CHAPTER 20 Aug 13, 2025 The first thing they noticed wasn't me. It was the ring. Silver and sharp beneath the chandelier's light, it shimmered against the black velvet of my glove like a secret I wasn't trying to keep. I felt the stares. Clarissa's head snapped toward me first, her smile too tight, too red. She leaned toward Lady Catherine, her whisper slick and syrupy. "I guess they'll let anyone wear a ring now," she said, light and dismissive. "It's cute she thinks it means something." The jeweled fan fluttered once-then a titter of laughter followed, practiced and poisonous. It passed like a spark across the circle of silk-skirted girls, each one waiting for permission to judge. The ring burned on my finger. Not from weight-but from meaning. They weren't just looking at silver. They were looking at a shift. At a girl from the West Wing who now wore something no one could explain. Clarissa turned back to me slowly, her gaze dragging like a blade. If her eyes had hands, they would've yanked the ring off and crushed it underfoot. I met her stare. And smiled. Before I could move, Clarissa turned to me directly, her smile stretching wider, brighter, like it was all just a game. "Oh, Marianne," she said sweetly, "would you join me in the rose maze? Just for a quick chat." She didn't wait for an answer. "Now," she added, still smiling. "I think we've let this little misunderstanding go on long enough, don't you?" The rose maze was overgrown and too quiet, like it hadn't been touched in years. I stepped through the archway, heart pounding hard enough to make my ribs ache. Clarissa was already ahead, arms crossed, waiting like she'd been born to stand in the center of a mess. She didn't waste time. "What did you do to him?" she snapped. I blinked. "What?" She took a step closer, voice low but shaking. "Alexander. He's different around you. You don't even belong here, and suddenly you're the one he's watching? Talking to? I want to know what you did." "I didn't do anything," I said, barely above a whisper. She gave a bitter laugh. "Yeah. Sure. That's why he can't take his eyes off you. Did you sleep with him?" I didn't answer. I couldn't. That silence was all she needed. "Oh my god," she said, taking a step back. "You actually did." I looked down for a second, shame creeping in even though I didn't want it to. She stared at me like I'd stolen something from her. "You really think he gives a shit about you? He's a prince, Marianne. This isn't a fairy tale. He's going to get bored, and when he does, you'll be the one left humiliated." I finally met her eyes. "If you're so sure he doesn't care, why does it bother you this much?" That did it. She shoved me. I stumbled back into the rosebush. Thorns caught my arm and tore through the fabric. I hissed and pulled free, bleeding. Clarissa's face was flushed, her voice hard and cracking. "You should've stayed in the background, where you belong. Cleaning floors or hiding in corners. But you just couldn't help yourself, could you?" "I didn't ask for any of this," I said, breathing hard. "But I'm not going to apologize for it either." She stared at me, furious and maybe-just maybe-a little scared. "You think he loves you?" she asked, voice sharp. "He's using you. And you'll see that. Everyone will." I stepped forward, trembling but not backing down. "If he's using me, then why are you the one losing it?" That hit somewhere deep. Her mouth twisted. But she didn't say anything else. We were still standing in the rose maze, blood drying on my arm, when the guards arrived. Two of them-stiff, silent, and clearly sent for us. "Ladies," one said. "The Queen requests your presence in the ballroom." Clarissa straightened her dress like nothing had happened. "Of course she does," she muttered.