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The parent Irene had been talking to noticed the tension between them and swiftly took her leave. With the woman gone, Irene faced Elsie with her hands clasped in front of her and asked politely, "How may I help you, Elsie Lancaster?"

Elsie did not know Irene much, but when someone called her by her full name like that, it couldn’t be anything good.

"I—I... T-the thing is..." Elsie found herself stammering at Irene’s intimidating stare. Unlike her, Zara was so easy to win over. The woman practically worshipped her. But not Irene. So far, sweet-talking was not Irene’s style.

So she took the alternative her mother had offered and said at once, "Your dress is stunning, Irene. I love it. And it’s so nice that we are both in red. The media might even think we are mother and daughter." She flattered her.

"Thank the gods we are not mother and daughter. Even my younger daughters know not to be as foolish as you," Irene callously said.

Elsie’s face heated with shame, and her ego couldn’t take such hit. But then, she needed Irene and so she swallowed her pride and apologized. "I’m so sorry, Irene. I honestly don’t know what came over me these past few days. It must be the stress or something that made me lose my mind."

But Irene said to her with faux sweetness, "Still not taking consequences for your actions, aren’t you such a delight, Elsie?"

Then she stepped closer, and Elsie instinctively took a step back, the woman towering over her.

Irene’s voice was tightly controlled as she said, "I know girls like you. You think me stupid not to see through your plans?"

Elsie gulped, "No, that’s not—"

"Shh." Irene pressed her finger against her lips, silencing her. She continued this time, her voice slower and intentional, "The only reason I have tolerated you so far was because of the prophecy your mother told me. But it’s nice to know that prophecies have multiple interpretations."

Elsie Lancaster was stunned. What did she mean by that? It especially unsettled her seeing the cruel, satisfied smile on Irene’s face as if she knew something that she didn’t. Something that would not work in her favour.

Before Elsie could question what she meant by that, the light in the room suddenly dimmed. Everyone’s attention was drawn at this point as the music shifted and the doors swung open.

Violet Purple made her appearance.

Impossible.

Elsie Lancaster had sworn she looked the best, but she was left in shock watching as Violet walked in like a goddess, her purple gown nearly luminous in the low light while the amethyst heels clicked on the floor with authority.

It didn’t help that the hall had gone silent, such that every step was heard.

Then, as if it were choreographed, the lights came back on just as her three roommates joined her on either side, looking like models on runways.

But what left the crowd gasping in disbelief was when the long-awaited cardinal alphas followed the girls from behind like sexy guardian angels.

"No way!" She heard whispers of disbelief all around her.

A cracking sound echoed when someone dropped their drink, and Elsie could understand their reaction considering she was close to suffering from an aneurysm herself. And it was all because of what the alphas were wearing.

Griffin was wearing a deep charcoal-black tux with rich burgundy undertones that subtly highlighted his red hair.

The jacket was slightly fitted but allowed room for his broad build, with a sharp velvet lapel.

He accented his suit with a royal purple pocket square and a dark purple boutonnière made of a wild violet and red flame lily.

He looked rugged yet regal, like a knight guarding the queen.

And then talk about Asher Nightshade, who was wearing a sleek all-black suit, matte and sharply cut, with subtle violet embroidery along the cuffs and collar like hidden thorns.

He had a black satin shirt underneath, with no tie.

Just like Griffin, he accented his outfit with a single amethyst pin shaped like a crescent moon on his lapel, and a tiny sprig of dark plum lilac in his boutonnière.

He wore gloves and, of course, black sunglasses no one dared ask him to remove.

Overall, he looked like the mysterious, deadly beautiful assassin every queen always had.

Then there was Roman Draven. If there was anyone Elsie believed would never leave her, it was Roman Draven.

But now, here he was at Violet’s side, dressed in a deep forest green tuxedo jacket with subtle violet floral embroidery crawling up one sleeve.

The trousers were black, slim-fitted, while his shirt was a muted lavender with a slight sheen.

And just like the cardinal alphas before him, he had a vivid purple boutonnière with green vines wrapped around it.

The last, but obviously not the least, seeing he had jumped on the same train as the others, was Alaric Storm.

He wore a classic midnight navy three-piece suit, the vest subtly embroidered with silver stars.

Beneath was a white shirt with a soft violet tie.

And yes, not to be outdone, he had attached a violet-and-silver boutonnière.

Their attire was intentional and obvious. The boys were doing this for Violet. They were all interested in her. How could they betray her like this? And to think they were doing this at the ball?

Elsie suddenly felt vulnerable and began to look around. And just as she thought, whispers were going all around her. They were talking about her and she could tell from their pitiful eyes.

Elsie Lancaster watched with seething hatred as the reporters surrounded Violet Purple while she was left behind.

Elsie had forgotten Irene was still with her, and she flinched when the woman leaned in to whisper, "And that is how a true queen moves. She has the support of her kings and doesn’t move alone. Do have a splendid gala night, Elsie Lancaster."

And with that, Irene disappeared into the crowd, while Elsie was left there, tears biting at the corners of her eyes, her hands balled into fists.

If only she knew, this was the beginning of her miserable life.