Chapter 2

Macy brushed her fingers against the fabric of the bag, her wrist flicking with practiced, subtle malice.

Instead of going in, the box tipped sideways. The ruby necklace tumbled out of the velvet case, clattering loudly against the cold marble floor between them.

"Oh my goodness!" Macy gasped, instantly clamping both hands over her mouth in dramatic horror. "H-how... How did this end up in your bag?"

Right on cue, Brenda marched into the corridor, her footsteps furious. "What is going on here? What did she do now?"

Several household maids and footmen gathered at the end of the hall, whispering and watching the spectacle unfold.

Macy quickly knelt, picking up the fallen necklace with trembling hands and tear-rimmed eyes.

"Mom, don't be mad at Isadora, please!" Macy pleaded, her voice carrying clear and sweet through the entire foyer. "It's completely fine! I was going to give it to her anyway. Whether I hand it to her or she takes it herself, it's the exact same thing!"

"How could that ever be the same?!" Brenda shrieked, her face turning purple with rage. "You giving it to her is charity! Her taking it behind our backs is theft! Eighteen years we clothed and fed you, Isadora, and you leave as a thief! A common pickpocket!"

"Mom, stop!" Macy stood up, turning to Isadora with an expression of pure, saintly forgiveness. "Isadora, please don't take Mom's words to heart. I know why you took it—you're just trying to plan for your future, right? Your real parents have no jobs, you have five unmarried brothers who need to scrape together dowries, and an ailing grandmother who needs costly medicine... If you pawn this necklace, it'll bring in good money. You need it so much more than I do! Please, keep it!"

The maids began chiming in right on cue, their voices hushed with admiration and spite:

"Miss Macy is far too kindhearted! That custom piece is worth at least a hundred thousand dollars!"

"The Master and Madam had a bespoke designer craft that exclusively for Miss Macy—it has her initial engraved on the back!"

"Miss Macy loves that necklace, yet she’s willing to part with it for someone who just tried to steal it from her!"

"Ungrateful... Miss Isadora has turned out to be an absolute viper!"

Macy basked in the chorus of praise, lifting her chin with an expression of delicate, tragic grace.

Brenda lunged forward, snatching the necklace back from Macy’s hand. "You foolish girl! That family of hers is a bottomless black hole—ten necklaces wouldn't be enough to fill their debts! She doesn't deserve a single cent from this house! Get out, Isadora! Get out before I call the police and have you dragged away in cuffs!"

Throughout the frantic storm of accusations, Isadora hadn't moved an inch.

She stood with her hands resting loosely, her dark, almond eyes gleaming with cool amusement. She looked at Macy—at the fragile, quivering lower lip and the poorly concealed triumph shining deep within her gaze.

Framing someone for theft? Isadora thought, her lips curving into a languid, dangerous smirk. After all this plotting, is this really the best trick this little white lotus can muster?

Under Isadora's piercing, unbothered stare, Macy felt an instinctive shiver run down her spine. There was no panic, no tearful plea, no desperate defense. Isadora’s aura was cold, regal, and so completely dominating that Macy felt suddenly small and exposed.

Desperate to push her advantage, Macy snatched the necklace back from Brenda and stepped right in front of Isadora, thrusting the jewelry box toward her chest like an offering.

"Take it, sister! I'll hold Mom back... Just take it before anyone stops you!"

Isadora lowered her gaze, glancing at the cloudy red stone, then slowly lifted her eyes back to Macy.

The room held its breath. Brenda trembled with outrage, the maids watched with bated breath, and Macy wore the smile of someone who believed she had just delivered the final, humiliating checkmate.

Then, slowly, deliberately, Isadora reached out. Her slender fingers wrapped around the velvet box, pulling it smoothly from Macy’s grasp.

Macy’s eyes widened with triumphant delight—she took it!

Yet before Macy could even draw breath to speak, Isadora tilted her head, the corner of her lips curving into a razor-sharp, chilling smile.

"Since you insist it's mine..." Isadora whispered, her voice dangerously calm, "I suppose I should show you what I do with trash."