Hi, I’m Lilly.

This is not a fairy tale.

There’s no glass slipper, no charming prince — only silk threads, camera flashes, and names that don’t belong to me.

I was born into a family everyone knew, yet no one recognized me.

My father, Mr. Athan, was the chairman of Pick and Drop — PD — the iconic clothing empire with a trillion-dollar turnover. The world saw him as powerful, elegant, unreachable.

To me, he was… just “father.”

Distant. Formal. Always working.

My real mother, Lia, loved him deeply. She was the kind of woman who believed in love more than comfort. She ran away from her wealthy home just to be with him — a man who had nothing but dreams stitched in his pockets.

They said I looked just like her.

But I barely remember her face.

She died when I was three.

And with her, every trace of warmth in our house disappeared.

The only person who truly loved me… was my grandfather — my mother’s father.

Despite the pain of losing his daughter, he never blamed me. He raised me like a flower in the countryside whenever I could escape the coldness of the city. His hugs smelled of old wood, ink, and peace.

Even now, I write to him more than anyone.

Years passed.

Father remarried. Her name was Leya, once a graceful actress, now the polished face behind PD’s global marketing. She was five years younger than him — always charming in public, always distant at home.

And then came Rulia.

My stepsister.

The nation’s white flower.

A soloist with a voice soft enough to make the world cry and a face so perfect, people said she was made for heaven.

She was PD’s only daughter — according to the media, the magazines, and even the official website.

Not me.

They didn’t know that I, Lilly, designed the very dresses Rulia wore on every red carpet.

They didn’t know the fabric she draped herself in came from my sketches, my sleepless nights, my silent pride.

But I never complained.

Not once.

Because in a house where the walls spoke in money, fame, and flashbulbs — I learned how to stay quiet…

…and create.

But life doesn't always reward silence.

I had a childhood crush once.

He used to pull my braids, call me "matchstick," and buy me candy after pretending not to know my name.

Natha Elyas Odell.

Neo.

The boy who became a global idol.

The heir of the O’Dell Empire — a business three times bigger than my father's.

Everyone loved him.

And I did, too.

But he never saw me.

His eyes only followed one person: Rulia.

They dated for three years. They were the couple — glamorous, perfect, always trending. I watched from the sidelines like a fan in my own home.

Then everything changed…

...one scandal, one hotel room, one photo.

He found Rulia with a businessman — the kind that wore suits worth more than most houses.

And the next day…

he married me.

No proposal. No smiles. No flowers.

Just silence and a ring that didn’t fit.

The marriage was never announced. Never accepted.

To the world, he was still single — mourning a public breakup.

To me, he was a stranger sharing my last name in a house full of cold silence.

I told myself it was okay. That he’d see me. That maybe, just maybe, he’d remember the girl who used to follow him around with wide eyes and a sketchbook full of hearts.

But reality wasn’t so kind.

The very next day, the storm hit.

Rulia, Leya, even some of the Odells — they staged it like a drama.

They cried, shouted, accused.

Said I drugged Rulia. That I planned it all. That I used Neo’s pain to trap him.

And he…

said nothing.

His silence tore deeper than any scream.

From that day, no one in the O'Dell family spoke to me.

Not my husband.

Not his parents.

Not even the staff.

I lived in a mansion that felt colder than the monsoon wind.

And then, like a final twist of the knife —

Rulia made it public.

A picture-perfect post, a handwritten note in soft cursive.

A quiet announcement of heartbreak.

A subtle hint that I was the reason.

She left the country that same week.

Flew abroad.

Left her scandal, her fame, her sister…

and him.

Just like that.

And me?

I stayed.

Wearing a wedding ring that burned my skin every night.

The O'Dell mansion was vast, pristine, and silent.

It had thirty-two rooms, ten chandeliers, and zero warmth.

I often wondered how a house so full of people could feel so empty.

But maybe that’s what happens when no one sees you — even when you walk past them.

I lived on the third floor, far from the family wing.

No one said I had to, but the message was clear the night after our wedding.

Mrs. O’Dell’s polite smile.

Mr. O’Dell’s nod without a word.

And Neo’s silence. Always, his silence.

That night, I moved my things quietly.

There weren’t many — a suitcase, a sketchbook, and a wedding ring I kept forgetting to wear.

