HARA'S POV
It was Michael's voice that pulled me out of the void.
"Hara! Wake up! You're late!"
I blinked once, twice, and groaned as reality slammed back into me. My limbs were heavy, my mind sluggish from exhaustion. I sat up slowly, blinking at the soft light filtering into the room. The events of last night returned in flashes. Sneaking out, climbing out of my window, Michael's dare, the card games, and the uncontrollable laughter. It was worth it, but apparently, I'd paid the price. I turned my head toward the wall clock.
"Oh no." My heart nearly stopped.
"It's time," Michael said, standing at the foot of my bed, arms crossed and eyes full of amusement. "And you're late."
"Crap!" I practically flung myself out of bed, my feet tangling in the sheets as I stumbled. Michael stepped aside just in time to avoid getting knocked over. "Why didn't you wake me sooner?!"
"Oh, I don't know. i woke up like an hour ago," he replied with a smirk. "Did you take something?"
I glared at him but didn't have time to retaliate. Dinner night. Family. Every Homac was required to attend. And me? The daughter of one of the most powerful royal families? Being late wasn't just careless; it was borderline scandalous.
My mind raced as I threw on the first semi-decent outfit I could find. My hair was a tangled mess, my face still carrying the imprint of Micheal's pillow. No time to fix it. I grabbed my coat, shoved my feet into shoes, and sprinted out the door.
The streets blurred as I ran. The brisk evening air bit at my cheeks, and my lungs burned with each stride. Somewhere along the way, I narrowly avoided a barking dog, slipped on a patch of wet cobblestone, and nearly knocked over an old vendor's stand.
"Sorry!" I yelled, though I didn't dare stop. My legs pumped harder as I dashed toward the towering gates of my family's estate. The ornate ironwork loomed ahead, cold and unwelcoming.
By the time I reached the wall beneath my bedroom window, I was out of breath and sweating. I scaled the familiar path, using the ivy-covered bricks as footholds. My fingers trembled as I pulled myself up, and with one last heave, I tumbled unceremoniously through the open window and onto the carpet.
"Made it," I gasped, lying flat on my back for a moment. But the adrenaline didn't let me rest for long. I shot up, scrambling to my dresser. My dinner dress was folded neatly in the top drawer, shimmering with embroidered elegance. I yanked it out, already imagining the wrath of my mother if I showed up in anything less.
"You're late."
The voice froze me in place. I turned slowly, clutching the dress to my chest. My younger sister, Lyra, stood in the doorway of my room, her arms crossed and a knowing look on her face.
"Where were you?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
"None of your business," I said quickly, dodging the question. I grabbed a brush and worked through the worst of my hair tangles with furious determination.
Lyra leaned against the doorframe, smirking. "Mom's going to love this."
"Not a word, Lyra." I shot her a warning look, but she only laughed as she walked away.
Before I could finish dressing, a knock sounded at the door. My heart sank.
"Hara," came my mother's voice. Cool, measured, and dangerously calm.
I hesitated for a moment before opening the door. She stood there, her sharp eyes taking in every detail. Her dark hair was immaculately styled, her posture regal, and her presence commanding as always.
"We've been waiting for you for an hour," she said, her voice carrying the weight of disapproval. "This is urgent. Come downstairs immediately."
I nodded silently, feeling like a chastised child. Just as she turned to leave, she glanced back. "Fix your hair." Then, without another word, she disappeared down the hall.
I exhaled a shaky breath, my stomach twisting with unease. Something about her tone told me this wasn't going to be an ordinary dinner night.