just a misunderstanding—"
"No, principal. " I interrupted him, stepping out from behind the stall. "This is a public humiliation. But the one being humiliated isn't me—it's the 'charity' spirit that St. Mary's College prides itself on."
I bent down and picked up a bracelet from the trash can: "Victoria didn't buy these trinkets with a thousand dollars—she bought the opportunity to publicly trample on the common people. I wonder how tomorrow's school newspaper will report this?"
The principal's forehead was covered in beads of sweat. The students around us began to whisper, and some even started secretly recording videos.
"Enough!" Victoria suddenly screamed, grabbed her Birkin bag, and turned to leave. The principal hurried after her.
William helped me pick up the remaining jewelry. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I should have anticipated she'd react this way." "
"Why apologize?" I shook my head. "You stood by me just now, which already shocked everyone."
"I just did the right thing." William's gaze fell on the small cut on my hand caused by the jewelry. He pulled out a handkerchief and gently pressed it against the wound. "It's bleeding."
This simple gesture made my heart skip a beat. His hand was warm, carrying a faint scent of cedar. The crowd around us seemed to fade away, leaving only the faint scar between his eyebrows and my reflection in his gray-green eyes.
"William!" A stern voice broke the moment. Mr. Montague—William's father—stood nearby, his face as dark as the sky before a storm.
William's body tensed visibly, but he didn't let go of my hand. "Father, this is Emily Carter, my partner in the drama club."
Mr. Montague gave me a cold glance, as if appraising a flawed commodity. "The car is waiting for you," he said to William, then turned and walked away.
William gently squeezed my hand before letting go. "See you tomorrow, Emily."
I watched William follow his father away, a dull ache in my chest. It was only then that I noticed Old Rockefeller, leaning on his cane in the shadows of the library, staring at me thoughtfully.