Chapter 159: The Calm Before the Sparkle
The Thompson estate was buzzing long before the evening shadows even thought of falling.
By mid-afternoon, the main house felt less like a home and more like a living organism—every hall, every stairwell alive with footsteps, voices, and the rustle of fabrics and paper.
The Happy Day Party, Grand Lisa’s birthday celebration, was only hours away, and the household staff moved with a feverish rhythm to make sure not a single detail fell short of perfection.
From the second floor balconies, velvet banners in rich cream and deep emerald cascaded down like rivers of silk.
Florists worked with their arms buried in baskets of lilies, roses, and hydrangeas, pinning them into place along staircases and doorframes.
The scent of fresh blossoms mingled with the sharper tang of polished wood and the faint sweetness of wax candles being arranged in tall, golden stands.
In the kitchen wing, the air was thick with aromas.
Butter hissed in pans; sauces simmered, releasing warm notes of garlic, thyme, and citrus.
Every now and then, the muffled clang of pots met the sharper clink of crystal glasses being arranged in rows.
From behind the doors, bursts of laughter rose from the junior maids before being hushed quickly—nervous, excited, unable to contain the thrill of such an important night.
And at the center of it all stood Grand Lisa, watching with the sharp eye of a queen surveying her domain.
She had not dressed for the party yet; instead, she wore a deep plum gown that fell neatly to her ankles, her hair pinned in a soft twist.
Despite her calm expression, her presence was magnetic, the kind that drew people into order without her needing to raise her voice.
"Careful with those roses," Lisa said smoothly as she passed a young maid trying to balance a large vase.
"The thorns are sharp. Trim them before arranging."
"Yes, madam," the girl stammered, cheeks flushed, before bowing and hurrying off.
Lisa’s lips curved just slightly.
She wasn’t one to scold harshly, but her sharp eye missed nothing.
Tonight mattered too much for mistakes.
At that moment, two familiar figures appeared at the top of the staircase—Azazel and Denovan.
The brothers couldn’t have been more different, yet somehow their presence in the house was grounding.
Azazel walked with his usual composed grace, his posture upright, his sharp eyes sweeping across the decorated halls without a word.
Even in his plain black shirt and trousers, there was a quiet authority about him, as though the house bent subtly to his rhythm.
Denovan, on the other hand, leaned casually against the railing, his white shirt half-unbuttoned, his grin easy and irreverent.
Where Azazel’s gaze judged, Denovan’s sparkled with amusement.
"Looks like the whole city’s been packed into our drawing room," Denovan remarked, his voice warm with humor.
"If the chandeliers don’t come crashing down from all this weight, it’ll be a miracle."
"Don’t joke about that," Lisa replied without turning her head, though her tone was light. "Tonight is not a night for broken glass."
Azazel’s lips quirked, barely noticeable. "He’s right about one thing. The house hasn’t seen this much life in years."
Lisa finally turned toward them, her sharp eyes softening.
"That’s because tonight is not just a birthday celebration. Tonight, I want the family to see what it means when the Thompsons stand together. After everything... it’s time."
Azazel inclined his head, his expression unreadable but respectful. "And you’ll have it. I’ll see to it."
Denovan pushed off the railing, walking down a few steps with a half-smile. "I’ll drink to that later. For now, can I at least taste one of the wines before the aristocrats drown themselves in it?"
Lisa gave him a look, one brow arched. "If I catch you stumbling before the first toast, Denovan, I’ll personally pour water on your head in front of the entire city."
Azazel chuckled softly, and Denovan threw up his hands. "Alright, alright. No pre-drinking. But at least let me test the kitchen snacks—"
"The answer is no," Lisa interrupted, though a small smile betrayed her amusement.
The brothers exchanged a glance, Denovan grinning and Azazel merely shaking his head.
The clock ticked closer toward evening, each chime echoing faintly through the grand halls.
Outside, the sky was slipping into that golden hue just before dusk, and the estate glowed with lantern light already being lit along the walkways.
Lisa exhaled slowly, her gaze drifting toward the tall windows. For a moment, her face softened, her eyes thoughtful.
This wasn’t just about her birthday. This night carried a weight she hadn’t voiced out loud.
It was about legacy. About setting the stage for what was to come. About making the name Julia more than a whisper, more than a rumor—about making it a reality within the family.
She turned back to Azazel and Denovan.
"I want both of you by my side when the guests arrive. There will be questions, whispers, maybe even disapproval. But tonight, we show no cracks. No weakness."
Azazel bowed his head slightly. "You’ll have us."
Denovan grinned, softer this time, and placed a hand dramatically over his heart. "At your command, Grand Lisa."
Lisa shook her head, a quiet chuckle escaping her. For all his recklessness, Denovan’s loyalty was steady.
