It was the last day before the gala. One more day of pretending. One more day of smiling through emptiness.
I wrapped a scarf around my hair, pulled on my coat, and made my way to the main hall to double-check the placement cards. The estate was quiet at that hour, the soldiers on morning rotation still finishing coffee in the gatehouse, the hallway smelling faintly of floor polish and cold stone. That's when the door creaked open behind me.
Adriana. Her smile was different—too sharp, too polished, like glass reflecting light. No audience this time. No parents. No Dante. Just us. And when it was just us, Adriana's sweetness disappeared entirely.
She stepped inside as if the room belonged to her. "Up early, huh?" she said, voice dripping with mock cheer. "Still playing the perfect little worker bee? How admirable of you."
I didn't answer. I didn't need to. I knew who she was when no one was watching.
It wasn't new. I remembered her breaking my favorite porcelain doll and screaming that I had pushed her into the cabinet. I got grounded; she got a new dress. I remembered sneaking cookies because of her and taking the blame when we were caught while she walked away praised for her honesty.
Even as we grew older, she whispered cruel truths disguised as jokes:
"Dante only married you for the alliance."
"You'll always be second-best, Bianca. Doesn't matter whose blood runs in your veins."
It never ended. No one ever believed me when I spoke up. I was always the liar. The ungrateful one. The burden.
Maybe leaving the couple who had raised me with care—the ones who kissed my bruises and tucked me in—was a mistake. But they were gone now.
I had hoped coming to my real family would mean belonging somewhere. I was wrong.
Adriana crossed her arms, leaning against the doorway. "I need you to do something," she said, crisp and commanding. "Don't go to the gala tomorrow."
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me," she said, stepping closer and pulling an envelope from her coat. "Ticket's in here. One-way. To a quiet place outside the city. A whole week. You like peace, don't you?"
She placed the envelope on my dresser like it was an offering. "You don't need to ruin the gala. Stay away from Dante while you're at it. You're not right for him, Bianca. Never were."
There it was. Her true voice. Cold. Entitled. Cruel.
The tip of her tongue touched the edge of her canine, just briefly, before she added softly: "I know what you saw. It doesn't matter. You're still married… for now. But it's only a matter of time."
I studied her, really studied her, and for the first time, I didn't flinch. I didn't bend.
"You don't need to worry," I said, calm and steady. "After tomorrow, you'll never have to see me again."
Her eyes flickered. "Good."
I walked out without another word.
That night, I sank into a long bath, lavender steam fogging the mirror, my mind, my thoughts. Exhaustion wasn't from the work or preparations—it was from pretending, from silencing myself. Somewhere below the window, I could hear the low murmur of the evening crew changing shifts at the compound gate, boots on gravel, a radio crackling once and going quiet.
When I stepped out, robe around me, hair towel-dried, the door slammed open.
My mother appeared, fury in every motion. She hurled something at me—a gown. Beaded, emerald green.
"What the hell is this?" she snapped. Then she tossed a delicate velvet box, which hit the floor and spilled its contents: a broken gold chain, emerald pendant shattered.
I stared. "Is… is this yours?"
She crossed her arms. "Adriana said she saw you near my room. Did you do this?"
"I… I didn't," I whispered, still frozen on the broken emerald.
"Liar," she hissed. "Adriana saw you. You've always envied what isn't yours. And now you destroy it?"
"I didn't—" My voice caught. "I swear, I didn't touch it."
That was all it took.
A sharp crack echoed through the room. My head jerked.
She had slapped me. Hard.
The sting spread across my cheek, ears ringing—not from the pain, but from her words.
"I should've left you with the peasants who raised you!" she shrieked. "You think you're one of us? You never will be. I regret claiming you as my daughter. Adriana is my only child."
I froze, her words settling like stone in my chest. The Benedetti name, the bloodline everyone in this world killed and married and bled to protect. And she had just told me I was outside of it. In this house, that wasn't rejection. It was exile.
She stormed out, slamming the door behind her.
I stood there, trembling, the box still in my hands, heartbeat thudding like a drum.
A soft knock came.
Adriana stepped inside. "Are you okay?" she asked, reaching for me.
I recoiled, instinctively, but she drew closer, her false warmth brushing against my arm.
"You know," she whispered, her voice coated in sisterly sweetness, "maybe she's right. No one really loves you. You're just… extra."
Her words cut deeper than any slap.
Something inside me broke.
I shoved her.
