Chapter 164: The Banquet and the Silent Snarl
The grand banquet hall shimmered under the glow of towering crystal chandeliers, their light refracting into rainbows that danced upon polished marble floors. Velvet drapes in deep burgundy framed tall windows, beyond which the city's skyline twinkled like a constellation. This was the Harrington estate, a prestigious venue known for hosting the crème de la crème of society — not a Langford home, but an official stage for power, wealth, and whispered competition.
Seraphina Langford entered with poise, her posture flawless, as if carved from porcelain. At twelve, she moved with the grace of royalty, her delicate pale red eyes scanning the crowd with a practiced mix of curiosity and calculation. Her auburn hair was woven into a regal crown braid, and her gown — a sweeping creation of midnight blue silk — fluttered like water with each step.
Clutched in her hand was the smaller, more fragile hand of her little moonbeam: Evangeline "Eva" Claire Ainsley. Seven years old, Eva resembled a porcelain doll, her cream - colored dress embroidered with silver stars catching the light as she walked shyly beside Seraphina. A necklace with a small sapphire crescent moon rested against her chest, a subtle sign of Seraphina's careful guardianship.
From the moment they entered the hall, eyes followed them — some curious, some judgmental, others filled with thinly veiled contempt.
Groups of women, clad in glittering jewels and tight smiles, murmured behind gloved hands as Eva passed by.
"Isn't that the Ainsley girl?" one whispered, voice syrupy with disdain. "Try - hard with her shiny trinkets."
"She looks like a pet paraded out for the Langford heir," another muttered, flicking a glance at Seraphina.
The children were no kinder. A cluster of well - dressed kids around Eva's age exchanged smirks and whispered cruel nicknames.
"Look, it's the Langford dog," one snickered.
"Bet she's only here because her parents bought their way in," said another, voice low but clear enough to sting.
Though not a single word was spoken aloud, the collective message was unmistakable: Eva was an outsider, a purchased accessory in the world of the elite. The lingering gaze of disdain and the cold aura of exclusion surrounded her like a shadow.
Seraphina's jaw didn't clench — not visibly, anyway. She kept her expression smooth, unreadable, even as her arm curled instinctively around Eva, who gave the tiniest shiver. Her small hand trembled in Seraphina's, fingers clutching dramatically.
Seraphina leaned down just slightly. "You're such a bad actress," she murmured.
Eva glanced up, eyes wide and innocent. "You pay more attention when I look breakable."
Seraphina arched a brow, lips curving. "So you're playing the prey now?"
Eva tilted her head coyly. "You like it better when you get to protect me."
A low hum of approval left Seraphina's throat. She didn't answer, but her eyes sharpened immediately, scanning the room. Anyone who had even looked at Eva the wrong way was met with a stare so cold, so elegantly lethal, it could've dropped a person mid - sentence. No one said anything outright — they never dared — but Seraphina made it clear: if you had thoughts about her moonbeam, you'd keep them locked behind your teeth.
Eva caught it. Of course she did.
She leaned in closer, lips near Seraphina's ear, and whispered with a smirk, "You owe me a kiss on my lips for that, okay?"
Seraphina's mouth twitched. She didn't look down, didn't blink, just murmured, "Of course, moonbeam."
No one would dare insult her little moonbeam while she was near.
The evening carried on, the chatter and clinking of fine china filling the air, until a hush spread through the crowd. Briony stepped onto the stage — a woman older than even Eva's mother Evelyn, her presence commanding and serene. The audience shifted, intrigued and somewhat skeptical.
"Briony is performing?" a nobleman whispered.
Everyone knew Briony's appearances were usually at the insistence of Evelyn or Vivienne, part of a delicate dance between social favors and family prestige.
Briony smiled warmly at the crowd before beckoning Eva forward with a subtle nod.
Gasps and murmurs rippled through the guests.
"The little girl?" a lady whispered in disbelief.
"Why bring her on stage?" another asked, eyebrows raised.
Vivienne, standing near the musicians, caught Seraphina's eyes and gave a small approving nod. The message was clear: this was a moment to remember.
The main hall looked like it had been curated for a private concert - slash - fashion event. Spotlights were already angled just right. Chic chairs in deep navy and cream were arranged in perfect symmetry, and chilled rose - syrup lemonades sat on sleek trays that screamed pre - planned luxury.
