Page 53 of Veil of Obsession
She’s next.
19
Princess
As I sit at my vanity, the dim glow of my bedroom lights casts a golden sheen over the smooth expanse of my skin. I swipe the soft bristles of a powder brush against my cheek, but my thoughts are elsewhere, my mind already detached from the performance I’ll have to put on tonight.
Dinner. Another night of forced conversations, polite laughter, carefully measured words. And Daniel Morgan.
Daniel doesn’t interest me, but I suspect I’m not the object of his fascination in the first place.
I smooth the rich fabric of my dress down my hips, adjusting the way it clings to my frame. Scarlet. A color that demands attention. A color that stains. I catch my own gaze in the mirror, my lips painted a deep red, my expression unreadable. Inhaling slowly, I roll my shoulders back, sinking into the familiar rhythm of control.
The knock on my door comes exactly when I expect it.
“Princess,” my mother calls. Sharp. Commanding. Uninterested in whether I’m ready or not. “Come down. The Morgans have arrived.”
I exhale, setting my brush down. Time to play my part.
Opening my door, I head down the dimly-lit hallway, the soft carpet silencing my steps as I make my way toward the grand staircase. The scent of roasted meat, aged wine, and expensive cologne drifts up from the dining room below, mingling with the faintest trace of freshly-cut flowers—a carefully curated image of perfection.
But I know better. Everything in this house is a performance.
The soft rustle of my dress follows me as I step onto the first marble step, the cool stone firm beneath my heels. My hand rests lightly on the banister, my fingers tracing absent patterns along the polished surface.
From my vantage point, I can see the dining room just beyond the archway. The guests are already seated, laughter and murmured conversations filling the space.
And then I see him.
Daniel Morgan. Perfect posture. Perfect suit. Perfectly out-together. His expression is one of effortless charm, a mask of ease and confidence as he converses with Kaito.
But I see the way he watches him. Not me. Him. I press my lips together, suppressing a smirk. Interesting.
Pausing, I tilt my head slightly, observing. Calculating. A strange kind of amusement blooms in my chest, spreading slow and knowing.
The moment stretches, the candlelight flickering along the chandeliers, casting a warm glow over the polished floors. Then, with a slow exhale, I descend the final steps, smoothing down the silk of my dress. As I step into the light, all eyes turn to me. The room hushes—just slightly. The dining room is bright, elegant, but I can already tell tonight will be a dull affair.
I take a seat next to Daniel; everyone goes back to their hushed conversations. He’s speaking in his perfectly polished, carefully rehearsed voice. He’s everything a mother like mine would want: wealthy, well-connected, refined.
But I don’t care for any of that. Because he bores me to death.
I sip my wine, listening but not listening, nodding at the right moments, smiling when expected. Feigning interest. He talks about politics, his father’s upcoming campaign, some recent gala he attended. I let him talk and watch him closely.
His posture is relaxed, his tone easy, but his eyes…they flicker too often toward my brother. It’s subtle, but I see it. The way his focus shifts when my brother speaks, the way his lips part slightly, like he’s holding himself back from staring too long. I swirl the wine in my glass, tilting my head slightly. Curious.
I take the chance to talk to him when everyone seems busy with their first course.
“So, Daniel…” I murmur, dragging my nail along the rim of my glass. “I get the feeling you don’t find me all that interesting.”
He blinks, his polished demeanor faltering for half a second.
“That’s not true,” he says smoothly, smiling. A practiced, perfect response.
I arch a brow, sipping my wine. “Isn’t it?”
His gaze flicks briefly to my brother before he settles back on me, tilting his head. Studying me.
“You’re very preceptive, Princess,” he muses, taking a sip of his drink.
