The Markston mansion was glowing that night — golden lights wrapped around the pillars, servants hurrying with trays of champagne, and a faint melody from the grand piano filling the air.

It was the old patriarch’s seventieth birthday, and the celebration was the grandest I’d ever seen. Every Markston relative, business associate, and distant cousin was here — smiling, laughing, toasting to wealth and longevity.

I stood quietly at the edge of the hall, my hands clasped in front of me. My heart beat unevenly. I had been so proud of the gift I prepared for Grandfather — a hand-painted landscape that took me weeks to complete. But this morning, when I went to get it from my room, it was ruined. Torn in half.

Someone had destroyed it. I didn’t need to guess who.

Still, I told myself to stay calm. Tonight wasn’t about me.

When it was finally my turn to offer a gift, I walked forward slowly. My palms were sweating, but I kept my back straight. Everyone’s eyes followed me — not with warmth, but curiosity, and some, with barely concealed amusement.

“I… didn’t bring a gift tonight, Grandfather,” I said softly, bowing my head. “The one I prepared was unfortunately damaged. I’m very sorry.”

A quiet murmur rolled through the hall.

“Empty-handed? How embarrassing.”

“She’s still in this family and can’t even manage a simple birthday gift?”

Their whispers stung, but I kept my head bowed.

Then came that voice — smooth and sharp as a blade.

“Oh, Alice,” Lilian drawled, her lips curving with mock pity. “If you needed help buying a gift, you could have told me. I wouldn’t have minded sparing a few dollars.”

Laughter followed her words. I bit the inside of my cheek to stop the tears burning behind my eyes.

But before I could respond, the old patriarch smiled kindly. “That’s alright, child. What matters is sincerity, not the price of a gift.”

I lifted my eyes to him and bowed again. “Thank you, Grandfather. I truly wish you good health and peace.”

He nodded, his expression soft — and for a moment, my heart eased.

But Lilian wasn’t done. With a proud flick of her hair, she motioned to a servant who carried a velvet box forward. “Now, this is my gift,” she announced. “A custom gold pendant, crafted by a Parisian jeweler.”

Gasps of admiration rippled through the crowd.

“It’s beautiful.”

“So luxurious.”

I glanced at the pendant — it gleamed coldly under the chandelier, heavy and solid.

Without meaning to, I said, “It’s lovely, but… perhaps not the best choice for Grandfather’s health.”

The entire room turned to me. Lilian froze mid-smile.

“What?” she said sharply.

I swallowed, forcing my tone to stay respectful. “Gold absorbs cold quickly. With Grandfather’s age, such a heavy pendant might feel uncomfortable. It might not be suitable for him to wear.”

The murmurs returned, this time less approving. Even the old matriarch gave a thoughtful nod.

Lilian’s eyes darkened. “You always find a way to ruin things, don’t you, Alice?” she hissed quietly, her lips barely moving.

I looked down, my voice barely a whisper. “I was only thinking of my grandfather.”

Before she could say anything else, another servant rolled forward a beautifully framed painting — children playing under a bright sun.

“Oh, how lovely!” someone exclaimed. “Such a cheerful painting!”

I looked at it closely, and my heart stopped. I recognized it.

“That’s not what it seems,” I said before I could stop myself. “That’s an ancient piece — The Children of the Tyrant King. Those smiles weren’t of joy, but fear. The painter was ordered to depict the children of conquered nobles as happy, to glorify the King’s cruelty.”

A collective gasp swept the room. Everyone had heard of that legend, but none knew it was this very painting.

People began to whisper again — this time about Lilian’s ignorance, her expensive yet inappropriate choices.

Lilian’s face turned red. “You— You’re just jealous!” she shouted, her voice trembling. “You always try to humiliate me in front of everyone!”

She spun around and stormed upstairs, her heels clattering against the marble.

The atmosphere grew awkward after that. The old patriarch tried to ease the tension with a laugh, waving off the murmurs. “Let’s not ruin the night with petty matters,” he said kindly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll rest upstairs.”

Servants helped him as he made his way up.

Moments later, I excused myself too, heading down the hall to fetch something for the matriarch. The corridor was quiet, the laughter fading behind me.

Then I heard it — a soft sound, like shuffling near the top of the stairs.

I turned my head just in time to see a shadow push something — someone — forward.

“No!” I screamed, running forward.

A loud thud echoed through the house. My heart stopped. I reached the stairs — and froze.

The old patriarch lay at the bottom. Motionless.

“Oh my God!”

“Father!”

“Call the ambulance!”

Panic erupted everywhere. People came running from the hall, shouting, crying.

And then I saw their faces — one by one — turning toward me.

Their eyes were full of shock. Then suspicion. Then contempt.

“She’s standing right there!”

“It’s Alice!”

“I saw her near the stairs!”

“I didn’t—” My voice came out small, broken. “I didn’t touch him—”

But no one listened.

Even Vincent stood at a distance, frozen, his expression unreadable — his eyes, cold.

I stood there, surrounded by chaos, my chest tightening with disbelief. I wanted to scream, to tell them what I saw, but my words stuck in my throat.

As the sirens wailed in the distance, one thought echoed painfully in my mind—

No matter what I say… no one’s going to believe me.