Eva had called it an impromptu performance.
Please.
Everyone could see she'd orchestrated this like a aristocrat plotting a brand launch.
And at the center of the stage? Her new harp — the one from P••••.
The harp.
It shimmered under the lights like it knew it was the main event. Hand - gilded in 23 - karat gold, with diamond accents that practically flirted with the spotlight, it was inspired by the legendary Louis XV Special by Lyon & Healy — a harp already worth over $200,000.
But Eva's version?
Custom - built. Beyond extra. Probably priceless.
Her full name was stitched in gold thread inside the travel case. The whole thing had the aura of, "If you have to ask how much it costs, you can't afford to breathe near it."
Briony stood off - stage, lazily flipping through her sheet music. "She's stalling."
"I'm setting the mood," Eva called back, smoothing her silk skirt and adjusting her posture like she was about to step onto a runway instead of a stage.
Vivienne raised her phone, half - filming. "What mood are we going for? 'Billionaire prodigy makes you cry with harp music'?"
"That's pretty accurate," Briony said. "Also, how many carats is that thing?"
"Thirty - two," Eva replied without missing a beat. "Probably more."
Vivienne exhaled. "So just a casual flex, then."
"Very casual," Briony said dryly. "I'm sure Evelyn barely noticed it on the credit statement."
"She didn't," Eva said sweetly. "She said, 'If it makes your little heart sing, moonbeam, get two.'"
Briony blinked. "You only bought one?"
"I got a miniature version for my dollhouse. That counts."
From the back, Seraphina finally stepped closer. She hadn't said a word since they'd arrived, just watched. Quiet. Observant.
Deadly calm.
"You really going to play that thing," she asked, "or just use it to stun people into silence?"
Eva smirked without turning. "Both."
Seraphina folded her arms. "You're so dramatic."
"You like it when I'm dramatic."
"Debatable."
Eva looked over her shoulder, lower lip slightly out. "You prefer when I act helpless and you have to protect me, huh?"
Seraphina raised an eyebrow. "Maybe."
Eva stepped closer, just enough so her whisper only reached one set of ears. "You owe me a kiss on the lips for pretending to be nervous. That was your cue to hold my hand, by the way."
Seraphina's smirk was dangerous and low. "Of course, moonbeam."
Briony, still flipping pages, sighed. "Let me know when the power couple stops whispering secret deals and actually wants to rehearse."
"We are rehearsing," Eva called, stepping toward the center of the stage at last. "This is called building suspense."
As she sat at the harp and rested her fingers on the strings, the room quieted instantly.
Even the staff by the walls stopped moving.
And Seraphina… didn't blink.
Because now, the performance was about to begin.
Eva stepped forward with quiet confidence, her silk dress catching the light as she approached the harp. The overhead chandeliers made her skin glow like porcelain, her pale gray eyes calm and unreadable. She didn't look at the crowd. She didn't need to.
The orchestra began with a gentle swell — strings and woodwinds forming a delicate, ghostlike harmony. It was subtle. Intentional. The kind of opening that made people lean in.
Then Briony's voice rose — rich, sultry, and devastatingly precise. Singing in F••••• and M•••••••, she moved through the aria like it had been composed specifically for her. Each word rolled off her tongue like silk soaked in amber. Her pitch perfect, her tone heartbreakingly restrained.
Behind her, Eva played — her fingers a blur of elegance across the strings. She didn't show off. She didn't need to. The harp was an extension of her. Her body barely moved, but every note shimmered like crystal.
She joined in only on the chorus.
Her voice — smaller, younger — floated beneath Briony's like a shadow echo, never trying to compete. Just there. Supporting. Glowing through the melody like moonlight behind stained glass.
It was subtle. But impossible to ignore.
Even Vivienne lowered her phone, just to listen. And Seraphina — arms folded, lips slightly parted — didn't move at all. Not a blink. Not a breath.
When the final chorus drifted away, Eva's fingers slowed, letting the last chord ring through the stillness like a secret.
The applause didn't come immediately.
Because no one wanted to be the first to break the spell.
Sous la lune d'argent, je danse pour toi,
Mon cœur est un oiseau, libre et droit.
星光灿烂,我心飞翔,
你是我永恒的光芒.
