Filed to story: The Daughter in the Shadows (Yunice) Book by Una Norris
Taylor stepped forward, but Paul extended an arm to stop her, though his eyes stayed on Elsie. Dressed in a crisp white suit, he looked composed and elegant as he said, “For my sake, please don’t make this difficult for her.” Then he waved a server over. “Take Ms. Elsie to the inner lounge to rest?”
“Hold,” Taylor snapped, narrowing her eyes at Paul. “What was that supposed to mean? Just because I haven’t made him angry yet, he thinks he can test my limits?”
She blocked Elsie’s path, arms crossed, face inches away. “So you’re saying her dress is real, and mine’s the fake?”
Paul was cornered, silently pleading with Taylor using his eyes. She understood him perfectly-so many people were watching: give me some face. Let this go. If Elsie’s humiliated, it reflects badly on all of us.
But Taylor wasn’t falling for it. If she let Elsie walk away today, she’d be the one humiliated. Paul was supposed to be her husband. And now he is openly protecting another woman? How am I supposed to hold my head up?
Pretending not to see Paul’s signals, she lifted her hand. Alan immediately stepped forward and handed her a tablet. Taylor held it up. “This gown was designed and hand-stitched by Peter himself. It’s the only one of its kind in the world.” She displayed the designer’s sketches and her fitting photos, then tossed the tablet back to Alan with a sneer. “So tell me who did you hire to rip off this design?”
Paul panicked. “Rip off? What do you mean…” Then he realized what mattered and quickly corrected himself. “Who said I gave her that gown?”
Taylor pressed, “If you didn’t give it to her, then what gives you the right to claim hers is genuine?”
Elsie’s eyes welled up. She looked pitiful. “Taylor, please don’t be mad at Paul. I know you don’t like me. If you’re upset that I wore the same dress, I’ll take it off, okay?” She actually started tugging at the dress.
Her pale cheeks flushed red, eyes teary with a touch of stubbornness-a look that caught the attention of every man with a hero complex in the room.
“Don’t take it off!”
“Maybe it really was just a mistake. She’s young and didn’t know better. Ms. Taylor, let it go.”
“She’s already apologized. She clearly doesn’t want to cause trouble. Can’t you give her a break?”
Elsie’s voice trembled. Tears spilled onto the floor. “Taylor, I really didn’t do it on purpose. I just wanted to look nice. That’s why we ended up in matching dresses. Please forgive me, okay?”
Paul frowned and leaned toward Taylor, muttering, “She’s already apologized. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”
A man beside them echoed, “Yeah, look at her. She’s crying, her dress is all messed up. Let’s not make things worse for her.”
He added, “It’s just a dress-what’s the big deal? She can wear whatever she wants; it’s her choice.”
Someone else spoke up, using Jackson’s name to persuade Taylor. “Today is Mr. Jackson’s birthday. Ms. Taylor, you wouldn’t want to upset him, right?”
Sensing the shift in momentum as the crowd began siding with her, Elsie lifted her hand and gently wiped away her tears, her lips curling into a victorious smile.
Taylor saw it-of course she did-but she couldn’t explode, not with Jackson’s reputation at stake. What she really marveled at was Elsie’s manipulation. Play the victim, and you win the crowd. Elsie had it down to an art. She wore a fake dress and stole the spotlight, yet with a few tears and Paul’s defense, she was the one painted as aggressive and overbearing.
Taylor had once thought Yunice was too much of a pushover; now, caught in a trap herself, she finally understood what Yunice had been living through.
Taylor curled her lip into a cold smirk and shot Elsie a look. “I won’t forget this.”
After Taylor and Paul walked off, a few gentlemen politely offered Elsie tissues. She accepted with practiced grace, dabbing at her tears with delicate fingers. When she looked up again, her expression had transformed into a demure and elegant smile.
She’d actually managed to best Taylor tonight. Unbelievable. So what if Taylor came from an elite family? That didn’t make her invincible. But the gown…
Elsie wasn’t stupid. She knew it couldn’t be a coincidence that she showed up in the same dress as Taylor. If Yunice had been the one wearing this gown, I would have been the one humiliated just now.
Elsie couldn’t figure out why Wyatt would do this. She began scanning the crowd for any sign of Yunice. Is she even here tonight?
“Yunice!” Elsie turned her head and, through the crowd, spotted her. Yunice wore a princess-cut gown, her pale skin glowing under the lights as she stood quietly among the guests. Smiling softly, she set down her champagne and gracefully made her way toward the restroom. She went alone. No one followed her. Elsie’s eyes darkened. She followed immediately-she had questions, and she wanted answers.
The restroom was at the end of a quiet hallway, tucked away from the main bustle. Hardly anyone passed through there.
Yunice turned a corner, and Elsie, lifting the hem of her dress, rushed to catch up. But the moment she stepped inside the restroom, the door slammed shut behind her.
Startled, Elsie spun around-only to see several well-dressed women standing at the entrance, arms crossed. Yunice was nowhere to be seen.
“Where’s Yunice?” Elsie realized she’d been tricked. But as she looked at the group of women, their upscale fashion made one thing clear-these weren’t Yunice’s type of friends.
Timidly, she asked, “Are you friends with Yunice? Or…with Taylor?”
“You still have the nerve to call her Taylor?” One of the women exchanged a look with the others-and they all burst into laughter.
When the laughter died down, the woman in front straightened her face. “That sweet little act of yours only works on men. We’re not buying it.”
Another rolled up her sleeves. “What I can’t stand are women who throw themselves at married men. You’re a disgrace.”