The maids were kind, but careful.

They looked at me the way people look at a forgotten photo — curious, but never long enough to remember.

Neo hadn’t spoken to me since the ceremony.

Not one word. Not a glance.

The only proof we were married was a piece of paper… and the ache that lived in my chest.

I spent my days in the studio on the far side of the house.

It used to be a storage room.

Now it was mine — filled with spools of thread, mood boards, and fabric swatches no one would wear.

Sometimes, I designed things I knew no one would ever see.

Dresses stitched with pain, collars folded with regret.

Each sketch was a whisper of everything I couldn’t say out loud.

That morning, rain tapped against the window like it knew I was thinking of leaving.

Not forever. Just for the day.

I missed the smell of my grandfather’s garden.

I missed the way he brewed tea with too much ginger.

I missed the version of me that used to believe love could fix things.

I reached for my phone.

Nothing.

No missed calls.

No texts.

No name that mattered.

But I did see something else.

A headline.

> NEO’s Heartbreak: Still Healing?

“His silence says more than words ever could,” fans say as Rulia’s farewell letter resurfaces.

The article showed Rulia’s note again — the one she posted right before she left the country.

The one that said:

> “Sometimes, people you trust the most stand behind your fall. But I forgive her. Maybe she needed him more than I did.”

Her words were soft.

Forgiving.

Poison wrapped in silk.

I didn’t cry.

I just stared at the screen for a long time…

and finally whispered to no one:

“I never took him from you. You both gave him away.”

Suddenly, my phone buzzed, jolting me out of my thoughts.

Natalia.

A tiny smile found its way to my lips.

She was the only one who stayed.

When the world turned its back on me, when even my own family avoided eye contact, Natalia — the Natalia Valen, international model, runway queen, scandal magnet — chose me.

Even when she had everything to lose…

she chose me.

I answered.

“You better not be crying, idiot,” she said without even saying hello.

I let out a soft laugh. “Not crying. Yet.”

“Good. Because I’m not about to let my favorite designer get mascara on her sketches.”

“Favorite?” I teased. “I thought you dumped me for that Italian brand last year.”

“I dumped them because they said you were ‘too soft’ for high fashion,” she scoffed. “Idiots. You? You’re a storm in silk, baby.”

I couldn’t help smiling.

She continued, her voice light, but sincere, “Look, I have this huge event tonight — themed Midnight Moon. I need something from you. Something that shuts everyone up when I walk in.”

“Tonight?” I blinked. “You’re giving me a six-hour deadline?”

“Babe, I believe in miracles and in your coffee addiction. And also—”

Her voice softened. “You need this. Get out of that sad girl cloud and create. Like you always do.”

I went quiet.

“Lilly…” she said more gently. “You don’t owe this place your silence. Divorce him. Come to France with me. We’ll eat croissants and you can design whatever you want. No shadows. No Rulia. No stupid cold idols with perfect hair and zero spine.”

“I know.”

My voice cracked. “I just… I don’t want to leave like that. Not when the truth is still buried.”

She was quiet for a moment.

“Then stay,” she whispered, “but never stop being you, okay?”

I swallowed hard. “Okay.”

She snapped back into her usual tone. “Great! Now grab your sketchbook. I want magic. Think silver clouds, crescent drapes, and the kind of slit that makes photographers gasp.”

“Got it,” I smiled, finally feeling the spark I had lost.

After the call, I grabbed my pencil.

Midnight Moon.

Stars, satin, shadows.

I opened my app and ordered fabric, stones, thread — everything I’d need to finish by tonight.

I tied up my hair, rolled up my sleeves, and stared at the blank mannequin in front of me.

“Let’s make them remember,” I whispered.

Because even if the world didn’t know my name…

they would never forget my work.

The clock read 2:11 a.m.

Needles, pins, sketch sheets, and scattered moon-colored fabric filled the room like quiet chaos.

The soft hum of my sewing machine echoed louder than the silence of the house.

Silver chiffon draped over the mannequin like moonlight over still water.

Natalia’s words rang in my head:

“Make them remember.”

I added a slit — sharp, intentional, like a whisper that dared to be heard.

The neckline dipped like a crescent moon, soft and strong all at once.

I hand-sewed crystal beads around the waist. Each one, a star.

