CHAPTER 1 - THE UNWANTED DAUGHTER

Elena POV

The room is small. Too small for someone who was born into one of the wealthiest families in Bellavere. But I have never complained. Complaining never changed anything. It only made them angrier.

The walls are painted a dull grey. The paint is peeling in the corners. There is a single window, high up, too high to see out of unless I stand on my toes. I used to do that when I was younger. I would stand on my toes and press my face against the cold glass, watching the main mansion in the distance. Watching the lights flicker on in Victoria's room. Watching my parents walk through the gardens, laughing, holding hands.

I do not do that anymore. I stopped years ago.

There is a bed. A small one, pushed against the wall. The mattress is thin. The sheets are worn. I have had the same sheets since I was twelve. No one has offered to replace them. No one has noticed.

There is a desk. A wooden one, scratched and stained. I do my work there. I read there. I write there. It is the only piece of furniture in this room that feels like mine. Everything else belongs to the house. Everything else belongs to them.

I sit on the edge of my bed. My hands are in my lap. I am staring at the wall. There is nothing else to do. Nothing else to look at.

The phone rings.

I know who it is before I even look at the screen. My mother only calls when she needs something. And she never needs something good.

I pick up the phone. My hand is steady. It has been steady for years. I have learned not to tremble when I hear her voice.

"Elena."

Her voice is sharp. Cold. Like glass breaking.

"Yes, Mother."

"Come to the manor. Now."

I close my eyes. I do not ask why. I do not ask what she wants. I know she will not tell me. She never tells me. She only tells me to come. To show up. To be useful.

"Of course, Mother."

"Do not be late. I do not have time for your delays."

"I will be there within the hour."

"See that you are."

She hangs up.

I look at the phone in my hand. The screen is dark. The call is over. The conversation lasted less than thirty seconds. That is how long I am worth to her. Thirty seconds. That is how long I matter.

I stand up. My legs are stiff. I have been sitting in the same position for hours. I have not eaten today. I have not had the appetite.

I walk to the closet. It is small. There are only a few things inside. Simple clothes. Dark clothes. Nothing that would draw attention. I learned early that dressing well only made them angry. It reminded them that I existed. And they prefer to forget.

I choose a grey sweater. Dark pants. Flat shoes. Nothing that would make them look at me twice. Nothing that would make them see me.

I do not look in the mirror. I know what I will see. Dark curly hair, tangled from lack of care. Hazel eyes, tired from lack of sleep. Pale skin, pale from lack of sun. The face of someone who has been forgotten. The face of someone who has stopped hoping to be remembered.

I grab my coat. It is old. Frayed at the edges. I have had it for years. It is warm enough. That is all that matters.

I walk out of the room. The hallway is dark. Narrow. The servants' quarters are at the back of the property, far from the main mansion. Far from the lights. Far from the laughter.

I walk through the garden. The path is uneven. The stones are loose. I have walked this path a thousand times. I know every crack. Every loose stone. Every place where the weeds have broken through.

The manor looms ahead of me. Large. Imposing. Beautiful and cold. Just like my family.

I walk through the front door. No one greets me. No one ever does. I am not a guest. I am not family. I am something in between. Something invisible.

I find my mother in the sitting room.

She is surrounded by wedding planners. Victoria's wedding planners. Victoria's wedding. The wedding I was not invited to participate in. The wedding I was not even told about until I heard the staff whispering.

My mother is seated in the center of the room. Her posture is perfect. Her hair is perfect. Her clothes are perfect. She looks like a queen. She looks like she has never known a single moment of doubt or worry.

She does not look at me when I enter. She does not acknowledge me. She continues speaking to the planners, her voice smooth and commanding.

"The flowers must be white. Nothing else. White roses. White lilies. White orchids. No color. This is not a carnival."

"Yes, Madame Laurent. We understand."

"The cake must be six tiers. Gold leaf. Edible pearls. The finest champagne buttercream. Nothing less."

"Of course, Madame."

"The dress has been delivered. I will oversee the fitting personally. Victoria must look perfect. She is the face of this family. She will not embarrass us."

I stand in the corner. I am used to this. I am used to being invisible. I am used to standing in the shadows while they plan Victoria's life. Her future. Her happiness.

My mother still does not look at me. She reaches for a cup of tea. She takes a sip. She sets it down. She adjusts her sleeve.

"Elena."

I step forward. I do not speak. I wait.

