{Please read the author's notes in the auxiliary chapter. It provides details about the male lead which you will find useful as you read the story and includes additional important messages I couldn't fit in the end note. I appreciate your time and support in checking out my story. Thank you for joining me on this journey—I hope you enjoy it!}
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The Altheorn Estate sprawled like a scene torn from an overpriced lifestyle magazine—lush, curated, too perfect to feel real. The air smelled faintly of roses and money. Every inch of the garden shimmered under the soft glow of string lights draped from tree to tree—marble pathways gleaming, silver-barked trees trimmed within an inch of their lives, and decorative cages shaped like gilded domes housing rare, exotic cats bred for beauty and status.
Tonight, the Altheorn family was celebrating the 18th birthday of their youngest daughter, a girl who adored animals—especially cats—so they hosted an extravagant feline exhibition in her honor.
Erisia stood by one such dome, half-hidden behind the intricate gold lattice. Inside, a pair of fluffy kittens tumbled lazily over each other in the warm light. Their fur was impossibly soft, like clouds dipped in cream, and their tiny bodies hummed with purrs that seemed too perfect.
She liked them.
Warm creatures in a cold world. Untouched by family politics, reputations, or the brittle weight of appearances. Their peace wasn't an act; it wasn't a performance. It just… was.
A memory crept in, unbidden. Her old cat, a scruffy black stray with mismatched eyes. The only thing she'd ever truly loved. She'd named him Comet and fed him scraps under her bed in secret. Until the day Sierra claimed Comet scratched her—Erisia's mother had him locked in the basement 'for safety.' He died there. Starved. Forgotten.
Erisia later discovered the truth, and when she confronted Sierra, about it, her mother slapped her, accusing her of trying to use her cat to harm Sierra out of hatred and jealousy.
Erisia never forgot.
A soft purr snapped her back to the present. Inside the dome, one of the kittens batted at the glass where she stood. Erisia pressed a fingertip to the smooth barrier, and for a breath of a moment, their worlds touched—hers, cold and brittle; theirs, warm and simple.
They wouldn't abandon you, she thought bitterly.
But the moment shattered like a dropped glass.
"Erisia!" A saccharine voice cut through the garden, sharp and jarring. Sierra. Dressed in a silk mermaid gown, her parents adopted daughter but to outsiders, Erisia was the long-lost adopted daughter. The Wrenfords' beloved youngest daughter waved her over like a servant. Around her flocked a glittering clique of girls—expensive dresses, artificial beauty, and the kind of laughter that always sounded rehearsed.
Erisia, ever the soft-spoken, ever the obliging, smiled faintly and left her corner. Her steps were small, careful, as if afraid to dirty the flawless marble under her feet.
Halfway there, a mishap occurred.
A novice waiter, nerves jangling, stumbled in her path. The champagne flutes on his tray teetered—then crashed—spilling cold, sticky liquid all over Erisia's dress. Gold bubbles clung to the white silk like an accusation.
"Oh no," Delisse crooned, her voice honeyed poison, "did poor little Erisia trip into the drinks again? Or is she just auditioning for a slapstick reel?"
More giggles, sharper than cut glass.
Another girl snickered behind a manicured hand. "They don't teach balance where she's from, do they?"
"Or maybe she thought the bubbles were real gold," someone else chimed in, and the whole circle of jackals howled with laughter.
"Shh," Sierra tittered, swatting lightly at the group. "Don't be unkind. She's… doing her best."
That voice. That tone. Sweet on the outside, but sharpened to a blade beneath.
Erisia swallowed the burn in her throat, nodded stiffly toward Sierra, and turned toward the house. Her steps were tight, careful, as if she could shrink herself into the floorboards.
Behind her, the whispers twisted like knives in the dark.
"You're too nice to her, Sierra," Delisse sighed theatrically, reclining on a velvet chaise. "If my parents ' adopted daughter showed up after thirteen years smelling like cheap soap and thrift stores, I'd have her out of the house by breakfast."
Sierra let out a breathy, angelic sigh—Oscar-worthy. "It's not her fault, you know. She was lost, mysteriously found in some sad little town. No boarding school. No etiquette training. It's just… tragic."
"You're practically a saint," someone cooed.
"No," Sierra murmured, voice dropping to a whisper, her eyes glinting as they followed Erisia's retreating form. "Just… forgiving."