The sounds of the household swelled around them again—strings being tuned in the ballroom, the clatter of shoes across the polished floors, the faint rustle of servants carrying trays of golden-rimmed plates.
Lisa stepped forward, her gown sweeping against the marble floor, and placed a hand on Azazel’s arm.
"Come. Walk with me through the halls. I want to see everything once more before the night begins. I want to be sure."
Azazel offered his arm without hesitation, and she rested her hand lightly, the picture of elegance and command.
Denovan trailed behind them, whistling low under his breath as he eyed the decorations.
"You know," Denovan said as they walked, "this place almost looks too perfect. Almost feels like a trap. Are we celebrating or staging a coup?"
Lisa glanced at him over her shoulder, her expression amused but sharp. "Sometimes, Denovan, they are the same thing."
Azazel’s lips curved faintly at her words, and Denovan fell quiet, a flicker of seriousness crossing his features.
The Thompson house gleamed with light and purpose, every corner alive with energy.
By the time the first carriages and sleek black cars began rolling through the iron gates, the stage was set.
The Happy Day Party was ready to begin.
My dear readers,
Ahhh... what a Chapter, right? I don’t know about you, but I felt like I was walking through the Thompson mansion myself—hearing the echo of footsteps against marble floors, smelling the faint perfume of roses drifting through the decorated halls, and catching glimpses of maids rushing about with ribbons and crystal trays in their hands.
The Happy Day Party is on the horizon, and I wanted to slow the pacing here so you could taste the anticipation before the first guest even steps inside.
This Chapter was special for me to write because it’s not about Roman or Julie standing at the center stage (not yet!), but about the quiet machinery of family.
Lisa, Azazel, Denovan, the staff, even the decorations themselves—they all become little characters preparing the canvas on which the real drama will soon unfold.
Lisa’s emotions, especially, were important here. She is more than just the matriarch who commands respect.
She is also a woman with pride, with memory, and with a soft heart that wants to see her family secure.
Writing her reflections felt almost like walking in her shoes, catching her heartbeat as she thought of introducing Julia to the family and the world.
And ohhh—Azazel and Denovan! I know some of you adore their banter, and others are secretly thinking, "Why do I feel like these two will get into trouble if left alone in the kitchen?"
Their energy is such a contrast: Denovan with his restless charm, always teasing, and Azazel with his calm steadiness, that protective streak that comes out even when he’s simply observing people working.
To me, they are the threads that make Lisa’s world feel alive, not just polished marble and chandeliers but warmth, sibling-like bickering, and moments of humor that break the tension.
Now, let’s talk about the Happy Day Party itself. It isn’t just a party, is it? It’s a stage.
A stage for appearances, for whispers, for pride and jealousy to brush shoulders in silk and champagne.
The decorations, the music, the carefully folded napkins—each detail isn’t just for beauty, but a layer of armor for the Thompson family name.
And into that glittering hall, Julia will soon walk. Imagine the hush, the lifted eyebrows, the knowing smiles.
Imagine the tension in Roman’s chest as eyes turn toward her. Yes, that’s coming. And yes, I promise, the build-up will be worth it.
But before we get there, I wanted you to feel the heartbeat of the house itself.
That’s why this Chapter lingers in the daylight, in the preparations, in the quiet moments before the storm of aristocratic gazes and questions begins.
Because isn’t life always like that? The quiet hours before the event often tell us more than the event itself.
The whispered conversations, the glances exchanged, the hands steadying a vase of flowers—all of these carry meaning if you lean in close enough.
To my readers, thank you for leaning in with me.
Thank you for letting me take my time painting the Thompson world, for enjoying not only the explosions of drama but also the tender strings in between.
This journey is long, as you know (we are far from the final curtain!), but I promise you—every detail has a reason.
Now, I want to tease you a little. Did you notice how Lisa thought about Julia being introduced?
Did you notice her pride, but also that shadow of remembering Roman’s broken engagement? Keep that in your pocket, dear readers.
Family politics are never as simple as they seem.
And the Thompson family, with its sprawling branches and hidden roots, has more than one surprise waiting.
Until the next Chapter, imagine yourself at the Thompson estate tonight.
Would you be among the guests in glittering gowns, whispering about who Julia is?
Would you be in the kitchen, sneaking pastries with Denovan? Or would you be standing quietly by the door with Azazel, arms crossed, scanning every face that enters? Wherever you place yourself, remember: this story is as much yours as it is mine.
Thank you, thank you, thank you for reading, for commenting, for feeling alongside me.
May your own days ahead be filled with warmth, a little sparkle, and maybe even a hint of Thompson-style drama.
With love,
Midnight_star07