15. Daphne

Chapter fifteen

Daphne

T he limo comes to a stop, and I stare in awe at the Whitmore mansion. It’s a massive stone behemoth, resembling a castle that never needed to defend itself. Memories flood back as I remember the world of luxury and opulence that seemed untouchable. Will it feel the same this time?

Alex’s deep voice brings me back. “Come on.”

We gather our bags and step out onto the perfectly manicured driveway. The steps leading up to the front door loom like a grand staircase from one of those old movies. With crisp confidence, Alex knocks.

A moment later, the door swings open, revealing the familiar butler.

“Good evening, Mr. Alexandru, Ms. Victoria,” he greets them with a respectful nod before turning to me with an expressionless face.

Feeling insignificant compared to this world of wealth and privilege, I squeak, “Hi. ”

Celeste brushes past me, her perfume a suffocating cloud, while Victoria’s heels click sharply behind her. The grand foyer, a cavernous space with towering ceilings and ornate chandeliers, seems to swallow up every sound. The marble floor, polished to a blinding sheen, reflects the light from the stained glass windows, casting intricate patterns across the walls. A grand staircase, adorned with carvings, spirals up to the second floor, its banisters gleaming with gold leaf.

I’m overwhelmed by the sheer opulence.

The butler effortlessly picks up our bags as if they weigh nothing and leads us further into the mansion.

We’re led through a series of grand halls, each more ornate than the last. Portraits of stern-looking men and elegant women adorn the walls, their eyes following our every move. Finally, he ushers us into a sitting room, which is a spacious chamber brimming with luxurious furniture.

A crackling fire dances in the hearth, casting flickering shadows on the walls. Expensive perfume and polished wood create a scent that fills the room.

I can’t help but feel out of place. Everything is so grand, so perfect, so completely artificial. It’s like stepping into a museum, where everything is on display for admiration but devoid of warmth .

Celeste, on the other hand, seems perfectly at ease. She glides across the room, her eyes scanning the shelves filled with antique books and porcelain figurines. Victoria follows close behind, her heels clicking confidently on the marble.

I spot Mrs. Whitmore—Patricia—across the room, a pang of awkwardness tugging at my heartstrings. I summon a forced smile and approach her. “Mrs. Whitmore,” I say, my voice strained. “It’s so good to see you again.”

Her gaze sweeps over me with no spark of recognition igniting in her eyes, only polite indifference. My heart sinks as I realize she might not even remember me. To her, I’m just another face in the crowd.

To make matters worse, she breezes past me.

“Victoria, dear, look at you!” Her voice drips with honey as she lavishly embraces her daughter. They have already forgotten about my presence, treating me as if I’m just a piece of decor. Victoria smirks over her mother’s shoulder, her snicker a subtle jab at my insignificance.

Celeste, basking in Patricia’s attention like a sunflower in sunlight, shares a warm embrace once Victoria is done. Once they part, Patricia tugs gently at Celeste’s sleeve, her eyes filled with pride. “Darling, your dress,” she says, smoothing out imaginary imperfections. “There, now you’re perfect. ”

Celeste responds with practiced ease, a smile playing on her lips.

I catch Alex’s eye and see an apologetic expression on his face. I shake my head slightly. It’s not his fault that some people are better at building connections than others. Like Celeste, who’s always had a way of making herself unforgettable to those who matter most, such as Alex’s mother.

Alex cuts through the tension. “Hey, where’s your gran, Celeste? Wasn’t she supposed to come?”

Celeste flips her hair, glancing at me with a smug smirk. Obviously, she’s well aware of my feelings towards her ex. “Oh, Gran couldn’t make it,” she says in a light and dismissive tone. Like all is well. “Mom’s here instead.”

I bite my cheek, holding back words that won’t change anything. Gran is the reason I gave in, and now she’s not even here.

“Oh?” I try my best to appear unaffected. “I’m sorry. When did you learn that she isn’t coming?”

“In the limo.”

I cannot. I just freakin’ can’t.

We follow Patricia into the sitting room, the air thick with the scent of old money and fresh flowers. She turns to me, squinting slightly. “And you are?”

“Daphne,” I say, trying to hide the sting. “The harp player.” We’ve met before. Sure, I’d been twelve at the time, but still .

“Ah, yes.” She nods, her memory so distant it’s insignificant. “That scholarship kid. Aren’t you the girl Alex pitied?”

A wave of pain washes over me. I’m the charity case again, the outsider looking in.

I glance at Alex, his jaw tight. I don’t need his pity. Not now, not ever.

It’s exactly why I won’t bring up how my mother has been writing to me. I want Alex to love me for me and not because he feels bad.

Alex jumps in before the silence can swallow me whole. “I never felt bad for Daphne,” he says, his voice firm. “I’ve always liked her.”

“Sure,” Victoria pipes up with a roll of her eyes.

Celeste giggles, linking her arm through Victoria’s as if they’re about to present some grand performance. Their voices blend into one another like an annoying song I can’t tune out.

“Isn’t she just the best?” Celeste adds, her insincere voice dripping with false sweetness.

They turn away, their laughter a barrier I can’t breach. I’m invisible on the outside again. A puppy following at heels, hoping for scraps of attention.

“Girls, how is the music program treating you?” Patricia asks, pulling me back to the present .

Celeste flutters her lashes, probably thinking it makes her look more sincere. “It’s fantastic. The professors, the classes… It’s all amazing.”

Victoria nods, picking up the thread. “Yes, the opportunities we have are simply unparalleled.” The other women then talk musicality.

I stand there, nodding along to their rhapsody about scales and arpeggios. But when Alex’s mom’s gaze briefly flits to me, I speak out about something that’s been wearing on my mind. “Attending WU has been a dream, but from a privilege standpoint, I believe soloists should earn their spot based on an audition process.”

Silence crashes into the room like a wrong note scratching. For a second, even the air feels charged, waiting for what comes next. So, I continue, unable to keep my mouth shut. “Instead of who has the wealthiest last name.”

Victoria’s face reddens, her eyes narrowing like I’ve struck a nerve. “We’ve talked about this,” she snaps, her voice rising in pitch and volume. Her anger is a palpable thing, filling the room with tension.

Patricia, cool as ever, sits and leans back into the plush couch, surveying us with an expression that says she’s heard it all before. “If we’re being technical,” she starts, her fingers drumming on her silk blouse, “Victoria will take over the music department in a few years. If she wants the solo, she gets the solo.”

I feel my heart drop.

“That’s just the way the world works.” Patricia lifts her chin, a queen on her throne. “If you had a business, you could make your own rules too, dear.”

My eyes flick to Alex. They beg him to say something, anything. But he stands there, jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscle flex. He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t defend me. Silent support is all he offers, and it’s not enough.

Suffocating air thickens with unsaid words.

Then, like an unlikely savior, the butler appears at the door. “Dinner is ready,” he announces, his voice steady, breaking the spell.

I exhale. Dinner. A mundane activity that feels like a saving grace right now.