There was something healing about working at night —

No voices, no judgment, no eyes.

Just me, my art, and a dress no one could take credit for but me.

By 6:00 a.m., it was done.

I wrapped it carefully, folded the last note inside — a handwritten tag that read:

Midnight Moon

For the one who always saw me.

---

The sun had barely risen when I slipped out the side door with the garment bag in hand.

I took a cab.

No drivers from the mansion.

No guards.

Just me, in an oversized hoodie, holding a piece of my soul on a hanger.

Natalia’s apartment was in the heart of the city — marble floors, gold fixtures, and a living room with more trophies than furniture.

She opened the door in a silk robe and sleepy eyeliner.

“Holy hell, you did it,” she gasped, grabbing the bag like a child opening presents on Christmas.

“I had to,” I smiled.

She pulled out the dress and froze.

“…Lilly,” she whispered, eyes wide. “You made the moon jealous.”

I laughed. For once, the sound felt real.

“You’ll kill the carpet in this.”

“I’ll kill them, babe,” she grinned. “Wait till they see me in this at the Odell Annual Gala tonight—”

My smile dropped. “Wait. What?”

She blinked. “…Oh. Sh*t.”

“You didn’t tell me it was for that event.”

“I thought it didn’t matter anymore. I thought you wouldn’t care.” Her voice softened. “You don’t have to come. I swear. I can just wear it and go.”

I swallowed hard.

The O'Dell Annual Gala.

Where he would be.

Where they would all be.

And my work — my creation — would be the star of the night.

I looked down at my hands.

They were steady.

For the first time in months… steady.

“No,” I said quietly.

“I’ll come.”

Natalia’s eyes lit up. “Lilly—”

“I’ll be in the crowd,” I added quickly. “Just to watch.”

And maybe, just maybe…

to finally be seen.By late evening, the city glittered like spilled champagne, and every luxury car seemed to be heading in the same direction — the O'Dell Annual Gala, where fame met fortune under one glass ceiling.

Natalia arrived early, dressed in Midnight Moon, camera flashes igniting the crystals around her waist like stars.

She shone.

She always did.

But this time, she carried me with her — in every step, every turn of that dress.

And I?

I stood across the street, tucked into a waiting car, heart thudding like war drums.

I didn’t belong there.

Not by their rules.

Not as a daughter-in-law never acknowledged.

Not as a wife who lived like a shadow.

But I had to see it.

My work. My design. My voice stitched into something beautiful and unstoppable.

“Miss?” the driver asked. “Should I pull forward?”

I hesitated.

My fingers trembled against the edge of my coat. I wore something simple — a sleek black outfit with a silver pin I made years ago, shaped like a crescent moon.

A piece of me.

“No,” I said. “I’ll go from here.”

I stepped out.

And walked — not as a designer, not as a wife…

but as Lilly.

---

The ballroom was drenched in gold and dark navy — chandeliers blooming like upside-down flowers, string quartets playing softly beneath champagne towers.

Everyone looked like magazine covers come to life.

And there, right at the center of it all, stood him.

Natha Elyas Odell.

Neo.

Dark suit. Perfect posture. Smile carved from ice.

He stood among executives and foreign investors, looking effortlessly powerful.

I felt the air leave my lungs.

He hadn’t changed.

Still the same cold calm.

Still the same stranger who once held my hand at an altar with no vows.

His eyes swept the room…

Paused.

Froze.

On me.

Only for a second.

Then he turned away — just like always.

But that second?

It burned.

“Lilly,” Natalia’s voice appeared beside me, softer this time, eyes scanning my face. “You okay?”

I nodded. “He looked at me.”

“For once,” she muttered. “He better look again when he sees what I’m wearing.”

And then she stepped into the spotlight.

A wave of gasps. Cameras. People turning.

Midnight Moon came to life — like she wore the night sky stitched with stars.

I watched.

Hidden.

Silent.

Until I saw Mrs. O'Dell — face tight, lips thinner than paper.

And Rulia’s manager, whispering in someone’s ear with narrowed eyes.

Something told me they recognized the design.

Something told me they knew I was there.

And yet…

I didn’t move.

Because for once, I wasn’t hiding.

I was watching them scramble over a dress they never could’ve imagined came from the girl they tried to erase.