Noticed

Chapter Three

“What’s wrong with the old man acting innocent? It’s not like foolishness began with the mother; it’s more of a family heritage.”

Isabella shook her head, trying to figure out where the voices were coming from.

“Does this Vandash manor hold some sort of dark magic, or am I just imagining things?”

Her heart raced uncontrollably.

She was physically present and conscious, yet her mind, and awareness felt detached, drifting somewhere else.

“Ma’am.”

Isabella jolted as Sarah’s cold palm touched her shoulder. Startled, she responded with shaking hands and a trembling voice that revealed how unsteady she was.

“Aunt Sarah… what’s wrong?”

Before Sarah could speak, Gideon stepped closer to Isabella.

“Sister-in-law,” he said, pausing as he casually shook the yo-yo in his hands. With a guilty yet disdainful smile, he asked,

“Are you sorrowful for not spending your wedding night with your husband? Or sad that only Grandpa attended your wedding? Or perhaps still sulking because the groom himself was absent?”

Gideon’s eyes held no remorse, only mockery disguised as concern, ready to reopen old wounds.

Isabella, weak and soft-spoken, felt tears well in her eyes. Her mother-in-law smiled maliciously at Gideon’s words, as did Phyn.

They all watched her closely, anticipating her collapse into vulnerability.

The old man stood silently. He had always prayed for a granddaughter-in-law who could defend herself. To him, their questions were a test, and he waited patiently for Isabella’s response.

Her legs trembled as words failed her. Isabella bit her lip, wishing Aria were there. Then suddenly, dizziness washed over her, followed by a strange shift, as if something inside her snapped awake.

It felt like a transformation from a dull confusion to piercing clarity.

She lifted her head, her expression sharpening into a fierce glow that dared anyone to challenge her.

“Hmph.”

She scoffed before speaking.

“My wedding was never meant for weak bones or fools,” she said calmly. “I walked with grace and honor. Despite the chaos that erupted, I can’t help but feel that God spared your absence so He wouldn’t have to take your lives instead.”

She paused, turning toward Gideon.

“Who knows? Maybe fate intended for you to die on my wedding day.”

Taking a step back, she faced her mother-in-law.

“You weren’t even worthy of attending my wedding, neither you nor your son.”

The old man slammed his staff against the floor.

Elena’s eyes widened. Phyn stiffened. Sarah, Nathan, everyone froze.

No one had ever dared to insult Mr. Damian.

“Of course,” Sarah thought grimly, “her doom has just begun.”

“Insolence!” Madam Elena snapped. “No one dares speak ill of my son, not even me, his birth mother! How dare you!”

She lunged forward, her palm raised, ready to strike Isabella.

“Stop.”

Mr. Samson’s voice thundered with fury.

Isabella smiled faintly at his reaction. Deep down, she felt as though her body had split in two, each half pulling her toward decisions that no longer aligned.

The old man turned to her.

“My child.”

He took Isabella’s hand, his smile gentle yet commanding, offering reassurance and protection before continuing.

“No one has ever spoken ill of Damian except his grandfather. And now you, his wife. From now on, make sure that brat returns home and is properly punished for missing his own wedding.”

He chuckled lightly.

“Don’t worry. Grandpa has you covered.”

Still smiling, he turned toward Nathan, his gaze issuing a silent command. Nathan immediately understood.

“My lady, you should rest and change,” Nathan said respectfully, lowering his head.“The family banquet will begin in an hour.”

With a subtle gesture, he signaled Sarah to escort Isabella upstairs.

The ascent up the staircase was silent and composed.

Behind them, Mr. Samson glanced at Elena and shook his head faintly before signaling to Nathan.

Together, they exited the hall.

Sarah stopped before a tall metal door paneled in polished sycamore, its flawless surface reflecting the soft white glow of recessed lights.

She pushed it open, revealing a room so meticulously arranged it needed no extravagance to announce wealth.

The air was sharp and sterile, controlled, deliberate, and expensive.

