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📘 Chapter One
The End of the Beginning
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🎓 Scene 1: Graduation
Rosa
The cap dug into my scalp like a crown of thorns.
The gown clung to me—tight, ceremonial, suffocating.
Backstage, I stared into a cracked mirror. Gold flakes flaked from my collar, drifting like dust from a forgotten empire.
Today was graduation.
For most, a celebration.
For me, a countdown.
In hours, I'd vanish—no more Blaire family.
No more pretending.
I smoothed a wrinkle that didn't exist. My fingers trembled.
The girl in the mirror smiled—a perfect curve, practiced.
But behind the gloss, my heart fluttered like a trapped bird.
She looked polished. Beautiful. Strong.
But she'd clawed her way out of hell just to stand upright.
On the dresser, my plane ticket waited like a dare.
Great Wall City had been a cage.
I was chasing peace. Or distance. Or both.
"Rosa Blaire!"
The marshal's voice sliced through the hallway.
A name that felt like a stranger's.
A brand I'd never asked for.
I straightened my spine and stepped onto the stage.
The lights stabbed my eyes.
The applause roared.
But it all blurred as I shook the MC's hand.
When my fingers closed around the Most Outstanding Student of the Year award, a cold triumph surged through me.
I didn't smile.
Funny, isn't it?
The ghost of the Blaire family—the girl invisible at home—was the star of the school.
My father never paid a cent toward my education.
I earned this with hunger, tears, and sleepless nights.
This moment was mine.
I scanned the crowd.
Trisha, my best friend, waved through a sea of strangers, her eyes already brimming.
Then my phone buzzed.
I glanced at the screen.
My heart seized.
The phone slipped from my hand.
Trisha rushed to me.
"Rosa?" she whispered.
She picked up the phone. Saw the caller ID.
Her face drained of color.
I snatched it back, hands shaking.
Tears blurred everything—the stage, the faces, the light.
I turned and walked away.
Mascara streaked down my cheeks like a mask melting.
I knew, deep in my gut—
Whatever that call meant,
My life had just split in two.
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⚰️ Scene 2: Funeral & Will Reading
Rosa arrived at the Family Funeral Home just after dawn.
The air was thick—grief clung to her skin like smoke.
It smelled of wilting lilies, old varnish, and something sour beneath it all.
Inside, mourners drifted like shadows.
Her mother had kept her circle small.
Only the maid cried, collapsing into Rosa's arms.
"Take heart," the woman whispered.
Rosa held her tighter, fingers curling into fabric.
She didn't want comfort. She wanted answers.
Then a voice sliced through the quiet.
> "Well, well… look who crawled out of her hole."
Patricia's tone was silk soaked in acid.
> "Let's hope you don't inherit her weakness."
Rosa's jaw clenched.
She walked past without a word.
Patricia smiled faintly and brushed invisible lint from her dress.
Inside the hall, whispers curled around Rosa like smoke.
She felt them—judging, dissecting, waiting.
She approached the casket.
Her breath caught.
Her mother looked peaceful. Too peaceful.
Rosa reached out, fingertips brushing her cheek—cool, still.
A memory flickered: "Always forgive. Always chase your dreams."
A tear slipped down Rosa's cheek.
Then Erica spoke.
> "At least now she won't embarrass herself anymore."
Rosa's stomach knotted.
Her nails dug into her palm.
> "How dare you," she said.
Erica blinked, then burst into fake tears.
Mr. Blaire stormed in.
> "You again?" he spat.
> "You vile little parasite."
Rosa didn't blink.
> "Honey, that's enough," Patricia purred.
> "She's grieving. Or pretending to."
Rosa turned to the crowd.
> "Let's just put her to rest."
As she stepped back, her eyes caught a man in the crowd—tall, masked, still.
He didn't move.
Didn't blink.
Just watched.
---
After the burial, Patricia summoned them to the study upstairs.
Rosa entered last—Mr. Blaire, Patricia, Erica, and the lawyer already seated.
The room smelled of old wood and secrets.
Silence stretched.
The lawyer cleared his throat.
> "The will of the deceased is divided as follows…"
Rosa leaned forward.
> "Fifty percent of all assets to Miss Rosa Blaire."
A gasp. Patricia's nails tapped the armrest.
> "Twenty percent to Mr. Blaire."
He scoffed.
> "The remaining thirty percent goes to the orphanage."
Then the lawyer hesitated.
> "There is… one condition."
Her stomach knotted.
Her ears throbbed.
> "Miss Rosa Blaire is to be inaugurated as CEO of her mother's company…"
A pause.
> "…on the condition that she marries the heir of the Kings Family."
The room froze.
> "As agreed years ago," the lawyer added, handing Rosa a sealed letter.
She stared at it.
Her throat went dry.
The chair creaked beneath her like a gunshot.
> "Marriage… to the Kings Family?"
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🏨 Scene 3: Hotel Encounter
The drive back to the hotel was a blur.
Her thoughts spun like a carousel on fire.
She stepped into the lobby—and collided with a man in a mask.
She stumbled, hit the floor.
His shoulder felt like steel.
He didn't flinch.
No apology.
Just a cold stare before turning away.
But something lingered—his scent.
Cedarwood and rain.
His gaze flickered—measuring her.
Not indifferent.
Calculating.
Why did his eyes feel like…
Rosa snapped.
> "Are you freaking kidding me?! Can't even say sorry?!"
He sighed and gestured to another masked man.
The second guy tossed a bundle of money at her feet.
She froze.
Was she supposed to pick it up?
Say thank you?
The masked men vanished.
She stared at the cash, pride and practicality warring inside her.
Then she muttered:
> "Well, who am I to reject free money?"
She scoffed, grabbed it, and stormed to her room.
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💌 Scene 4: The Letter & Aftermath
The door clicked shut.
She stripped off the heels, the dress, the wig.
She wanted a bath.
But the letter burned in her hand.
She unfolded it, breath shallow.
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Dear Angel,
By the time you're reading this, I'm gone.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry I made you grow up too fast.
Sorry I let you carry my pain.
Sorry I couldn't protect you from him.
The marriage to the King's heir…
It wasn't just about debt.
It was about safety.
He may not love you. But he won't destroy you.
Please—don't let go of the company.
It's yours. It's your future.
And Rosa… never stop chasing your dreams.
I love you.
A blood-red signature followed.
---
Rosa's knees buckled.
She sank to the floor, the letter trembling in her hands.
Her mother's voice echoed—soft, broken, brave.
She cried.
Ugly, gasping sobs.
She placed the letter back in her luggage, wiped her face, and stumbled to the bathroom.
The shower ran too hot.
She stayed under it too long.
Letting the water drown her grief.
When she stepped out, her phone buzzed.
A text.
From him.
The man she called "father."
> Come home. We need to discuss your marriage.
She stared at the screen.
Her knees felt unsteady, like the floor had tilted.
The air pressed in, forcing her to grip the phone harder just to stay standing.
The masked man's eyes burned in her mind.
And for the first time, Rosa wondered if the two were connected.