Liana paced the grand hall, her heels clicking against the marble floor in frustrated rhythm.
Her daughter, Celeste, sat on the velvet chaise, arms crossed, lips curled in a displeased pout.
The tension in the air was suffocating.
It had happened again.
The twenty-eighth time.
Liana clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms as rage burned behind her sharp eyes.
And it was all because of that girl.
Aria.
That cursed beauty.
Liana's lips pressed into a thin line, her mind replaying the scene from earlier.
The man—a potential suitor for Celeste—had arrived, dressed in fine attire, wealth dripping from every movement.
Celeste had been prepared.
Draped in luxury, adorned in gold, her hair curled to perfection, her lips painted red—elegance and wealth wrapped around her like a veil of superiority.
She had been raised for this.
To be the perfect bride.
To marry into power. To strengthen their name.
And yet—
Yet the moment Aria walked in, everything shattered.
She had simply been serving coffee.
Dressed in a plain black dress, her dark hair falling in soft waves around her small, delicate frame. No jewelry. No embellishments.
And still—
The man's gaze had locked onto her, frozen in shock.
"You never told me you had another daughter," he had murmured.
Liana's breath had caught in her throat.
No.
Not again.
"She is not my daughter," Liana had snapped, her voice laced with ice. "She is just a slave."
But it had been too late.
The look in his eyes had changed.
Whatever interest he had in Celeste vanished.
A few polite words, an excuse, and then he left.
Without even looking at Celeste again.
Without even considering marriage.
Now, Celeste sat sulking, seething with quiet resentment.
And Liana?
She wanted to tear that girl apart.
"Because of that little wretch, my daughter will be single her entire life," she hissed.
Celeste scoffed. "That's what I've been telling you for years. As long as Aria is in this house, no man will ever look at me."
And it was true.
Every suitor, every proposal—the moment they saw Aria, their interest shifted.
Not once. Not twice.
Twenty-eight times.
Twenty-eight men had walked in for Celeste—only to walk away because of Aria.
And Liana?
She could no longer stand it.
This had to end.
Her nails dug into the armrest, a slow, twisted smirk forming on her lips.
"I think it's time we rid ourselves of a certain problem," she murmured.
Celeste lifted her head, a knowing smile curling on her lips.
"What are you planning?"
Liana stood, straightening her dress as she looked toward the dimly lit hallway where Aria had disappeared.
Her voice was cold, void of emotion.
"I think it's time Aria learns her place."