Amara returned to her modest apartment, the weight of Lyria's message pressing heavily on her mind. Her living quarters were small and unremarkable, a far cry from the opulence she would soon face at the Vaeloria manor. She took a quick, hot shower to wash off the grime from the dungeon, her mind racing with speculation about what Lyria could possibly want.
After drying off, Amara pulled on a pair of dark, well-fitted pants and a simple but elegant blouse. She tied her hair back in a neat ponytail and glanced at herself in the mirror. Her violet eyes, now back to their natural color, reflected a mixture of determination and trepidation. Satisfied with her appearance, she grabbed her bag and headed out.
The streets of Thaloria bustled with activity, but Amara barely noticed. She flagged down a taxi and gave the driver the address of the Vaeloria manor. The drive took about ten minutes, the scenery changing from the crowded marketplace to the sprawling estates of the elite. When they arrived, she paid the driver and stepped out, her heart pounding in her chest.
The Vaeloria manor was an imposing structure, a grand testament to the family's wealth and power. The sprawling estate was surrounded by meticulously maintained gardens, with statues and fountains adorning the pathways. The manor itself was a grand building of white stone, with tall, arched windows and intricate carvings along the facade.
As Amara approached the front door, the guards stationed there recognized her and stepped aside without a word. She walked through the grand entrance, taking in the opulence that surrounded her. The foyer was vast, with marble floors and a sweeping staircase that led to the upper floors. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting a warm glow over the room. Elegant tapestries and paintings adorned the walls, each piece telling a story of the family's long and illustrious history.
Amara moved through the manor, searching for Lyria. Her footsteps echoed through the hallways, but she saw no sign of her fiancé's sister. She entered the lavishly furnished salon, and there, her heart stopped.
Her fiancé, Darien, was locked in a passionate embrace with another woman. The woman was beautiful, with long, flowing blonde hair and striking blue eyes. She wore a form-fitting dress that accentuated her curves, and she looked at Amara with a smirk as she noticed her presence.
"Darien!" Amara's voice shook with a mix of shock and fury. "What the hell is this?"
Darien pulled away from the blonde, his expression one of mild annoyance rather than guilt. He was tall and handsome, with dark hair and piercing green eyes. He looked at Amara with a disdainful sneer.
"Oh, Amara. Didn't expect you so soon," he said casually, as if he hadn't been caught cheating.
"Who is she?" Amara demanded, pointing at the blonde.
The blonde woman laughed, a cold, mocking sound. "I'm Felicia. And frankly, I'm surprised you didn't figure this out sooner."
Amara's eyes burned with tears, but she refused to let them fall. "How long has this been going on?"
Darien shrugged. "Long enough. Look, Amara, let's not make this more dramatic than it needs to be. It's not like we were ever going to last."
"What are you talking about?" Amara's voice cracked. "We were engaged!"
Felicia rolled her eyes. "Please, darling. Did you really think a little C-rank mage like you would ever marry into this family? You're a joke."
Amara's anger flared. "You're the joke, Felicia! And you, Darien, are a coward and a liar!"
The sound of footsteps interrupted their confrontation. Amara turned to see Darien's parents entering the room. Lord Vaeloria was a tall, imposing man with graying hair and a stern expression. Lady Vaeloria was elegant and poised, with sharp features and cold eyes.
"What is all this commotion?" Lord Vaeloria demanded.
Amara looked at them, hoping for some semblance of support or understanding. "Your son has been cheating on me," she said, her voice breaking.
Lady Vaeloria sneered. "And why should that concern us? You were never suitable for our son in the first place."
Amara's heart sank. "But we were engaged…"
Lord Vaeloria cut her off. "An engagement that should never have happened. You're a poor, insignificant mage with delusions of grandeur. Did you really think you could marry into our family and elevate your status?"
Lady Vaeloria nodded in agreement. "You're nothing but a gold digger, Amara. You should be grateful we even entertained the notion for as long as we did."
