Her beauty changed then. It did not vanish exactly, but it sharpened into something frantic and exposed. She turned toward the guests.
“You’re all enjoying this, aren’t you?” she shouted. “Sitting there, pretending you’re better than me. Do you know what it feels like to spend your whole life beside someone everyone praises? Brave Emily. Strong Emily. Perfect Emily.”
My chest tightened.
Perfect.
That word again.
Rachel had used it like a weapon for years. She never understood that praise and loneliness could exist in the same room. That medals could hang beside nightmares. That strength was not the absence of pain, but the refusal to let pain decide your name.
She turned on me.
“You always had something,” she said. “Even when you had nothing, people respected you. I had to fight for every glance.”
“No,” I said quietly. “You demanded every glance. There’s a difference.”
Her eyes burned.
For one second, I thought she would scream again.
Instead, she smiled.
Small.
Shaking.
Dangerous.
“You think this ends with me humiliated?” she asked. “You think I came here with nothing but a dress and a lie?”
The king’s eyes narrowed.
One of his aides stepped closer.
Rachel lifted her chin.
“There are contracts already signed. Media rights. Partnership agreements. Charity foundations using my future title. Donations pledged in my name. If you ruin me publicly, you ruin half the palace’s reputation with me.”
The room shifted.
