Chapter 33: Two Dreams, One Nightmare

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"This is harassment. Celestial harassment. Heaven, explain yourselves. I requested silence... not admirers."

The newcomer was Tessa.

She let out a long, heavy sigh, running a hand through her hair. She was clearly seeking a brief asylum from the exhausting networking happening inside the gala.

From her perspective, the stunning girl in the midnight-blue velvet gown was just a gorgeous, quiet anomaly—Stuart's eccentric cousin, Guinevere. Deciding to give the girl her privacy, Tessa stood in silence on the far end of the balcony, gazing out at the city skyline.

The silence lasted for less than a minute.

Clack! Clack! Clack!

The glass door swung open a second time, much more aggressively. The rapid, sharp strike of high heels against the stone floor broke the quiet ambiance.

Tessa turned her head, her posture instantly stiffening.

It was Blythe.

Dressed in a stunning burgundy evening gown, Blythe looked every bit the high-society heiress. Given that the Vance family was a massive corporate powerhouse, it made perfect sense for them to be invited to an elite auction like this.

Blythe’s footsteps halted the moment she registered Tessa's presence, and the atmosphere on the balcony instantly plummeted past freezing.

Ever since that horrific nightmare in the St. Jude's gymnasium, the bridge between Kyle and Blythe had been completely incinerated. Both of them had been deeply scarred by the fallout—with Kevin's brutal execution leaving a toxic, jagged rift that affected everyone around them. As Blythe's closest friend who had shared the burden of loving the same boy, Tessa had witnessed the wreckage firsthand, and she had zero intention of letting the cycle repeat.

"Tessa," Blythe greeted.

Her voice was tight, masking a turbulent swirl of defensive pride and raw pain.

"Blythe," Tessa replied flatly.

She crossed her arms, her gaze locking onto Blythe with an unyielding, icy sharpness.

Blythe bit her lower lip, her hands clenching into tight fists against the fabric of her gown. The wound in her chest was still fresh, raw from Tessa's recent behavior.

Tessa didn't waste time. She hated emotional baggage, and she wasn't going to let this girl drag Kyle down any further. 

"Has your wound healed? I'm sure it has. The doctors at McClary Group use only the most advanced care."

Blythe's hand twitched toward her cheek, then stopped. Her jaw tightened. The words landed like a blade wrapped in silk—she wasn't sure if Tessa was complimenting the doctors or telling her she had no excuse to linger in Kyle's life anymore. 

A quiet instinct, coiled in her chest since the gymnasium floor. She couldn't prove it. But she knew.

"Yes," Blythe said, her voice clipped. "It's healing well."

She didn't thank her.

The atmosphere turned very cold.

Tessa took a step closer, her heels clicking softly.

"But since you're here... let me make something entirely clear to you."

Blythe tilted her chin up, her trademark stubbornness flaring. 

"What?"

"Stay away from Kyle."

The words cut through the wind like a razor.

"The damage is done. It’s too painful for him, and honestly, it’s too painful for you. You two are just going to tear each other apart if you keep forcing it. As your friend, I'm telling you to back off."

Blythe’s eyes widened. A sudden, volatile flush of anger colored her pale cheeks. The mention of Kyle's name acted like oil on a flame.

"Back off?!"

Blythe snapped, her voice shaking with a volatile mixture of pride and desperation.

"Who are you to tell me that, Tessa? Zee and I never broke up! We are still together!"

She took a sharp, frantic breath.

"Everything that happened... the distance, the silence... it was all just a pathetic trick by Kevin to tear us apart! We never officially ended it!"

Tessa, however, didn't flinch at the outburst. Her expression remained completely unreadable, a wall of absolute stoicism. 

"It doesn't matter what trick that bastard played, Blythe. Look at the reality. Look at how miserable he is. Look at what you did to him... and to yourself."

Blythe’s eyes welled with tears, but she fiercely blinked them back, her gaze burning with an obsessive, fragile determination. She refused to lose. She refused to let go of the only boy who had ever truly seen her.

Tessa stepped forward sharply, her voice shifting into a fierce, commanding undertone as she staked her absolute claim over the situation.

"You said that Kyle's dream was your dream, didn't you, Blythe?"

Tessa's eyes locked onto her.

"Well, from now on, my new dream... is to become a part of his dream. I will drag you, and any other women down from the place he looks at.

A heavy, freezing silence fell.

"And make him have absolutely no choice but to look at me. Punkt."

Miles away from the high-stakes drama of the balcony, a strange cosmic ripple vibrated through the city.

Inside the main hall, Stuart was mid-conversation when a sudden, aggressive shiver stabbed straight down his spine. His hand twitched, nearly rattling his glass of sparkling cider.

He squinted at empty air, checking his collar with a deep, silent frown. Why do I suddenly feel like someone just cast a hex on my face?

At the exact same second, inside a high-end restaurant in Deansgate, Yve was on a political date. 

Sitting before seven empty plates, she was lifting a slice of roasted duck to start her eighth when a phantom chill brushed past her cheek, triggering an immediate defensive instinct. 

Yve froze. Setting her chopsticks down, she patted her lips.