⸻
Later, across the garden near the staff corridor…
Erisia scrubbed at the stain, but the rich gold tint clung to the fabric like a second skin. Frustrated and fighting the burn of tears, she left the restroom and moved toward the staff corridor. Maybe someone had a solvent. Or bleach.
She didn't get far.
A tall figure stepped into her path. One of those men was bred in a lab of generational wealth and unchecked entitlement. He was probably the son of some film dynasty or business mogul—just enough fame to be arrogant, not enough talent to justify it.
"Hey there, sweetheart," he drawled, eyes raking over her like she was an auction lot. "Looking a little lost. Want some company?"
"No, thank you," Erisia said, voice tight, polite.
He stepped closer. The scent of overpriced cologne mixed with sweat and liquor clung to him, almost suffocating.
"You sure? You're too pretty to stand around like that. Wouldn't want anyone to think you're… lonely."
"I said I'm fine." She tried to sidestep him.
She tried to step around him. His hand shot out, catching her wrist.
"Don't be like that," he smirked. "A pretty girl like you should be grateful."
Her breath hitched—not in fear but something like rage.
She yanked her wrist free. "Touch me again, and I'll scream."
He blinked, thrown off for a moment, then let out a sharp, ugly laugh. "Drama queen."
"You don't get to touch people like that," she hissed. "Walk away."
Something in her voice cut through the vodka haze, and he stepped back. But the sneer lingered.
"Stuck-up little bitch. You'll regret that."
"I already do," she muttered, brushing past him.
Of course, Sierra's clique had radar for these moments.
Delisse's voice rang out, gleeful as ever. "Oh, Erisia! Entertaining the finance bros in the hallway now? You do aim for the gutter, don't you?"
"I thought I saw her with Larry Vonn," Livia added with mock innocence. "You know, the Larry Vonn? The one who collects 'flavors' for fun?"
"Must be nice to not even have a reputation to ruin," someone else sighed. "You're just… born cheap."
Erisia's hands clenched into fists.
"Enough," Sierra said, stepping in with her soft, pitying smile. "Don't be so cruel, girls. She's… delicate."
"Oh, you're too good, Sierra," Delisse sighed dramatically. "But seriously, you shouldn't have to clean up after her. Let her drown in her mess."
Sierra dismissed them with a flick of her wrist. They scattered, but not without a few sneers and shoulder bumps as they passed her.
She turned to Erisia, stepping closer. Her voice dropped to a sugar-sweet venom. "Erisia, I know it's been hard for you. Growing up where you did… no opportunities, no guidance. It's not your fault. But you don't have to embarrass yourself chasing after men who'll never see you as more than a novelty."
"I wasn't—" Erisia started, her voice sharp.
Sierra's mask cracked, then reassembled. "Why are you always so defensive? I'm trying to help. We're family. Or do you still think I'm the villain?"
Erisia tried to leave. Sierra's hand clamped around her arm, her nails digging in, her smile frozen like a porcelain doll's.
"Do you think you can just walk away from me?" she hissed. "You were gone for thirteen years. Thirteen years, Erisia. I was here. I'm the one they love. I'm the daughter they trust. You're just… the charity case."
Her gaze flicked to Erisia's ruined dress, the stain gleaming under the garden lights like a badge of shame.
"Listen closely," she whispered, her voice curling like smoke. "Stay in line. Obey me. Don't fight back. And maybe, just maybe, Mother won't hate you more than she already does."
Erisia trembled. Her hands curled into fists, nails biting into skin.
"I feel bad for you," Sierra went on, voice like velvet-wrapped knives. "All these punishments… You never even knew who was behind them, did you? It wasn't the universe being cruel. It was me."
Erisia's breath hitched. Her vision blurred.
"Yes," Sierra smirked, leaning in. "Every insult. Every humiliation. Every time you felt small and worthless—it was me. Leander calling you a country bumpkin? Me. The spilled drink? Me. And this?"
She grabbed Erisia's hand, shoved it onto her arm, then let out a piercing, operatic scream.
"AHHH! Erisia! Stop it! You're hurting me!"
Heads turned. A hush fell over the crowd like a curtain dropping.
Sierra stumbled back dramatically, her heel catching on the slick marble near the infinity pool. She yelped, flailed—then tumbled in with a splash that echoed across the garden.
Erisia gasped, instinctively moving forward—then her own foot slipped on the wet marble. Her body pitched forward, her head colliding with the cold stone edge.
Pain exploded behind her eyes, and then—blackness.