Stepping aside, Sarah lowered her head.

“Madam, this is the master’s bedroom. Please, make yourself comfortable.”

Isabella smiled faintly.

“No need for introductions, Aunt Sarah. I’ll figure things out myself.”

Sarah’s expression remained unchanged.

“Madam, I’ve served the Vandash family since before Mr. Damian was born. I was here before Madam Elena married into this house. I know this place and its history better than you.”

She paused, her eyes sweeping the corridor as if checking for unseen cameras.

Pressing a hand to her chest, she added quietly,

“Never mention the old lady, Mrs. Montana Vandash. That name is forbidden here.”

Without waiting for a response, Sarah turned and walked away.

Isabella scoffed arrogantly as she shut the door behind her.

But the moment she stepped forward, her foot caught.

A surge of electricity shot through her body from a concealed wire.

She screamed as violent convulsions wracked her frame, her body collapsing to the floor. Moments later, she lay completely unconscious.

Phyn stood against the wall, a remote control resting in her hand. She watched everything unfold through her phone, a slow, satisfied smile curving her lips.

Certain Isabella had passed out, Phyn entered the room. She bent down beside her and whispered mischievously,

“Sister-in-law, I hope you liked my gift.”

Laughing softly, she straightened and left.

Down the stairs, a guard stood at attention.

“Take care of the security footage,” Phyn said calmly. “A nice reward, in exchange for a nice job.”

With that, she smiled and walked away.

Elsewhere, Aria sat in her home, a shabby environment, the room tattered and overflowing with scattered clothes.

She sat motionless, staring blankly at her phone while peanuts slipped from her mouth. Her frustration was visible even from afar. Lost in thought, her mind lingered on Isabella’s whereabouts.

She had spent half the morning searching for information about the hospital Isabella was taken to after the wedding massacre. But, as expected of the Vandash family, their actions left behind only traces that could be uncovered by the powerful, not by a peasant of her status.

As she worried over Isabella’s location, health, and state of mind, a thought suddenly struck her. “If the Vandash family held a marriage, then it’s normal for a wealthy household to host a welcome banquet afterward.”

She sighed in despair.

“What kind of sane family would hold a banquet after a wedding that ended in blood and nearly cost lives?”

Yet for Isabella, it would be worth taking the bait.

“Fight. Fight. Fight,” she encouraged herself as she stood up. A wave of relief and hope washed over her.

She pulled on her jacket and grabbed her nose mask. Hyping herself up, she whispered, “Disguises are always the main attire.” She wrapped the tie tightly around her face, slipped on the mask, and stepped out, her eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses.

It was time to search for her friend, but unbeknownst to her, another gang was already planning to visit Isabella at that very same banquet.

In less than an hour, the banquet was set to begin. The hall glowed like a kingdom carved from wealth. Crystal chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceiling, each prism catching the light and scattering it like falling stars across the polished marble floor.

Gold-lined pillars stood in perfect symmetry, their engraved surfaces whispering of lineage and power far older than memory.

Long tables draped in silk stretched across the hall, set with fine porcelain, silver cutlery, and floral arrangements so rare their fragrance alone betrayed their cost.

A soft orchestral melody flowed through the subtle air, commanding and blending with the low murmur of elite conversation.

Guests paused at the entrance, momentarily stunned.

“My heavens,” one whispered, eyes tracing the ceiling. “This hall alone could fund a city.”

Another scoffed, half-laughing in awe. “Only the Vandash family would call this… modest.”

Laughter followed, hushed and reverent.

“Every stone here screams power,” a noblewoman murmured, lifting her glass. “This isn’t a banquet, it’s a declaration.”

Servants moved soundlessly among the guests, uniforms immaculate, steps trained never to disturb the illusion of perfection. Every detail, the air, the music, the spacing between breaths had been calculated to remind all present of one truth. This was not a place for ordinary people.

This was a hall built to intimidate, impress, and reign.

