Amara's POV
The real Hopper princess had rolled back into town, and all of Merida Metro was going crazy.
Since sunrise, every bigwig in the city had been flooding the Hopper mansion for the ultimate welcome-home bash.
Me? I wasn't invited to their fancy party.
Instead, I was holed up in the attic of their enormous house, planted in front of my easel.
My right arm was trapped in a cast, my left hand gripping a pencil. But my focus stayed glued to the iPad propped on the table beside me.
A news segment was running, the reporter's voice sharp and relentless as she dove into a cold case that still haunted our city. "Years ago, the Blackwood Estate Massacre rocked Merida Metro. The suspect, some guy named Boris, just got arrested. Word is, he broke into the Dalton home looking for money.
"Mrs. Dalton caught him red-handed, so he killed her, her husband, and their two eldest children. The youngest daughter? Still nowhere to be found..."
The screen cut to the suspect in handcuffs, confessing his story.
"When I broke in, there were just the two adults and two kids. I swear I didn't see any other child..." he said.
Crack!
My pencil snapped in half.
I flipped the iPad face-down and looked at my sketch pad.
The drawing showed a young man with refined features—nothing like that loser on the news.
That "suspect"? Just a patsy, bought and paid for by the real killer.
My expression stayed neutral, but my breathing got rougher, chest rising and falling harder.
Knock, knock, knock.
Sharp knocking cut through the silence.
A maid's shaky voice filtered through. "Ms. Dalton, Miss Hopper needs to see you."
I blinked, pulling myself back to reality. "Not happening," I said, my voice ice-cold.
"But Ms. Dalton..." The maid sounded trapped between a rock and a hard place.
Everyone in the Hopper household knew I was strange.
Difficult to approach, always keeping to myself.
When Winston Hopper brought me in years ago, I was already a young teen. Never called him "Dad" or Morgana Hopper "Mom."
I kept my original surname too.
Morgana was sure I was her husband's illegitimate daughter from some affair, so she wasn't exactly rolling out the welcome mat.
The truth? I wasn't exactly Miss Popular.
House gossip painted me as sickly, constantly in and out of hospitals, my grades tanking because of it.
But what was actually wrong with me? Nobody had a clue.
Could've been a tragic tale for all they cared.
Down the corridor, Seraphine marched up in a bright pink dress, glaring at my locked attic door.
"What's taking so long?" she snapped.
The maid sighed. "Miss Hopper, Mr. Hopper said no one should disturb Ms. Dalton."
That set Seraphine off. "Open this door right now!" she yelled.
She yanked the handle, found it locked, and started banging like she wanted to tear it down. "This is my home! Who do you think you are, freeloading here for years and acting all high and mighty?
"You actually think you're some kind of princess? Open up now!"
I opened the door.
Seraphine stopped dead, finally seeing me up close.
I looked like a teenager. Wearing plain gray sweats, right hand in a cast, skin ghostly pale.
My features were delicate, eyes bloodshot from what looked like crying. Long, smooth hair cascaded down my back, streaked with random white sections.
I was stick-thin. Pretty, but unsettling.
Seraphine's skin crawled, and she backed up before catching herself. "So you're my dad's little charity project?"
I cocked my head. "Problem?"
Seraphine's eyes blazed with pure malice.
She moved closer, voice dropping to a poisonous whisper. "Your mother must've been real clever, huh? Sneaking you into my home.
"Like mother, like daughter—just a couple of gold-digging nobodies. What's your game plan, snagging some rich old man?"
I didn't even blink. "Finished running your mouth?"
Seraphine's smirk froze.
In one swift move, I grabbed a fistful of Seraphine's hair and smashed her face against the wall beside the door.
It happened lightning-fast, catching everyone off guard.
One moment I was in the doorway; the next, I was behind Seraphine, calm as ever.
"Ow!" Seraphine shrieked, thrashing wildly. "What the hell?! Let me go! You're completely insane!"
The maid gasped. "Ms. Dalton!"
I kept Seraphine's head pressed firm, leaning close, my voice deliberate and razor-sharp. "Got questions? Go interrogate Winston.
"Ask him how your precious Hopper family got all this money. Don't come crying to me."
I released her.
Seraphine staggered backward just as the party guests downstairs, drawn by her screaming, started staring up at us.
At the front were Winston Hopper and his wife, Morgana.
Morgana's face was storm-dark, her glare at me lethal enough to kill.
"Mom!" Seraphine's hair was destroyed, mascara running down her cheeks.
She collapsed into Morgana's arms, wailing. "Why do we have a psychopath like her in our house?"
The crowd fell dead silent, Seraphine's sobs echoing through the space.
Winston tried to speak but couldn't find words.
He was stuck between impossible choices.
Me? I acted like nothing happened. Just turned around, walked back into my room, and slammed the door with a thunderous bang.
---
Dominic's POV
Out on the attic balcony, I lounged on a couch, one leg propped up, watching the chaos unfold like entertainment.
When the show ended, I pulled a mint from my pocket, tossed it in my mouth, and smiled.
"What a heartwarming family," I said.
My friend Quentin Finch, standing close by, stayed quiet.
I ran my fingers through my blond hair. "That girl though? She's got serious attitude. And she's pretty hot."
Quentin rolled his eyes. "Dominic, you've got enough problems. Handle your own drama before you start chasing girls."
I never was one to take advice, so I flashed my trademark cocky grin, eyes twinkling with that troublemaker spark. "Ever heard of love at first sight?"
Quentin blinked. "What?!"
To him, me falling for someone? That was like seeing a unicorn in broad daylight.
I crunched the mint and stood up, holding my hand to show height. "She's about this tall, right arm in a cast."
Quentin's breath hitched. "No way. Someone from that location, here in Merida Metro? Has to be coincidence, right?"
My mind flashed to a memory—a small figure in a full hazmat suit, surrounded by blood and mayhem. Tiny, delicate, even when her arm got broken.
I couldn't tell if she'd been crying; her goggles were fogged over. Nothing like the fierce, lightning-quick girl I'd just witnessed.
Still, my grin grew wider. "Stranger things have happened."
Quentin groaned.
I smacked the balcony rail. "I'm going to make her mine."
Quentin stared, stunned. "Dude, she looks young. And you..." He stopped mid-sentence.
My reputation in Merida Metro was complete trash. No girl with any sense would fall for me.
Quentin figured even if my looks hooked her initially, she'd see through my jerk personality eventually.
Quentin tried reasoning with me, but I wouldn't budge.
"I'm going to make her mine," I said again.
Quentin sighed. "Yeah, sure thing, buddy."