The head maid led Victoria toward the living room, her footsteps silent yet firm against the polished marble floor. Victoria followed closely behind, her heartbeat loud in her ears. When they reached the grand double doors at the entrance, the head maid pushed them open and stepped inside without hesitation.
Victoria hesitated.
She stood just outside the threshold, frozen. Never once in her past life had she been allowed to step foot into the grand living room. It had always been a forbidden space and now, to be summoned here of all places? Her mind reeled with confusion and suspicion. A dull ache began to pound at the back of her skull.
What now? she wondered, gripping the side of her gown until her knuckles turned white. What has changed?
But she was already here. There was no turning back.
Taking a deep breath, Victoria crossed the threshold.
The interior of the living room was magnificent. Sunlight streamed through tall arched windows. Golden Chandeliers were hung high in the ceiling, and the scent of fresh roses lingered in the air. But none of it mattered. Not to her.
Her gaze immediately landed on the two people seated at the elevated chairs at the far end of the room...her father and her stepmother.
Hatred surged through her veins instantly.
She clenched her fists, her knuckles turning white . Her vision blurred slightly as her eyes reddened, but she forced herself to breathe evenly.
Each step she took toward them felt heavier than the last. Her knees trembled, but she did not falter.
When she finally reached the center of the room, just a few feet from them, the head maid stepped away in silence, leaving Victoria entirely alone.
Slowly, Victoria knelt down on both knees, raised her hands to her forehead, then leaned forward slightly.....a formal gesture of respect.
"Greetings, Father," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper, yet firm enough to be heard in the vast room.
Her eyes, wide and searching, looked up at the man before her.
He was a middle-aged man with streaks of white in his otherwise dark hair. Dressed in neatly pressed black trousers and a forest green tunic, a matching black hat perched on his head, he sat with the posture of a soldier. Though age had touched him, his frame remained imposing, broad-shouldered and proud. A powerful Gamma.
Then, her gaze shifted to the woman beside him....her stepmother.
Her features were unnaturally youthful, preserved by expensive skincare. Her golden hair was twisted into an elegant bun, held in place by ornate pins studded with emeralds and pearls. She wore a long, flowing gown tightened at the waist with a corset that accentuated her already perfect figure. A bold smear of red lipstick painted her lips, drawing attention to a smile that never quite reached her eyes. She was the embodiment of the wicked stepmother trope.
"Greetings, Mother," Victoria added, forcing the words past the lump in her throat as she repeated the formal gesture of respect.
Silence.
A long, unbearable silence.
Victoria braced herself for the inevitable cruelty, for the mocking laughter or harsh commands.
"You've suffered a great deal, Victoria," her father said, his deep voice softened with something dangerously close to regret. "Come here. Let me take a good look at you."
Victoria's breath caught.
What…? She blinked rapidly, stunned. Her chest tightened.
This is driving me mad, she thought, biting down hard on her lower lip to keep herself grounded. What are they up to now?
Her body remained frozen in place for several moments as if her limbs had forgotten how to move. She finally rose up after some time and moved towards him.
Is he going to hit? she wondered, the question sending a chill down her spine as she slowly knelt down before her father, her eyes lowered to the ground, unwilling to meet the face that had haunted her memories for so long.
To her utter disbelief, her father's hand came to rest on her cheek....soft, warm, and gentle. He caressed her skin and lightly pulled her face upward. Tears welled in his eyes.
Victoria blinked, startled. She looked up from the floor and stared into his face. The tears were real. There was no trace of deception in his eyes. Her father...stern, always unreadable....was crying.
"You look so much like your mother," he murmured, voice thick with emotion. "You're finally back home."
A wave of shock and confusion swept through Victoria. What is going on? Why is he acting like this? Her father's reputation for cold detachment was well known. In her previous life, he hadn't even acknowledged her presence, much less wept over her. Is he crying because of me? Or did dirt get into his eyes?
"Come here, darling," came the sickeningly sweet voice of her stepmother, who reached out and pulled Victoria up, seating her on her lap. Her hands, though soft, felt like cold shackles.
"You're finally home," she cooed, brushing a strand of hair from Victoria's face. "Free from all that suffering. Now, you'll live in luxury. You should understand your father only sent you away for a reason. He never wanted to let you go."
Victoria remained silent, her gaze sharp and analytical. She scanned the woman's heavily powdered face, her eyes pausing on the golden necklace wrapped like a noose around her stepmother's throat. If only I could strangle you with that necklace.
"Thank you, Mother," Victoria replied evenly, then slid off her lap and stepped backward.
What kind of stupid games are you playing now, witch? she thought, swallowing hard. Her eyes remained locked on the woman's deceptively delicate features. Are we starting a new version of your cruelty? A new performance in this little show? Well then, let's begin.
"Mother! You gave her my room just because she's the youngest?" came a sharp, offended voice from the right-hand side of the living room. "What am I supposed to do now? Can't she take another room?"
Victoria turned her head slowly toward the source.
There stood her bratty stepsister...Mirabel. A beautiful young woman with raven-black curls that tumbled over her shoulders. She wore a blue gown with a corset embroidered in roses and matching silver shoes. And at last, the mask cracked. No more pretending to be sweet and innocent. The real Mirabel was stepping forward and of course will reveal the real behavior of the others.
"Just keep quiet, Mirabel!" snapped the stepmother, her patience thinning. "Go and choose any other room you want. Leave that one for Victoria."
"Mother!" Mirabel protested, eyes wide with disbelief.
"Hi, sister! I'm your third brother, Theo," came a cheerful voice. A tall, muscular man with neatly styled blond hair and a disarmingly warm smile stepped forward. His dimples flashed as he grinned. "I took that room after I cleared out Mirabel's ridiculous decorations. I made it better. Every girl loves pink, so I did everything in pink for you!"
Victoria blinked slowly.
Your design is far more ridiculous, Theo. I might throw up, she thought as she forced a tight smile and swallowed her irritation. Can everyone stop pretending already?
She turned her gaze back to Mirabel, who was seething. The girl's jaw was clenched, and her legs trembled slightly as she dropped into a chair, clearly fuming.
'She's the tool I can use to reveal the others real behavior hence I have to offend her. Victoria thought, her eyes gleaming with quiet malice.
"All the furniture in that room still belongs to my sister, Mirabel," she began, her voice honeyed with sarcasm. "I want everything moved out and burned. Every dress, every bedspread, every piece of decoration. They're out of fashion and not to my taste and shouldn't be to my sister's taste either. I'll be redecorating everything myself and also help in redecorating her new room too."
"You want to burn them? Are you insane?!" Mirabel screamed, leaping from her chair. "Do you know how much I bought those?! Do you even know anything about design, you poor little thing? How dare you say my style doesn't suit your taste?!"
"Calm down, sister. Your lipstick is smudged from all your yelling," Victoria replied sweetly, lifting a hand to her lips in mock concern. "Who did your makeup, by the way? I may have lived outside the mansion for years, but I know bad makeup when I see it. Yours? It's not even worth commenting on."
"You...!" Mirabel choked on her rage and stormed across the room, heading straight for Victoria, hands curled into fists.
Before she could reach her, a sharp clang of metal echoed through the room.
A man stepped forward... tall, broad-shouldered, and intimidating. His raven-black hair, like Mirabel's, framed his stern face. His brown eyes were cold, focused. In his hand, he held a gleaming sword.
Without warning, he hurled the blade toward the wall, right between Victoria and Mirabel.
Both girls screamed, their bodies jerking in opposite directions as the steel embedded itself into the wall behind them.