Across the table, Uika watched her with a calm, piercing gaze. 

"What's wrong?" he asked flatly, his voice quiet yet intimidating. "Is there an issue with the food?"

"No, hubby. It’s just... the air seems demanding," Yve murmured, sensing a disturbance in her metabolic peace.

Unfazed by her provocation, Uika smoothly slid his Black Card across the table until it rested flat beside her plate, physically finalizing the dinner to veto her upcoming ninth order.

But back on the freezing balcony, the real storm was only just peaking.

Blythe stared back at her, her eyes burning with a sudden, sharp light as she shot back her cold response.

"Then my dream is simply to destroy your new dream."

Hesitating briefly, she drew nearer with a vacant stare.

"I speak as the first kiss that consumed and explored his lips."

She let the silence hang for a split second.

"As simple as that—"

Cough! WHEEZE!

A loud, violent hacking sound violently shattered the high-stakes drama into a million pieces.

Both Tessa and Blythe violently jumped, their heads whipping toward the corner of the balcony. They had completely forgotten they weren't alone.

Guinevere—the elegant, ethereal cousin of Stuart—was currently doubled over, clutching her chest and coughing hysterically, looking like she had just tragically swallowed a massive lungful of freezing air.

The sheer intensity of the cough made her silver hair tremble, completely breaking the mysterious aura she had maintained just moments ago.

"O-Oh my god..." Blythe’s face went from furious red to a pale, horrified white in a fraction of a second.

Reality hit the Vance daughter like a freight train, crashing down with an overwhelming weight.

An outsider—an elite, highly sophisticated girl from another major family—had been standing right there, listening to her entire, deeply embarrassing, hyper-dramatic standoff.

Blythe's defense mechanism completely broke down into pure, unbridled panic. Mortified beyond belief, she let out a small, strangled gasp, covered her burning face with both hands, and bolted. 

She spun around and ran back into the ballroom, the frantic strike of her heels echoing away into the distance.

Now, only Tessa and Guinevere remained on the balcony.

Guinevere finally managed to stop coughing, straightening her posture and smoothing down her velvet gown. She turned around, her crescent eyes bearing a look of profound, cosmic exhaustion.

Tessa cleared her throat softly to reclaim her composure. She brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear, adopting a sharp, guarded posture.

"My apologies for the scene," Tessa said, her voice instantly returning to its smooth, polite, and slightly aloof standard. She looked away, crossing her arms defensively. "The girl who just ran off... we were merely rehearsing a script for our school's drama club. It was nothing more than a poorly written play. Please pay no mind to the absurd dialogue."

Guinevere tilted her silver-haired head, a soft, humored breath escaping her lips. "A school play, huh..."

"Yes," Tessa lied smoothly without blinking. "Our theater club is desperately lacking a sane scriptwriter."

Guinevere remained silent for a moment, observing Tessa with a sharp, calculating gaze that felt entirely too perceptive.

"I'm Theresa von Daimler," she introduced herself, attempting to diffuse the lingering awkwardness. "A classmate of Stuart's. You must be Guinevere, correct? His cousin from the overseas branch?"

The girl in front of her let out a quiet, slow sigh—a breath that sounded entirely weary of the universe.

"Yes. Guinevere McClary," she replied flatly.

Then, she glanced toward the grand ballroom doors, then locked her sharp gaze back onto Tessa. "And as for your school play... I can only conclude that the main character must be an incredibly pathetic guy to be caught between the two of you."

Tessa let out a sharp, cynical smirk, finding herself entirely in agreement. "You have no idea just how pathetic he can be."

“He really is such a loser.”

“Exactly,” Tessa replied.

"No doubt from someone who's a proper muppet."

"A... what?" Tessa blinked, her brow furrowing at the sudden, distinct Manchester slang slipping from the overseas heiress.

"A puppet," Guinevere corrected instantly, her voice smooth and devoid of any slip-ups as she gestured elegantly with her hand. "A mere puppet to the plot, I mean. My English accent tends to warp when I am exhausted from the jetlag."

Tessa observed her for a second before letting out a soft breath. "Right. Well, he really is—"

"I’m sure right now he can’t do anything against you both."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean... at the theater. On the stage."

"Yeah, He's really weird... but he’s cool."

"I'm really hopeless, aren't I? Thinking I could beat those wonderful memories just by relying on my confidence?"

There was a moment of silence before Tessa spoke up.

“Please forget what I just said... it was part of the script.”

Guinevere blinked a few times and shook her head slowly. "Not really. Well then, give it your best shot."

"W-What? I-I mean... Yeah."

Without another word, Guinevere turned and glided past her, slipping back through the glass doors and leaving a faint trace of expensive perfume in the wind.

Tessa watched the velvet gown disappear into the crowd, silently noting that Stuart's cousin possessed a dangerously magnetic, unreadable charisma.

Meanwhile, Guinevere—who was currently suppressing the urge to violently scrub his own brain clean—focused entirely on the secure elevator doors at the end of the corridor. 

His jaw tight, Kyle blended into the shadows.

What a bunch of weird girls... I need to get that emerald right now.

Before this high-school drama actually kills me.