(Calista's POV)
The first thing I felt when I woke wasn't the weight of silk sheets, or even the strange comfort of my new bed. It was silence. A silence so heavy it pressed against my ribs, almost suffocating.
I dragged myself up, forcing away the fragments of dreams still clinging to me—flashes of my mother, a sword, blood on marble floors. Dreams that weren't really dreams. Not anymore.
Today wasn't just any day. Today was the day of the gala. The day my father had promised the world would know my name.
I showered quickly, steam curling through the gilded bathroom mirrors, then pulled on the school uniform waiting for me on the dresser. Not the plain one I'd worn for years. No. This was different. A dark, royal green blazer trimmed in gold, crisp white shirt beneath, a pleated skirt that hit mid-thigh, paired with polished black shoes and knee-high stockings.
Royal. Sharp. Dangerous. Like me.
I tied my tie loosely, brushed out my hair—my real hair, the shimmering dark strands with that otherworldly glint—and slid my lenses into their case instead of my eyes. No more hiding. Father's orders.
When I finally stepped out onto the balcony, the early morning air bit cold against my skin. Below, the estate gardens spread out in perfect symmetry—hedges trimmed like soldiers, fountains whispering. Too perfect. Too still.
And that's when I heard it.
A voice.
At first, I thought someone was below in the gardens, but no one was there. It wasn't coming from outside. It was… inside.
"Calista…"
I froze. My fists clenched on the railing, every instinct screaming at me to reach for a blade I didn't have. But the voice didn't sound threatening. It was soft, almost musical, like starlight given sound.
"Who's there?" I hissed, eyes scanning the shadows.
"Not out there. In here."
The words didn't pass through my ears—they brushed against my mind. I closed my eyes before I could stop myself, trying to focus, trying to push the strange whisper away. But instead of silence, warmth bloomed.
When I opened my eyes again, a light flickered before me. Not fire. Not reflection. A sphere of soft, silver glow, pulsing with something alive.
"Impossible…" I breathed, stepping back.
"Not impossible," the voice said. And this time, it wasn't just in my head—it came from the light itself. "I am Star. The other half of you."
My heartbeat stuttered. "Other half? What kind of sick—"
"Not sick. Spirit." The glow brightened, weaving delicate threads of light that curled like constellations in the air. "Your spirit. I am bound to you. I live in your mind, your blood, your power. And now that you've awakened, I can speak."
Spirit. Bound. Power. The words crashed through me like stones in a river.
I stared at the light, every sharp, savage part of me screaming to deny it, to shove it back into the dark corner where secrets belonged. But then—I saw it. A flicker. A spark glowing faintly in my palm, as though my hand itself had caught fire from within.
"…No." My voice was steel, even as my chest tightened. "I'm not crazy. This isn't real."
"Oh, it's real." Star's voice was patient, like she had waited centuries for me to finally hear her. "You are more than human, Calista. And I… I am the proof."
I didn't get the chance to respond. A sharp knock at my door broke the moment.
"Miss Calista," one of the maids called, her tone nervous. "The Master requests your presence for breakfast."
When I glanced back, the light was gone. No trace. Just the faint hum lingering in my veins.
But I knew better.
She was still there.
Talk to me when you're ready, the voice whispered, softer now, curling in the back of my mind. I'll be waiting.
I exhaled, slow and sharp, forcing my face blank as I turned toward the door. Because if what Star said was true, then everything I thought had been complicated… had just become impossible.
And I wasn't ready for impossible.
Not yet.
Breakfast in the Moretti household wasn't breakfast.
It was war served on porcelain.
I pushed open the heavy oak doors to the dining hall and stepped inside, heels clicking against marble so polished I could see my own reflection staring back at me.
The room was vast—vaulted ceilings, glittering chandeliers, a table long enough to seat a hundred. But at the far end sat only four people. My father, looking as sharp as always in a dark tailored suit, a glass of coffee-black espresso at his elbow. Beside him, sprawled across his chair like a cat with too much confidence, was Kael. My eldest brother. Cold, calculating, the heir apparent until I showed up.
