The driveway glitters like crushed diamonds in the late afternoon sun. Heidi steps out last, clutching her frayed school bag like a lifeline. Her shoes are scuffed, her skirt still wet from crouching behind the shrubs all day, and there's a twig in her hair she's too tired to remove.
The Castell manor is a palace disguised as a house. Marble columns line the arched entrance. Two fountains flank the stairs, each shaped like wolves howling toward the sky. Above the main door hangs a wrought-iron chandelier the size of a baby elephant, twinkling even under daylight. It's the kind of house that smells like money.
As they enter, a barrage of maids in starched monochrome uniforms swarm them like bees. "Welcome back, Miss Sierra. Master Lucan." Their voices are soft and trained.
One of them reaches for Lucan's bag. He lets her take it wordlessly. The other maid extends a hand toward Sierra, who drops hers into it like it's trash.
Then almost reluctantly, one of the other maids looks at Heidi, her hands fluttering awkwardly. She takes an uncertain step forward to help…
That's when Mrs. Castell's voice comes in.
"Don't touch that," she snaps, heels clacking as she storms into the foyer like a general marching into enemy territory. "Why would you serve someone beneath you? Has the sun fried your brain?"
The maid recoils like she's been slapped. Heidi clutches her bag tighter, shame burning her cheeks. The witch is here, she thinks.
Mrs. Castell emerges from the curved staircase. Her dress is blood-red, and she's got matching lipstick on. Her blonde hair is coiled into a bun so tight it probably hurts her soul. Her gaze could peel paint off a Rolls-Royce.
Of course, Heidi knows she isn't to be treated as an equal to Sierra and Lucan. She is but a glorified servant.
Sierra squeals and rushes toward her mother, arms outstretched. "Mamiiii! Look at my nails… they chipped during fencing class!"
"Oh, my poor baby," Mrs. Castell coos, kissing both of Sierra's cheeks and inspecting her fingers as if they've been shattered in war. "You're far too delicate for such brutish sports. We should've just sent you to that finishing school in Madrid."
"So tell me, how was your day, mi sol? Did anyone dare upset you? Because if they did, I'll have their heads." She strokes Sierra's cheek with dramatic flair.
"I'm fine, Mamá," Sierra coos. "Just tired. The omegas are getting a bit too comfortable, but I handled it."
Mrs. Castell beams. "Of course you did. That's my girl. Castell blood doesn't tolerate worms."
Lucan sighs and walks past them both without a word. He mutters a bored "Good evening," before vanishing up the grand staircase. Heidi follows him with her eyes and a strange hollowness settles in her chest.
She misses her mother.
There are moments like now… where the ache sneaks up behind her and wraps its fingers around her throat. She wonders what her mom would say if she could see her now, standing like an uninvited guest in the home she's been forced to call hers. She imagines her mother would've straightened her collar, told her to keep her chin up, that the moon always comes back even after the darkest night.
But all Heidi has now are Mrs. Castell's moonless eyes, narrowing with revulsion.
"Well?" the woman says, snapping her fingers at her. "Don't just stand there like a broken coat rack. Once you're done changing into something less pathetic, clean Sierra and Lucan's rooms. And don't forget their laundry this time. I swear, if Sierra finds one more of her socks mismatched, I'll make you eat them. Also, make sure to disinfect the bathrooms. I don't trust your type not to shed filth wherever you go."
"Yes, ma'am," Heidi whispers, biting the inside of her cheek so hard she tastes blood.
Mrs. Castell walks in a slow, indulgent circle around her, sipping from a champagne flute. "I wonder sometimes if you even realize how lucky you are. My children are gods among mortals. And yet here you are, stinking up the same air as them. How very generous we are."
Sierra smirks behind her mother.
Mrs. Castell sniffs, then turns to the butler. "Put food on the table for my children. As for this one…" she jabs a bejeweled finger at Heidi "…pack the leftovers from yesterday's dinner. She should be used to scraps by now."
The butler frowns politely. "Madam… the leftovers were given to your cat this morning. I…"
"What?" she gasps, voice rising. "Are you trying to say this—this stray mongrel… is better than my Gigi?"
Heidi freezes. Gigi is the Persian cat that scratches everyone except Mrs. Castell.
"N-no, Madam," the butler stammers, bowing slightly.
"Then give her what's left of Gigi's food. If she's hungry enough, she'll eat it." She turns back to Heidi with a wolfish smile. "Unless, of course, you think you're above my pets."
Sierra barks out a laugh and links her arm through her mother's. "Gigi probably eats better than most omegas in this country."
Heidi's throat burns. Humiliation curls hot and greasy in her stomach. She's supposed to eat the cat's leftovers now? It's not just some cat's leftover, but Sierra's leftover that was served to it.
Heidi's eyes begin to water with shame. Her throat tightens so hard she can't breathe. Somewhere in the back, she hears Sierra snort.
"What's the matter? You too good for cat food now? Should we have gotten caviar instead?" Sierra taunts, placing a hand over her mouth.
Even the maids look like they want to disappear.
Heidi doesn't answer. She knows she dares not. At least, not now. Hence, she turns quietly and walks up the grand staircase, her steps hardly making any sound on the polished wood.
When she gets to her room, she slams the door and collapses onto the floor.
It's a beautiful room. It's massive and elegantly decorated. Has a velvet curtain, a hardwood floor, queen-sized bed with a high canopy frame. A chandelier. Cream and gold wallpaper that sparkles under the light.
All of it feels like it belongs to someone else. It always has.
The only reason this room exists, the only reason she isn't stuffed in a cleaning closet, is because Mr. Castell insisted. "She's under my protection," he said once, when Mrs. Castell tried to reassign Heidi to the basement.
"If she's to live under my roof, she'll live with dignity. She is not a prisoner."
But Mr. Castell is rarely home. And his kindness is a cold thing when the woman who runs the house clearly wants her dead.
She sits on the edge of the bed, fingers trembling as she removes her shoes. A lump swells in her throat. The moment she tries to swallow it, the tears come.
She presses her hands over her mouth, willing them away, but it's useless. They fall in fat droplets, soaking her skirt and stinging her eyes.
She hiccups as she curls into herself like a wounded animal and rocks gently. The scent of her mother's old perfume lingers on the bracelet she wears.
"I miss you," she whispers. "So much, mamá…"
She misses the smell of home. The sunlight and worn fabric and love. She misses not having to worry about invisible rules and sharp words and being publicly humiliated over dinner scraps.
But most of all, she misses belonging somewhere. It's worse because now, she's tied to four deadly men who probably hates her more than the Castells.
"What… what kind of life is this?" She coughs out amidst sobs, feeling her heart ripping apart.