Amara's vision blurred with tears. She had thought, foolishly perhaps, that Darien's parents would at least hear her out, maybe even show a hint of compassion. Instead, they were just as cruel and dismissive as their son.
Amara felt a surge of rage and heartbreak. "I won't be your doormat any longer," she said, her voice trembling with emotion. "I'm done with this. I'm breaking off the engagement."
The room fell silent for a moment, then erupted in laughter. Felicia clung to Darien, both of them laughing openly. Lord and Lady Vaeloria smirked, clearly amused by her declaration.
"Did you really think you were ever going to marry into this family?" Darien taunted. "You're delusional."
Amara couldn't hold back the tears any longer. They streamed down her face as she turned and fled the room. She felt utterly broken, her heart shattered by the betrayal and mockery she had endured. She stumbled through the grand hallways, not caring who saw her in such a state.
As she burst through the front doors and into the crisp air outside, she nearly collided with Lyria. The SS-rank mage stood there, her expression as cold and unreadable as ever. Lyria was tall and graceful, with long, silvery hair and piercing violet eyes that seemed to see straight through Amara.
"Lyria," Amara choked out, struggling to compose herself. "Is this why you called me here? To witness that?"
Lyria's expression remained inscrutable. She didn't respond verbally. Instead, she reached into her coat pocket and produced a delicate, white handkerchief. Without a word, she handed it to Amara.
Amara took the handkerchief, her fingers trembling. She looked up at Lyria, but the SS-rank mage said nothing. Lyria's violet eyes, cold and distant, gave no hint of sympathy or explanation. After a moment's pause, Lyria turned and walked back toward the manor, her silver hair flowing behind her like a shimmering curtain.
Amara stared after her, feeling a tumult of emotions. The handkerchief felt like a mockery, a symbol of the empathy that Lyria was too reserved to offer openly. With a broken heart and tear-streaked cheeks, Amara wiped her eyes and took a shuddering breath. Her whole world seemed to crumble around her, but she couldn't linger.
The laughter and scorn she'd endured inside the manor echoed in her mind. She glanced back at the imposing façade of the Vaeloria estate, its grandeur now feeling like a cold, unfeeling prison. The opulence that had once seemed so alluring now appeared as a fortress of arrogance and cruelty.
Amara took one last look at the grand entrance, her eyes settling on the guards who still stood at their posts, their faces inscrutable. They had witnessed her humiliation but offered no comfort or words of support. It was clear she was alone in this moment.
As she walked away from the manor, her footsteps echoed through the quiet streets. The cool evening air felt refreshing against her flushed skin, but it did little to soothe the ache in her heart. The path ahead seemed uncertain, shrouded in the darkness of her recent revelations.
She hailed a passing taxi, the driver giving her a sympathetic nod as she climbed into the back seat. The ride was a blur of streetlights and shadows, Amara's thoughts consumed by the events of the day. The streets of Thaloria, once bustling with life, now seemed empty and cold.
When she finally arrived at her small apartment, she paid the driver and trudged up the stairs to her apartment. Inside, she sank onto the couch, the weight of the day settling heavily on her shoulders. The handkerchief from Lyria lay beside her, a small, white reminder of her isolation.
Amara took a deep breath and reached for her phone, her mind racing through the day's events. She felt a pang of anger and sadness, but also a spark of resolve. She would not let this be the end of her story. She had faced too much to be broken by this.
Her gaze drifted to the window, where the city lights of Thaloria twinkled against the dark sky. She knew she needed to find a new path, one that didn't involve the Vaeloria family or their disdainful expectations. As she sat in the quiet of her apartment, she made a silent promise to herself. She would forge her own future, no matter how difficult the journey might be.
For now, though, she allowed herself a moment of reflection, her heart aching but her spirit unbroken. She clutched the handkerchief from Lyria, a symbol of the truth she had faced and the strength she would need to move forward.