When Clyde Parker, the wayward son and the rotten-apple of the Parker family-tree, storms his way back into Avery Fields, he sets out a flurry of butterfly effect in Dawn Marshal's life.
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THE BLAST OF CHILLY air-conditioned air slapped her bare back, making the goosebumps on her skin erect as Caleb led her into the foyer. The magnificent chandelier that centered the coffered dome-shaped ceiling with its sky blue and gold edges and strokes of floating cupids gave Dawn the illusion that she had walked into a church that has been standing since the renaissance era. And as the reflection of the bright chandelier stilled on the shiny white-marbled floors, it sent beams of light sparking in every direction—illuminating the whole place.
Three smaller chandeliers and a stretch of velvety green carpet breadcrumbed their way into the ball-room. Dawn Marshal heard the agonizing jazz music before her eyes met the equally agonizing people at the party. There was a silver chandelier dangling from the cathedral ceiling, a beacon that was spilling out phosphorescent streaks all over the grand-room.
Swirls of dancing bodies, women in ludicrous gowns and men in black and white tuxedos flurried across her, swaying like arched trees on St. Duke's avenue. Some people planted themselves in different corners, chattering and being mere spectators while some took the center-stage. It appeared as if the whole of Avery Field's population was compressed into this one big room. Wreathes of orchids lined the wooden staircase, as its mouth opened into the hall where a tall tower of champagne glasses stood as a center-piece, a waiter poured the topmost glass and the golden liquid trickled down every tier, filling every glass. Nobody would be leaving the Parker Manor thirsty or sober, tonight.
There were other empty hallways, veiled behind embellished green and gold draperies and strips of fairy-lights. Dawn's eyes hovered on the two figures poised at the pinnacle of the staircase. Mr. Calum Parker in his crisp Armani and cold green eyes behind an eagle mask and a woman, she had only seen in pictures before. Mrs. Parker was in a golden shimmery gown that clung to her curves like molten gold dripping down her body—a shiny trophy in Calum Parker's arms and like everyone else, she too was wearing a mask, except hers was made of skin not of lace and feather snips.
She thought, they could easily be one of the decorations at the ball, two showpieces. Mr. and Mrs. Parker standing atop their mountain of money and misery.
As if feeling her gaze on him, Mr. Parker scanned through the swarm of slow-dancers before setting his arctic eyes on Dawn. He offered her a smile, the kind of smile that reminded her of Clyde Parker. And her heart fell out of her chest and dropped onto the floor, shattering all over again. It's ringing echoing through her ears, a sound that only she could hear. The grip she had on Caleb's arm tightened, till she was fisting the fabric of his suit.
Caleb flashed her a concerned look and Dawn Marshal forced a smile, tossing in a fake laughter here and there. The world itself was one big masquerade ball and everyone was wearing a mask.
"You guys, really leave no stone unturned!" The only way she could reassure Caleb was through pretense. Waiters scurried by balancing silver trays holding small morsels of appetizers in toothpicks and glasses filled with bubbling alcohol. Caleb snapped his fingers and a waiter was by their side in seconds, leaving Dawn to choose from an array of colorful finger-foods.
