Mira stood frozen at the gates of the mansion, staring at the looming structure before her.
Another nightmare.
Her mind whispered the words bitterly. It was as though her life had become a relentless cycle of torment, a parade of disappointments where the truth she so desperately wanted to believe never came to pass.
Her hopes were always dashed, like fragile glass against a stone wall.
It's better to wake up than daydream, she thought bitterly, but the thought offered no comfort.
She stepped inside, her heels clicking against the marble floor, the echo bouncing off the grand walls.
As she ascended the stairs, ready to retreat into her room, she froze. At the top of the staircase stood another torturer—her stepmother, dressed like an angel but exuding the venom of a devil.
Her stepmother's fair skin shimmered under the soft lighting, her long silver hair cascading down one side of her face.
Her piercing blue eyes were narrowed, the anger and resentment in them so intense it could have burned through steel.
The cold, calculating look she gave Mira made her blood run cold.
This woman would kill me without a second thought if it were fun enough for her.
"And look who's finally here," the woman sneered, her voice dripping with disdain as she took slow, deliberate steps down the stairs.
Mira stood tall, her heart pounding, fighting the urge to shrink away. She hated the weakness that came with that.
Her stepmother's presence, her cruelty, was like a weight crushing her chest.
"Ma'am..." Mira barely managed to get the words out, her voice trembling with unease.
The woman didn't let her finish. "Raise your head when I'm speaking to you!" she snapped, the venom in her voice sending a jolt of fear through Mira. "Where have you been? You think you can hide from me, huh?"
Mira could barely breathe under the suffocating force of her stepmother's glare, but before she could respond, another voice cut through the tension.
"Honey!" A deep, rich voice called out, and Mira's stomach twisted in knots as her father entered the scene.
The man who walked toward them was nothing short of imposing. Dressed in a sharp black tuxedo, he exuded power and wealth.
His caramel skin glowed like polished marble, and the scent of his expensive cologne hit Mira like a slap to the face.
His dark, curly hair fell to his neck, framing a face that looked more like a model than someone who ran a country's empire. He was tall, handsome, and utterly indifferent to Mira's suffering.
His bright brown eyes, hidden behind a pair of glasses, flicked over Mira with barely a glance, his V-shaped jaw tight with irritation.
"Honey, could you believe that once again, she's late?" his wife scolded, a sickly sweet tone dripping from her voice as she turned to him. "I wonder what she's been doing. She's just a little girl. No matter what, I think she just doesn't want to accept me. I'm trying to be a mother, your mother."
Her voice shifted into something insidious, pretending to be concerned as she played the part of the caring stepmother.
Mira could barely hold herself together. It was a show, a performance—one that she had seen too many times before.
Her father didn't even look at her as he nodded along, the distance between them growing ever wider. Mira could feel the emptiness in his gaze, the way his indifference was like a physical blow.
"Mira, I think this behavior is becoming a problem," her stepmother continued, her voice cold. "You're better than this. I know you're an amazing kid. You could be something great..."
Her voice trailed off, a patronizing mockery of affection.
Mira felt herself stiffen, but before she could even react, her stepmother's heel came down hard on her foot, pressing it into the ground with a sharp, agonizing pressure.
Mira gasped, the pain surging through her as she struggled to stay upright. But her stepmother didn't care.
She only smiled—a smile that was too wide, too cruel.
"You know what your punishment is going to be, don't you?" her stepmother's voice turned cold and mocking. "You'll do everything around this house. All the work. I think you'll find that's fitting for someone like you."
Mira winced, feeling like she was being crushed under the weight of her stepmother's words. But there was no time for protest, no room for escape. The punishment had already been set.
With a final look of contempt, her stepmother stepped away, her heels clicking against the marble as she made her way toward the door.
Mira's father hastened his steps, passing by her without a word, without a glance, as though she didn't exist.
Her stepmother linked arms with him, smiling at him as if Mira wasn't even in the room.
"We'll be back soon, sweetheart. Don't make a mess of the house while we're gone, okay?" she called over her shoulder, her voice sickly sweet. "And remember, your sister will be home soon. You wouldn't want to disappoint her, would you?"
Mira's mind spun with the weight of it all. Her father, the man who was supposed to protect her, passed by her as if she were invisible.
He didn't even acknowledge her pain, her hurt.
Neither at school nor at home—no place in her life was safe, no one to turn to. She was a ghost in her own house, a shadow that no one cared about.
The helpers, the servants—they all saw her as nothing more than an inconvenience, a task to be handled. She was lower than them, treated as a servant in her own home.
A maid in her father's mansion.
She made her way down the narrow hall to the tiniest room her father had reluctantly given her. The walls were painted a dull blue, the only color that seemed to match the emptiness she felt.
A thin mat was all she had for a bed, and after some pleading, her father had managed to get her a wardrobe to store her clothes. A gesture that barely made this place feel like home.
This, she realized, was her room. Or more accurately, her prison.
Her stepmother had done an excellent job convincing her father that this humble existence would teach her a lesson in humility, away from the distractions of wealth and luxury.
And, predictably, her father had agreed, never once questioning the truth behind those words.
With a sigh, she dropped her bag on the mat and quickly changed into something more comfortable.
There was work to be done, the kind she had been assigned as a form of punishment.
She glanced at the clock, counting down the time—her favorite novelist was about to release a new chapter, and she wasn't about to miss it. She had to hurry.
Just a little longer, she thought, as she scrubbed the dishes with precision.
The clock was ticking, and she couldn't afford to miss the three-hour window where the new chapter was free.
Two hours had already passed, and there was only one left.
By the time she was done with her chores, it was already eight PM. She rushed to her room, eager to dive into the novel, but then—bang!
A loud noise echoed from outside, startling her.
What was that?