Même loin de toi, je sens ton amour,
Comme un doux parfum qui dure toujours.
你的怀抱,是我的天堂,
无论多远,我都在你身旁.
Chaque soupir, chaque rêve la nuit,
Porte ton nom, douce mélodie.
风吹过时,我听见你,
像月光般温柔在心里.
Merci de m'aimer, de veiller sur moi,
Pour chaque regard, chaque pas.
我因你勇敢,也因你闪亮,
妈妈,我爱你,直到时光尽头.
Under the silver moon, I dance for you,
My heart is a bird, free and true.
Starlight dazzling, my heart flies,
You are my eternal light.
Even far from you, I feel your love,
Like a soft perfume that lingers above.
Your embrace is my paradise,
No matter the distance, I'm by your side.
Every sigh, every dream at night,
Carries your name, a gentle light.
When the wind blows, I hear your song,
Like moonlight inside me, tender and strong.
Thank you for loving, for watching me grow,
For every look, each step you show.
Because of you, I shine, I'm brave,
Mama, I love you — beyond time's wave.
Briony's voice carried the spotlight — rich, controlled, effortlessly emotive. She moved through the lyrics like she'd written them herself, her tone shimmering with quiet confidence. Beside her, Eva played the harp with a precision that didn't feel rehearsed — it felt lived in. Each delicate note she plucked wove seamlessly into Briony's melody, adding texture and light.
Now and then, Eva's voice joined in — soft, measured, never overpowering. Her pronunciation was careful, but the emotion behind even those few lines was striking. There was something raw beneath the control — like a secret being shared just beneath the surface.
They didn't just perform. They created a moment.
As the final note melted into silence, the room hung suspended, breathless. Then, slowly, applause broke through — tentative at first, then blooming into full, heartfelt cheers.
Among the spectators, whispered conversations bubbled:
Lady Cartwright, fanning herself slowly, hissed to her companion, "That child — so young, yet flawless. Quite the prodigy, I'll give them that."
Lord Pembroke, brow furrowed, murmured, "It's the kind of performance that demands attention… though I question the company she keeps. Langford influence runs deep."
Near the buffet, a woman in a sapphire gown scoffed softly, "Influence, yes. But talent? Anyone can be coached to sing pretty words. This is social climbing wrapped in velvet."
Her friend nodded. "Watch the gifts she gets — lavish and over the top. An obvious display of wealth trying to mask a lack of pedigree."
The children, meanwhile, whispered and exchanged looks, their words sharp as knives:
Julian, a boy with dark eyes and a sneer, muttered, "Langford's little pet. No matter how much she sings or play instruments, she'll never be one of us."
A girl, Claudia, twirled her pearl necklace. "She's just a spoiled doll, dressed in pretty things to cover the truth."
"Bet her parents pay for every smile she gives," a boy whispered.
Eva, overhearing the words, looked to Seraphina, who knelt beside her.
Seraphina's voice was quiet but fierce, "Ignore them. Their words have no power here."
Later, as the crowd began to disperse, Eva's gift — a delicate silver crescent moon charm set with a sapphire—caused another stir.
Lady Ravencourt whispered to her daughter, "Gifts like that aren't just jewelry — they're statements. Ownership, possession. A reminder of who controls whom."
Her daughter frowned, "But Seraphina's so young."
"Exactly," Lady Ravencourt replied. "A game played before most children even know its rules."
As Seraphina and Eva made their way toward the exit, the whispers grew louder among the remaining guests.
"She's talented, sure," Lord Merton said grudgingly. "But a pet she remains."
"Look at the way those children mock her," Lady Cartwright added. "Like vultures circling their prey."
Julian and his friends, emboldened, echoed their parents.
"She's stealing Seraphina's attention," Julian said loudly enough for Eva to hear.
"She thinks she belongs," Claudia spat. "But she doesn't. Not really."
Seraphina stopped, turning to face them, her voice low but unwavering.
"My moonbeam belongs only to me."
Eva's small hand found Seraphina's, squeezing tightly.
That night, as the city lights glittered like distant stars, Seraphina and Eva left the banquet hand in hand.
Their bond — tested but unbroken — was stronger than ever.
In the wide, cruel world, they had only each other.
And that was everything.