"There is a problem with the florist. They have sent the wrong flowers. The lilies are pink. Pink. As if this is some common garden party."

"I can fix it, Mother."

"You will fix it. You will go to the florist. You will demand they replace the flowers with white. You will not accept anything less. You will not leave until the order is corrected."

"Yes, Mother."

"Do not embarrass me. Do not make this family look incompetent."

"I would never, Mother."

She finally looks at me. Her eyes sweep over my face. My clothes. My hair. She does not smile. She does not soften. She looks at me like I am a stranger. Like I am someone she has never met.

"You look tired. Do something about that. You will be seen in public. You cannot look like this."

I do not respond. I do not tell her that I have not slept in days. I do not tell her that I have not eaten properly in weeks. I do not tell her that I am barely holding myself together.

She does not care. She has never cared.

"Yes, Mother."

I turn to leave. I have almost reached the door when she speaks again.

"Elena."

I stop. I turn back.

"Yes?"

"The florist. The roses are for Victoria's bouquet. Do not ruin this. Do not make this about you."

I feel the words like a slap. I do not show it. I have learned not to show it. I just nod.

"I understand, Mother."

I walk out of the sitting room. My heart is pounding. My hands are shaking. I press them against my sides. I take a deep breath. I force myself to calm down.

I walk down the hallway. I pass the grand staircase. I pass the ballroom. I pass the portraits of my ancestors. They all look like strangers. They all look like they belong somewhere I have never been.

I find the servants' entrance. The staff are busy. Rushing. Preparing for the wedding. No one notices me. No one looks at me. I am furniture. I am wallpaper. I am nothing.

I walk outside. The air is cold. I wrap my coat around myself. I walk toward the gate.

The florist is in the Glass Coast. It is a long walk. I do not have a car. I have never been given a car. Victoria was given a car for her sixteenth birthday. A sleek black car. She learned to drive in it. She drove to parties. She drove to the galas. She drove to her future.

I walk.

The streets of Bellavere are beautiful. Expensive. The buildings are tall. The windows are clean. The people are well-dressed. They walk with purpose. They walk with confidence. They walk like they own the world.

I walk with my head down. I do not want them to see me. I do not want them to ask who I am. I do not want them to know I am a Laurent. A Laurent who lives in the servants' quarters. A Laurent who is not allowed to exist.

The florist is on the corner of a busy street. The shop is beautiful. Full of color. Full of life. I walk inside. The bell above the door chimes.

A young woman greets me. She is smiling. Friendly. She does not know who I am.

"Welcome to Bloom. How can I help you?"

"My mother sent me. There was a mistake in the order. The lilies are supposed to be white."

The woman frowns. She checks her records. She looks confused.

"The order says pink lilies. Madame Laurent requested pink lilies. I have the confirmation right here."

I pause. I look at the paper. It is there. In black and white. My mother requested pink lilies. My mother lied.

I feel anger rising in my chest. I push it down. I have learned to push it down.

"My mother said they were supposed to be white."

The woman looks uncertain. She looks at the paper again. She looks at me.

"I am sorry. The order is confirmed. We cannot change it now. The lilies are already prepared. They are in the cooler. We can only deliver what was ordered."

I understand. My mother sent me here to fail. She sent me here to be humiliated. She sent me here so she could blame me for something that was never my fault.

"Thank you," I say. "I will tell her."

I walk out of the shop. The bell chimes behind me. I stand on the street. The wind is cold. The sky is grey.

I do not cry. I have not cried in years. I have learned that tears do not change anything. They only make them angrier.

I walk back to the manor. The walk is long. The streets are crowded. I push through the people. I do not look at them. I do not want to see their faces.

I reach the manor. I walk through the servants' entrance. I find my mother in the sitting room. She is still surrounded by planners. She is still playing the queen.

"Elena. The flowers?"

"The lilies are pink. The florist said you requested pink."

My mother does not flinch. She does not apologize. She does not explain.

"That is unacceptable. You should have fixed it."

"I tried. They said it was too late."

She looks at me. Her eyes are cold. Hard. Unforgiving.

"Then you should have tried harder."

"Yes, Mother."

She dismisses me with a wave of her hand. I leave the room. I walk back to the servants' quarters. I walk back to my room. I close the door behind me.

I sit on the edge of my bed. I stare at the wall. I do not cry.

I have never been good enough for them. I have never been wanted. I have never been chosen.

But I am still here. I am still standing. I am still breathing.

That will have to be enough.

Because it is all I have.