Phyn and Gideon stood near the far corner of the banquet hall, their postures relaxed yet deliberate. They spoke little, observed much while bearing the quiet authority expected of the Vandash family. Guests instinctively lowered their voices when passing them, as though the air itself demanded restraint.

At the center of the hall, Madam Elena Vandash moved with effortless composure. Her smile was warm, practiced, and perfectly timed as she welcomed each guest, exchanging pleasantries and laughter as though the night held no shadows.

“Elena, my dear,” a woman said fondly, taking her hand. “Your daughter-in-law must be elegant and graceful. Despite the attack at the wedding, you still hosted a ceremony for her. Truly, such devotion is worthy of the Vandash name.”

Elena smiled in return, her expression unshaken. Yet beneath the polished calm, she felt nothing resembling joy. The banquet was not a celebration, it was a statement. And Isabella would not be allowed to appear.

Beyond the reach of the guests’ admiration, hidden behind the layers of silk and music, old Mr. Samson sat quietly. His sharp eyes followed every movement in the hall, missing nothing. From the placement of the guards to the rhythm of their patrols, everything unfolded under his watch.

Nathan moved swiftly among the other bodyguards, issuing low commands, adjusting positions, sealing gaps. Security tonight was not an option, it was a necessity.

Mr. Samson folded his hands calmly in his lap. Whatever this night was meant to become, one thing was certain: his newly wedded granddaughter-in-law would not suffer harm again.

After some time, the banquet hall settled into readiness. The final arrangements were made, servers aligned themselves along the walls, and the music softened into a patient hush. When the host finally stepped forward and took the podium, the hall responded at once, attention gathering like a tide.

“Esteemed guests,” he announced calmly, “the Vandash banquet is now officially open.”

Applause followed, measured, polite, expected.

As the sound faded, a side door opened quietly. Aria slipped inside. She moved carefully, keeping to the edges of the hall, her head lowered and her face hidden beneath a mask and scarf.

In the glow of crystal lights and silk gowns, she looked out of place, less a guest, more a shadow that had wandered in by mistake. Each step felt deliberate, cautious, as though the marble floor itself might betray her.

She had almost blended into the crowd when her shoulder brushed against someone else.

The contact was light, but enough.

Aria halted, her heart skipping. She drew in a sharp breath and looked up.

Recognition came instantly.

“Aunt Sarah,” she said softly, instinctively pulling her mask down.

Sarah stopped. At first, confusion crossed her face.

Then her gaze sharpened, studying Aria more closely, the eyes, the voice, the familiarity. The memory surfaced: the bridal fitting room, Isabella standing nearby.

“It’s you,” Sarah said under her breath. Her eyes flicked around the hall before returning to Aria. “What are you doing here like this?”

Aria gave a small, embarrassed smile. “I just wanted to see her.”

Sarah sighed, the weight of her responsibilities pressing through her tone. “I don’t have time to talk,” she said, already half turned away. Then she paused, as if reconsidering. “The young madam was discharged from the hospital this morning. She’s resting now, but she’ll appear for the banquet soon enough.”

For a moment, Aria couldn’t speak.

“She’s… safe?” she asked quietly.

Sarah nodded once. “As safe as she can be.” She straightened. “I really must go.”

Aria hesitated, then gathered her courage. “Aunt Sarah,” she said, lowering her eyes, “could you help me? Just with a proper dress… and a way to enter without drawing attention.”

Sarah looked over slowly, from the worn disguise to the anxious hope in her expression. She exhaled.

“Follow me,” she said at last.

As they disappeared into the crowd, Aria’s heart finally began to slow. Hope stirred within her, the promise of reunion, of answers. The fear that had followed her into the hall softened, replaced by something fragile and unfamiliar: relief.

Meanwhile, Madam Elena, Phyn, and Gideon smiled quietly, confident that the main figure of the banquet would not be present. What they failed to consider, however, was the inevitability of what was yet to come.

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