EARLY MORNING.
As I did every single day, I woke up at five—sometimes six—to begin a new day. I made sure there was food on the table before waking everyone else. After that, I prepared everything they needed to take with them whenever they had errands or places to go. Only after I'd ensured that all tasks were done could I take even a moment to rest.
By eight o'clock, I'd wake the twins so they could prepare for their training at church. It wasn't a difficult routine—after all, I was used to it. The exhaustion didn't bother me anymore.
"You didn't forget, that's good," my stepmother said sternly when she saw the tequila bottle on the table.
She picked it up with care and poured herself a drink into her glass. I gave a small smile and turned my attention back to washing dishes. She wasn't one to sulk or brood—when you failed to follow even the smallest of her instructions, she made sure to remind you, again and again.
I let out a deep sigh and quietly stacked the clean plates on the drying rack. A few minutes later, I decided to check the sack of money hidden in the storage room.
Now that I'd managed to save up a little, it was time to slowly put my plan in motion. I needed a place to stay, maybe even change my name. I'd thought of changing my appearance too, but... every time that idea crossed my mind, I realized the money I had wouldn't be enough. Of course, I'd also need to pay people off—money makes the world go round, and if you want someone's silence, you have to buy it.
My stepmother had plenty of connections. Almost all her friends were business owners, so news spread to her like wildfire. She was a capitalist through and through. Small-time businesspeople always came to her for help. She never lost money. She was smart—if she knew a business was going under, she'd buy it and sell it at a much higher price. I often found myself staring into space, thinking about how capable she was. I couldn't afford to be reckless. As much as I wanted to move out, I wasn't like her—I wasn't clever, and once my money ran out, I had no backup plan.
I finished my chores early that day, fed Ronnie—my dog—and made sure Mina, Minerva's cat, was locked in her room so she wouldn't steal his food. I put on my hooded coat and grabbed some money from the storage room. I double-checked the door, making sure it was securely locked.
When I stepped outside, there was yet another headline waiting for me in the mailbox. I pulled out the newspaper and read the front page.
"The bandits responsible for the murder of the Second Queen of Zenon have been captured, thanks to Captain Jared. As a reward, the King promoted him to royal guard."
To the side was a picture of a man—well-built, with sharp eyes, a small mouth, and a chiseled nose that gave him an air of nobility. I felt a strange warmth rise in my chest just looking at him. Was I really blushing over a photo? Maybe I was just impressed. I'd never seen someone that handsome before. I tore out the page and slipped it into my pocket.
Nervous but determined, I made my way to the Estrados' house—relatives on my father's side whom I'd been secretly meeting ever since I met Yana, my cousin through Aunt Anabelle, my late father's sister. She and her husband, Lord Nathaniel Estrados, had always treated me kindly.
Before I even reached the door, it suddenly swung open, and a small child came running out, chased by Yana.
"Youssef! Come back here!" she shouted.
But the boy just kept running. Yana paused, startled to see me.
"What brings you here, Rowela?" she asked.
I looked around carefully to make sure no one else had seen me. Once I was sure it was only Yana, I stepped inside with her. She watched me with concern and offered me a seat.
I left her house later with a lightness in my steps, convinced I'd made the right choice. Her husband, a royal clerk, could help forge the documents I needed to start over—maybe even help me change who I was.
After all, even I no longer felt happy in my current life. I often heard Minerva say I was a curse to the family—born of our father's affair. I didn't believe in curses, but that's how she saw me.
Next, I visited Xyrone's carpentry shop. He was our childhood friend, mine and Fiora's. He was working in a sleeveless shirt, sweat glistening on his skin as he hammered a chair together. His auburn hair—his mother's—glistened in the sun, while his strong build came from his father. His skills were all his own.
He noticed me and looked up.
"Rowela? What brings you here?"
"I need a favor," I said, hesitantly.
He raised an eyebrow. "What kind of favor?"
"Do you know of a place I could move into?"
He paused, clearly puzzled.
"You're moving out? Does your stepmother know?"
"No. But I have my reasons," I explained everything. He listened quietly, then nodded.
"There's a way—but you might not like it."
"Like what?"
"Marry me," he said, suddenly serious. "You'll take my surname. You'll live with me. You won't have to suffer with them anymore."
I stared at him, stunned.
"Don't joke around. Of all your girls, you chose to trick me? Just help me find a place to stay—far from here."
"That's it? Well, if you change your mind, my offer stands." His cheeks flushed as he looked away.
I sighed and quietly slipped the envelope of money into a drawer. If I gave it to him outright, he would have refused.
"Hand me the catalog. I want to design my future home," I said, trying to change the subject.
He crossed his arms and leaned on the wall, smiling.
"That's all? Leave it to me."
He spread out a sheet of paper on the table and picked up a pencil. He began sketching without any tools. I chose wood from the marang tree—an oak equivalent. He drew a two-story house, with a living room, kitchen, and bedroom. He even added a library, knowing I loved books, and a veranda—though he only added it to sneak bugs like beetles, frogs, or even spiders into my room as a prank.
At first, he refused the money, but I insisted—it was for his sister Xyra's sake. She sang in the royal choir and was training under elite vocalists like Myra and Minerva. Her lessons cost a thousand a day.
He finally agreed, saying the project would take three weeks, but with extra pay, it could be done in one week. It was long, but good enough.
When I got home, I quietly sat on a small chair, reading a book, when my stepmother arrived with her daughters.
"Don't you have a job?" she asked, removing her shawl.
"None, Mother. Have you eaten?"
"We have. Myra's suitor treated us," she replied, giving Myra a pointed look. Myra blushed and looked away.
"I don't like that man—he only owns a food stall. Sure, he can cook, but poor food never satisfies," she sneered.
Myra clenched her fists and stormed off. I wasn't surprised she liked Gerald—he was kind, hardworking, a great cook, and a gentleman. Any girl would fall for him, except, of course, for her money-hungry mother.
"Leave Gerald to Myra, Mother. I'll be the one to marry someone rich from the palace," Minerva said with a grin, clinging to her mother's arm.
"You may be determined, Minerva, but no man wants a woman like you. You're too aggressive. Myra is shy, but men flock to her. You, on the other hand, scare off every suitor I send your way."
Her mother pulled her arm away and went to the kitchen for her favorite glass and drink.
"I just can't take the old men you give me, Ina. They're either ugly or already have kids!" Minerva protested.
Myra once told me that most noblemen are either widowers or too busy with adventures to settle down.
"There are no young noblemen, Minerva. The few who exist aren't interested in marriage. If you want a better life, you'll just have to settle." She downed her drink and went to her room. Minerva glared at me, clearly irritated I'd been listening.
I was used to her attitude. It didn't bother me anymore.
At nine, I sat by the window, watching the stars. I couldn't stop thinking about the hasty decision I made to sell the jewelry. It haunted my sleep. I felt like she already knew.
I sighed and pulled out the torn newspaper. I stared at his picture again, wondering if I'd ever meet him. I felt like I already had—maybe in a dream. It was just a photo, but something about him stirred something deep in me.
I lay down on my makeshift bed and spotted the necklace hanging on a nail. It was my mother's. Wherever she and my father, Irelio, were—I didn't care anymore. They abandoned me. I learned to live without them, and I no longer wished to see them again.
I blew out the candle and wrapped the old blanket around myself.