Clearly, they hadn’t come to talk. Elsie stumbled backward, tearful and pleading. “Ladies, you’ve got it all wrong. I knew Paul first-he only married Taylor because he had no choice. I’m the victim here…”
They weren’t interested in her excuses. They lunged forward and stripped the dress off her. Left in only her underwear, Elsie crouched on the floor, sobbing and hugging herself.
“If you ever mess with our girl again, we’ll strip you every time we see you.”
“Ugh! Trash like you doesn’t deserve to wear the same dress as her.” One of them snatched up the gown and walked out with it.
The women strutted out of the restroom and hung a “Maintenance in Progress” sign on the door. Until the party ended and the guests left, naked little Elsie wasn’t going anywhere.
Only after everyone had cleared out did Yunice emerge from the shadows. She had heard it all-Elsie’s faint voice still echoed from inside, “Hello, is anyone out there? Can someone help me?” Yunice ignored her. She quietly nudged the “Maintenance” sign a few more feet down the hall-just to make extra sure no one wandered by. Good deed done, she headed back downstairs.
Standing at the railing on the second floor, she calmly scanned the crowd below. Once she located her target, she started down the stairs with a quiet purpose.
‘s Really Pulling the Strings
“Mr. Carl,” Yunice said politely from behind him. Carl had one hand tucked in the pocket of his slacks, the other holding a champagne glass. Surrounded by business elites, he was the picture of charm and eloquence. As he turned, the others naturally followed his gaze-and saw Yunice.
She wore a simple princess-cut gown; her delicate face was porcelain pale, sweet, and demure. She looked like a well-behaved girl, but the slender, pale curve of her neck sparked a flicker of something more suggestive in the minds of more than one man. In a crowd full of high-society fashion, her appearance stood out as uniquely understated.
“Mr. Carl,” Yunice said, “I have the answer to the question you asked last time. Can we talk for a moment?”
Then she added, “I won’t take up much of your time.”
Carl’s expression stiffened slightly. Why was Yunice being so formal with him now? It was rude of her to bring up business at a social event like this, but still, Carl set down his glass and gestured to a quieter corner. “This way.” The crowd respectfully stopped following.
At that same moment, Owen and Paul were also on their way to find Carl. Owen hadn’t originally planned to attend the Powell family’s banquet; he still hadn’t patched things up with Jackson, and swallowing his pride wasn’t easy. But when Paul mentioned that the Powell family was negotiating a business deal with Carl, Owen perked up. After all, Carl was his godfather. Back in the day, Carl and his father had been sworn brothers. If Owen could represent the Powell family in the deal, Carl would definitely do him the favor. And if that happened, Owen would be hailed as the hero-and with Carl as his powerful backer, the Powell family would surely reconsider breaking off Elsie and Paul’s engagement.
For Elior’s future, Owen had tried contacting Carl many times but always seemed to miss him. Finding him at Jackson’s hand-day banquet was his chance. But… (The following text appears to be corrupted and nonsensical and has been omitted.)
Wyatt didn’t flare up. Instead, he laughed, as if the whole thing was hilarious. His eyes gleamed with derision.
“Do you know why I’ve let you live this long?”
Paul froze, unease flickering in his eyes.
Wyatt’s grin turned dark. “Because you’re like a mutt who won’t stop barking but never dares to bite. Killing you would be a waste of my time.”
Paul gritted his teeth and said, “You’re just scared.” Trying to provoke Wyatt, he sneered, “You talk a big game, but at the end of the day, even your woman’s just my leftovers.”
The smile in Wyatt’s eyes faded. Sensing the sudden shift in mood, Paul doubled down, even more defiant. “You like her, don’t you? Too bad. That one moment in her life she’ll always remember-she gave it to me. No matter how hard you try with her now, every time she closes her eyes, it’ll be my face she sees.”
Got him. He’s pissed.
Paul’s lips curled into a nasty grin, like he’d finally grabbed Wyatt by the tail. Wyatt started walking toward him-slow and steady-and Paul’s expression darkened in an instant. Then, pain exploded across the top of Paul’s foot, forcing his back into a painful arch. The end of Wyatt’s cane had dug deep into the leather of Paul’s shoe. He turned slightly, leaned in, and whispered in Paul’s ear, “You’re dead.”
Wyatt flashed a crooked smile. “Next time she thinks of you, all she’ll picture is the mess you went out in. I’ll have you torn limb from limb and scattered to the four winds. Maybe your hand ends up in the drink, your head’s six feet under somewhere it doesn’t belong, and what’s left of you goes to the dogs. How’s that for going out with a bang?”
Paul’s face went pale, then green. With every word Wyatt spoke, a vivid image took over his mind until he broke out in a cold sweat. He couldn’t tell if Wyatt was bluffing or not, but he wasn’t about to take the risk. He shut up.
Wyatt wasn’t done. With a cutting sneer, he added, “Wonder if, once you’re gone, that useless old man of yours will be able to squeeze out another Powell heir? Then who’s gonna carry the family name, huh? Eh. Whatever, that old bastard never did anything good for the world. Maybe it’s better if all of you…” His voice trailed off, the last word unclear.
The more Wyatt talked, the hunter Paul’s hands shook-because every word hit too close to home. If Paul died, the old man just might go crawling to Wyatt, begging him to come back and take over the Powell name. A cold dread washed over Paul; he could feel it in his gut-Wyatt wanted him dead. That cruel grin, the lazy gleam in his eyes as he spoke…