The rain always smelled like rust in the city's north district. Rose Elara leaned against the cracked window frame of the orphanage dormitory, her chin resting on her knees. Below, water gushed along the uneven street, carrying wrappers, dead leaves, and the occasional bottle cap like a tide sweeping away the city's trash. She imagined herself among that debris—small, unimportant, drifting wherever the current wanted.
At sixteen, Rose had learned the rules of survival early: keep your head down, keep your heart guarded, and never—never—depend on anyone. The orphanage was less a home and more a warehouse for children no one wanted. Her days were filled with peeling paint, the smell of overcooked cabbage, and the endless noise of crying toddlers.
Today, though, the atmosphere was different. The staff were cleaning—actually cleaning. Beds were made, floors were scrubbed, even the cranky old matron was wearing lipstick. The girls whispered rumors. A visitor is coming. Not just any visitor, but someone important.
Rose didn't care. Important people visited all the time—donors with cameras, politicians with speeches, charity workers with fake smiles. They gave the kids candy, took photos for the press, and disappeared. But then, the sound of tires on gravel made her glance outside.
The car that pulled up was not like the usual government vans. It was long, sleek, and black—its windows tinted, its paint gleaming like wet ink under the stormy sky. From it stepped a woman in a deep emerald coat, her hair a cascade of silver curls, her heels clicking with authority. Even in the rain, she walked without hurry, each step purposeful.
The matron practically bowed. "Mrs. Veylor—what an honor—"
The name rippled through the room like a current. Selena Veylor. Everyone knew the name. CEO of Veylor Industries. Wealth beyond imagination. And a reputation for being untouchable—smart, ruthless, and terrifying in the boardroom.
Selena's gaze swept over the children like a jeweler inspecting stones. Most flinched under her eyes. Rose didn't. She met that gaze head-on, her own brown eyes steady. For a fraction of a second, Selena paused.
"You," Selena said simply, pointing.
Rose blinked. "Me?"
"Yes, you." Selena's voice was low but carried a weight that silenced the room. "What's your name?"
"…Rose Elara."
Selena nodded once, as if confirming something only she could see. "Pack your things. You're coming with me."
The room erupted into whispers. Rose's stomach tightened. "Why?" she asked, not moving.
Selena smiled, a small, knowing smile. "Because you look like someone who knows how to survive."
---
By nightfall, Rose was in a world she had only seen in magazines. Selena's mansion rose from the hills like a fortress, its glass windows glowing warm gold against the dark. The marble floors reflected every light, and the scent of polished wood mingled with faint lavender.
A maid guided her to a guest room. "Miss Elara, this will be yours."
It wasn't just a room. It was bigger than the entire dormitory she had lived in. A four-poster bed draped in velvet, a desk by a floor-to-ceiling window, a wardrobe that looked like it could fit her and half the orphanage inside.
She ran her fingers along the desk, feeling the smoothness of the wood. It was beautiful—but it wasn't hers. None of this was.
Her introduction to the family came at dinner. The dining room was all polished silver and crystal glasses. Selena sat at the head, a queen in her emerald silk blouse.
To her right sat a young man in his early twenties—Damien—lean and handsome but with a smirk that didn't quite reach his eyes. Beside him, Lydia, a willowy woman with perfect makeup and a stare that measured Rose like she was an unwanted insect. On Selena's left, a man in his late twenties—Marcus. His smile was polite, but his gaze lingered too long, too calculating.
"This is Rose," Selena said, cutting through the silence. "She'll be living with us from now on."
Damien's fork clinked against his plate. Lydia gave a tight smile. Marcus simply said, "Welcome," in a tone that made the word sound like a threat.
Rose kept her back straight and her voice steady. "Thank you for having me."
Dinner passed in stiff politeness, though Rose caught the occasional glance between the siblings, silent messages passing between them. She also noticed the two men in black suits stationed at the far corners of the room, their eyes constantly scanning the space.
When the meal ended, Selena dismissed everyone. Rose returned to her room, her mind buzzing. She had been here less than a day, and already she felt the undercurrent—tension wound tight beneath polished manners.
---
That night, the storm outside worsened. Rain lashed against the windows, wind howling through the hills. Rose lay awake, staring at the ceiling.
Why me? Selena could have chosen anyone. She could have sent her money to improve the orphanage. She could have ignored them altogether. Instead, she had walked in, looked at Rose, and taken her away.
A faint sound broke her thoughts. Not the wind. Not the rain. A whisper.
Her name.
She sat up, heart pounding. The room was dark, shadows stretching across the walls. "Hello?" she called softly.
Silence.
She slid out of bed, crossing to the window. Outside, the storm churned, lightning flashing in the distance. Then, just as she turned back, she felt it—a presence. Not visible, but undeniable.
And then the voice came again, deep and smooth, almost amused.
Rose.
She spun around. "Who's there?"
But the room was empty.
The voice didn't answer this time. Only a faint, almost invisible warmth in the air remained, like the ghost of a touch.
Rose stood there for a long moment, every instinct screaming that something had just entered her life—something that would not leave quietly.
She just didn't know yet if it was her salvation… or her doom.