It had been two days since her encounter with the demon stranger, and Myra hadn't uttered a single word about what she had seen on the abandoned path. Not that she had anyone close enough to talk to, anyway.
Her aunt had snapped at her again that day when Myra returned home, soaked from the rain and carrying a bag of ruined groceries. As punishment, Lyla even managed to leave her niece without dinner that night.
Unfortunately, Myra had caught a cold and couldn't stop sneezing. Still, she carried on with her chores while no one paid any attention to her illness—no one except Peter.
The night before, Peter had quietly sneaked into her room, careful not to alert his mother. He carried a thick blanket and draped it over Myra's shivering frame, saying softly, "Use this, Myra. It should keep you warm."
For a ten-year-old, Peter was unusually thoughtful. Unlike the rest of the household, he was kind and cheerful—always thinking of others. His kindness was the only warmth in a house that otherwise felt like a cage.
Like every other day, nothing was different. After breakfast, her uncle left for work at the market, Peter ran out to play with his friends, and her aunt and cousin locked themselves in their rooms, preparing for a party.
Meanwhile, Myra had just finished mopping the floors and was preparing tea in the kitchen. Her fingers trembled from the cold, and her nose was red from constant wiping, but she kept moving, unwilling to give Lyla any reason to lash out again.
Upstairs, April was getting ready for a luncheon hosted by the Laurel family.
She twisted and twirled in front of the mirror, admiring her reflection. The dress fit perfectly, accentuating her neck and collarbones. A bit of makeup and a neatly done hairdo made her look striking enough for young men to line up in front of her and she was looking forward to it. Her goal for the day was clear: catch the attention of a wealthy suitor.
In the past few months, April had received plenty of marriage proposals from many eligible bachelors at just the age of seventeen. But she had turned them all down, waiting for a proposal from Mr. Stevan Clark.
Clark was a vampire and an Earl. Young, handsome, and immensely wealthy, he was the dream match for April — at least according to her and her mother.
Just as April was putting the final touches on her look, Lyla walked into the room carrying a small velvet box.
"Mother, how do I look?" April asked, spinning around again.
Lyla smiled fondly. "As always, beautiful."
She placed the box on the vanity and had April sit on a stool. Opening the box, she revealed a delicate necklace—a simple gold chain with leaf-like designs and a ruby rose pendant. Lyla gently took it out and placed it on April's neck. It matched her dress perfectly.
April gasped, admiring it in the mirror. "Isn't this Amyra's?"
"Actually, it belonged to her mother. But Grace is long dead, and her daughter doesn't need it. You can use it," Lyla said with a shrug, as if claiming it were no big deal.
Lyla Brooke had always been envious of Grace—Myra's mother. Grace had been beautiful, kind, and poised—everything Lyla was not. People adored her, leaving Lyla in the shadows.
Grace Brooke, after all, was a noble-born, a demon at that. In Arcadia, demons held the highest authority. They were extremely strong and mighty, with a very long lifetime. They don't age easily like humans do, even though they looked entirely human.
Next come the vampires, who are more powerful after the demons, followed by witches, werewolves, and elves. Humans stand last in the line of hierarchy, being the weakest and the most vulnerable.
What Lyla resented even more was that Myra had inherited much of Grace's beauty and grace. She did everything she could to keep the girl hidden—from society, from suitors, from the world. April was to be the star, not Myra.
After Grace and her husband died, Lyla and her husband took everything that should have gone to Myra and shamelessly used it for themselves, while treating Myra as nothing more than a lowly servant.
"I think you're right, Mother," April said after a moment. "It doesn't matter. My dumb cousin wouldn't know what to do with it anyway. She doesn't need to impress rich men—any beggar would do!" She burst into laughter, and Lyla joined in.
"Her parents' death was the best thing that ever happened to me. If only they had taken their little pest of a daughter with them…" Lyla muttered, sighing.
"Forget it, Mother," April said. "Why ruin your mood talking about her?"
"That bitch Grace had everything," Lyla said bitterly. "She could've lived like a queen if she hadn't run off with your worthless uncle."
"They eloped?" April asked, intrigued.
"Yes. Grace was once betrothed to the Lord of Stonefort."
April gasped. "She was that rich?"
Lyla nodded. "Unfortunately, yes. But she threw it all away to marry Frederick."
"Do her family know about Myra?" April asked.
"They know she had a child. About eight years ago, a man came asking for her. But we convinced him that Myra had died. We even went so far as to dig a fake grave with her name on the headstone," Lyla said with a smirk.
Outside the room, Myra stood with a tray of tea. She hadn't meant to eavesdrop—their voices were just too loud to ignore. The tray trembled slightly in her hands, not from the weight, but from the flood of emotions threatening to drown her. Every word stung like a fresh wound, reopening old scars she'd tried to bury.
She waited for a moment, her heart pounding, before deciding she'd heard enough.
The way they insulted her parents made her blood boil. She didn't care how badly they treated her, but she couldn't stay silent while they dragged her mother's name through the mud.
Clenching her jaw, she tapped the door sharply with her knuckles.
Just wait. I'll show them.
Without caring about the consequences, Myra pushed open the door—ready for some drama.