Chapter 1:
Ella's
The grand hall shimmered under the blazing light of the chandeliers, which poured a warm, golden glow over the sea of silk gowns and the delicate crystal of champagne flutes. I stood at the foot of the sweeping marble staircase in my emerald dress, feeling the frantic rhythm of my heart drumming hard against my ribs.
Eighteen. Finally, legally an adult. Finally, I was one step closer to being truly free.
"Happy birthday, Miss Ella!" strangers chirped, leaning in to brush quick, meaningless air kisses against my cheeks.
I forced my lips into a smile until my jaw began to ache, my gaze finally lifting toward the polished balcony above. And there they were: my stepmother, Vivian, her lips painted a severe, blood-red, and her daughter, Chloe, whose fingers clutched her pearl necklace as if in fear that someone might snatch it away.
Both of them stared down at me with an expression of cold disdain, as if I were something undesirable polluting their perfect party.
Dad had argued against this extravagant celebration for weeks. "It's too soon after your mother's passing," he had insisted. But I had pleaded with him until he reluctantly gave in. Tonight, he was going to announce my birthday gift—a five percent share of King Enterprises. It was not half, not even a quarter, but it was mine all the same. It was my share. It was my first weapon.
The live orchestra music faded away, and every eye in the hall turned toward the stage. Dad stepped up to the microphone, his voice warm with pride but slightly shaky from too many glasses of bourbon.
"Friends," he announced, his smile wide, "tonight, my princess officially becomes a partner in the family business."
The assembled crowd burst into applause and cheers. He then motioned for me to join him on the stage, and I carefully climbed the steps, my high heels tapping a sharp, clean rhythm against the cool marble floor.
When he placed the microphone into my hand, my throat felt instantly dry, but I quickly forced my nervousness down and smiled into the crowd.
"Thank you, Daddy," I began, my voice clear and steady despite the wave of anxiety crawling up my spine. "Tonight, I will stop being the little girl kept in a high tower. Tonight, I will start building my own castle—and I promise to make room in it for every dreamer and hardworking soul this city has forgotten."
The guests cheered wildly at the promise. I raised my champagne glass in a defiant, mock toast toward the balcony where Vivian and Chloe stood watching. Vivian's knuckles tightened visibly on the railing. Chloe's brittle smile cracked, instantly replaced by a sharp, bitter expression.
…
Hours later, as the party began to wind down and the sounds of distant laughter echoed faintly through the enormous hall, I slipped away upstairs.
I needed a moment of silence after all the deafening noise. The corridor was heavy with quiet. I was halfway down the long hallway when Vivian suddenly appeared, perfectly positioned to block my path. Her expensive perfume, sweet and suffocating, reached me first.
"Five percent," she murmured softly, her words like pure poison wrapped in a layer of silk. "How utterly adorable. Chloe will inherit the rest when your father is six feet under."
I let out a short, cold laugh, though it sounded harsher than I had intended. "Only over my dead body," I countered.
A dangerous light gleamed in her eyes, and her lips curved into a shape that was far from a smile. "Be careful what you wish for, darling," she said.
I turned quickly to leave, but before I could take a single step, a sudden, hard shove slammed into me between my shoulder blades.
The air instantly rushed from my lungs. The world flipped violently. My body hit the marble stairs, a brutal succession of slams.
I saw a quick flash of my own green dress, the spinning light of the chandelier, and then a bolt of pain—white-hot, endless, and absolute—before a crushing darkness consumed everything.
…
When I finally opened my eyes again, I was lying on the cold marble floor. My mouth instantly filled with blood, thick and metallic like copper. The grand chandelier above me swayed slowly. Guests were screaming in terror. Vivian dropped to her knees beside me, perfectly applied tears streaking her flawless makeup.
"Why, Ella? Why did you do this?" she cried out, her voice filled with false despair. "Five percent wasn't enough for you? You greedy little fool—"
I tried desperately to speak, but my spine felt like it was on fire, a searing, immobilizing pain. My mouth opened, but no sound, no truthful accusation, would come out.
Behind Vivian, Chloe leaned in close, whispering just loud enough for me to hear, "She always wanted more than she deserved."
Camera flashes suddenly burst around me like miniature explosions. Voices blurred into a chaotic, indistinct static. Someone shouted my name, and then I saw Dad fighting his way through the crowd, his face a terrifying shade of pale paper.
"Ella! Baby, stay with me!" he yelled, gently cupping my face in his trembling hands.
I wanted to scream the truth at him. I needed to tell him that she was the one who pushed me. But my voice was lost, and the darkness swiftly swallowed everything whole.
…
When I opened my eyes for the third time, the air was entirely different—damp, dusty, and completely still. I was no longer in the elegant hall but in a cramped, narrow room with cracked, peeling walls and a broken section of ceiling.
The heavy smell of old, rotting wood and dry earth filled my nostrils. I pushed myself up slowly, my head throbbing with a dull ache. My hands looked alien—darker, rougher, calloused, with nails that were chewed short. They were not my hands.
"Where…?" My voice came out as a strained croak, higher-pitched and carrying an unfamiliar accent.
The door suddenly slammed open, and a girl stormed inside. Her skin was a deep brown, and her thick hair was braided tightly, swinging behind her as she fixed me with a fierce glare.
"Amara! Still breathing, I see." She tossed a pile of old, stiff rags at me. "Clean this entire place before Mama gets back, or your funeral will be tomorrow afternoon."
She turned abruptly and left, slamming the door shut again.
I stared, completely stunned, at the cracked mirror hanging precariously on the wall. The face staring back was not mine. It belonged to a stranger—dark skin, wide, frightened brown eyes, and trembling lips. I tentatively touched my cheek, half-expecting the image to simply vanish.
My heart hammered loudly in my chest as I whispered to the reflection, a low, urgent sound of pure confusion, "What the hell is going on… and who the hell is Amara?"