On the other side sat Lucian, casually stirring sugar into his cup like it was poison. He was calmer than Kael, all quiet knives and careful silences. And across from him, sprawled lazily with a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes, was Adrian—the youngest of the three, troublemaker wrapped in charm.
Their heads lifted when I entered, and for the briefest moment, silence ruled. Three pairs of eyes scanned me from head to toe. The uniform. The lack of lenses. My uncovered hair catching light like spilled ink and starlight.
I felt like I'd just stepped into an arena.
"Well," Adrian was the first to break the silence, his grin widening. "Looks like the little princess has finally decided to stop hiding."
"Princess?" I arched a brow, striding to the empty chair across from them. "You make it sound like I'm wearing a tiara."
"You might as well," Kael said coolly, his fork tapping once against his plate. "You're Father's daughter. Which makes you untouchable. At least to outsiders." His tone sharpened on the last word, making it clear: inside these walls, nothing was untouchable.
I smirked and sat down, letting the silence draw out before leaning back in my chair. "That explains the stares. Did you three forget how to eat, or are you all too busy admiring me?"
Lucian choked on his coffee. Adrian laughed. Even Kael's jaw twitched like he wanted to smile but would rather die first.
Father's voice finally cut through, low and steady. "Enough."
Instant silence.
His eyes landed on me, sharp as knives but warmer than the night he first saw me. "You look… like your mother."
That threw me for a second. Compliments weren't something Moretti men gave easily. I studied him carefully, but his expression gave nothing away.
"I'll take that as a compliment," I said dryly, spearing a piece of fruit with my fork.
"It was one." His gaze lingered, unreadable, before he set his cup down. "Calista. Tonight, you'll attend the gala at my side. No more hiding behind wigs or false eyes. No more masks."
I forced myself not to stiffen, though my hand tightened on the fork. "And if I don't want the world staring at me like some prized gem?"
Adrian whistled low. "Sharp tongue. I like it."
"Quiet," Father snapped, eyes still locked on me. "You don't have a choice. You are my daughter. You are the heiress of this family. And the world will know it."
The weight of his words pressed down on me, but I lifted my chin, refusing to bend. "Heiress, huh? Do I at least get a crown with that?"
This time, Lucian smirked. "You'd break it in a week."
Kael's voice was quieter, almost thoughtful. "Or she'd sharpen it into a weapon."
"Maybe I'd do both." I popped the fruit into my mouth and leaned back like I wasn't shaking inside.
For a moment, silence again. Then Adrian chuckled. "I like her. Definitely the little princess."
I shot him a glare. "Call me that again and I'll rearrange your teeth."
He grinned wider. "See? Princess with claws."
Father didn't laugh. He didn't even smile. But there was something in his eyes—something sharp but satisfied, like he'd been waiting years for this exact moment.
"School today," he said finally. "You'll go as yourself. No more hiding. No more lenses. No more wigs."
I stiffened. "You want me to walk into school like this? After hiding for years?"
"Yes." His tone brooked no argument. "Let them see. Let them whisper. By tomorrow night, it won't matter. You'll no longer be just another girl at a desk. You'll be Calista Moretti. Heiress. Mafia blood."
Mafia. The word hung heavy between us. My brothers didn't flinch. They wore it like second skin. But me? I stabbed another piece of fruit just to keep from snapping the fork in half.
"So, that's it then?" I asked finally, my voice sharp. "You just expect me to sit there in a sparkly dress tonight, smile for the cameras, and play the good little heiress?"
"No." His eyes narrowed. "I expect you to show the world exactly who you are. And remind them why they should fear you."
That silenced even me.
Because for all his cold words, all his iron tone, there was something else in his eyes when he said it. Not just command. Not just power. But belief.
Like he knew something I didn't.
And that scared me more than anything.
The uniform itched. Not literally, of course—the fabric was silk-lined and pressed to perfection, a custom fit in royal green and white. But it felt like armor. Too heavy, too visible. Like every stitch screamed: Look at her. She's not like the rest of us.
Which, apparently, was the point.
The chauffeur-driven car pulled into the school gates, and I caught my first glimpse of the academy. Towers of stone and glass stretched high into the sky, ivy crawling up their walls, sunlight glinting off arched windows like blades. The gate alone looked older than most countries, wrought iron curling into ancient sigils that seemed to hum faintly as we passed through.
And then, the whispers began.
"They said she's new.""New? That's her? The girl in the royal uniform?""Look at her hair—it can't be real.""Purple eyes. No way. Contacts.""She's… beautiful. No wonder everyone's staring.""Beautiful? More like dangerous."
I held my head high, ignoring the stares, the whispers, the daggers thrown from every direction. My shoes clicked against marble floors as I entered the courtyard, sunlight pouring down on me like a spotlight I hadn't asked for.
And that's when I saw them.
Seven boys.
Not just boys—legends.
They stood together at the center of the courtyard, surrounded by their own storm of admirers and whispers. Each one distinct, yet united by an aura that made them untouchable.
The first—tall, broad-shouldered, eyes like ice shards—stood like a wall no one dared cross. Beside him, a golden-haired one leaned casually against the fountain, grin lazy but eyes sharp enough to cut steel. Another sat on the stone edge, flipping a silver coin in one hand, gaze distant, calculating.
The others filled in around them—a dark-haired one with a book in his hands, glancing up only when the air shifted. A lean figure with crimson-tinted hair, smirk curling like he knew every secret in the world. The quiet one with silver eyes that seemed to pierce straight through skin and bone. And finally, the leader—because he had to be. Tall, sharp-featured, with an aura that bent the air itself around him, eyes carrying the kind of weight you didn't look into unless you were ready to drown.
And they all turned to look at me.
The courtyard went silent.
My heart thudded once, hard, but I forced my expression into cool indifference and walked past them. Because if there was one thing I knew, it was this: never show weakness.
The whispers picked up again as I reached the main building. Girls glaring, some clutching at their boyfriends like I was a thief, others whispering venom laced with envy. Boys staring too long, like they couldn't decide if they wanted to worship me or run from me.
I wanted to laugh. Or punch someone. Maybe both.
Instead, I went straight to the Principal's office.
The door creaked open to reveal a room that felt older than the building itself. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled not just with books but scrolls bound in seals that hummed faintly with energy. At the desk sat a woman in her late fifties, sharp-eyed, regal, radiating authority.
"Calista Moretti," she said, her voice rich with something I couldn't quite name. "We've been expecting you."
I raised a brow. "Expecting me? I just transferred."
Her lips curved. "Not here. Not like this. This academy… is not what you think."
I hesitated, eyes narrowing. "Then what is it?"
She gestured to the shelves, the faint glowing symbols etched into the wood. "A place for the gifted. The powerful. Those who carry more than human blood in their veins."
I froze.
She leaned forward, gaze piercing mine. "You've already noticed, haven't you? The whispers. The way the gates hummed when you entered. This is not simply an elite school. It is a sanctuary for those born with magic… and a cage for those who are not."
I swallowed hard. "Magic?"
"Yes. Some students are human—children of wealthy families, politicians, businessmen. They learn alongside the gifted, their memories erased upon graduation. They live blissfully ignorant, never knowing what walked beside them."
My blood ran cold.
"And me?" I asked carefully.
Her eyes softened, though the weight in them only grew heavier. "You are not human, Calista. You are something far rarer. Far more dangerous."
The words punched through me like glass.
Not human.
It wasn't a shock—not after the dreams, the voice in my head this morning, the flicker of light on my palm—but hearing it said aloud anchored the fear into reality.
I forced my tone steady. "And what exactly am I?"
Her lips pressed together. For the first time, she looked hesitant. "That… is not my truth to give. Your father will tell you. Tonight, after the gala."
A bitter laugh escaped me. "Convenient."
"You'll understand soon enough." Her voice gentled, though her gaze never wavered. "But for now… know this: you are being watched. Not just by your peers. Not just by your enemies. But by fate itself."
Fate.
The word burned in my chest like fire.
And somehow, I knew she was right.