The Rivers' mansion stood tall at the edge of the city, a reminder of its former glory. The wide driveway still gleamed white from marble stone, and the manicured hedges framed the garden as though wealth and prosperity were eternal guests here. But the truth inside those walls was far darker.
To outsiders, the Rivers' family remained powerful. To Lillian Rivers, the house was nothing but a cage—cold, vast, and lonely.
At twenty-one, she was graceful, quiet, and beautiful in a way that didn't shout for attention but lingered in people's minds. Yet, she lived as though she were invisible in her own home. Her mother had died when she was twelve, leaving behind a hole in her heart that never healed. Afterward, her father remarried, and everything changed.
Her stepmother Celeste had taken over the household like a queen securing her throne. And her stepsister Camilla, a year younger than her, made sure Lillian never forgot she was the outsider.
That morning, the mansion was filled with the clink of china and the low murmur of servants. Lillian walked slowly down the grand staircase, her hand grazing the polished banister. She wore a cream-colored dress, simple and patched at the hem. Her long hair fell over her shoulders, and though she looked serene, her heart was heavy.
The dining hall was bright with sunlight streaming through tall windows. The long oak table gleamed with silver cutlery and porcelain dishes. Yet the air was thick with tension.
Her father, William Rivers, sat at the head of the table. His once-strong frame looked smaller these days, shoulders slouched, dark circles underlining his tired eyes. Papers were scattered beside his plate, untouched food cooling while he scribbled numbers on the margins.
Lillian's heart clenched. This wasn't the man she remembered from her childhood—the man who had carried her on his shoulders and laughed heartily at her mother's jokes. That man had been proud and steady. This one was bent beneath invisible weights.
She walked over quietly and set a glass of water near him. "Father," she said softly, "you should eat something. Just a little."
He startled, blinking at her as though he had forgotten she was there. Then he smiled, but the smile was weary, forced. "Thank you, my dear. I will."
But she knew he wouldn't. He never did anymore.
A sharp voice rang out across the table. "Lillian, must you hover like a servant? It's embarrassing."
Her stepmother Celeste sat opposite him, draped in a pale silk robe. A diamond necklace glittered at her throat, and her blond hair was arranged in loose waves. She looked elegant, refined, the image of a perfect hostess. But Lillian had long since learned that beneath that smooth smile lay cruelty.
"I was only trying to help," Lillian murmured, lowering her gaze.
"Help?" Celeste let out a low laugh, her voice smooth as honey but edged with steel. "Your father doesn't need pity. He needs a solution. And you fussing over him won't bring one."
Beside her, Camilla snickered, stabbing a grape with her fork. "Honestly, Mother, don't be too harsh. If she wants to play nurse, let her. It's not like she has anything else useful to offer."
Lillian felt the heat rise to her cheeks but kept silent. She had learned long ago that arguing only gave them more ammunition. Silence was her shield, fragile though it was.
William Rivers finally set his papers aside with a sigh. "Enough," he muttered, though his tone lacked authority. He looked at his daughter with eyes full of guilt. "Don't trouble yourself, my dear. Things are… difficult, but I'll manage."
"Difficult?" Celeste's laugh was sharp. "Darling, why dress it up in pretty words? Let's call it what it is—ruin. Bankruptcy. That's what this is."
The word hung in the air like a blade.
Lillian froze, her fingers tightening in her lap. Bankruptcy. She had feared it, but hearing it aloud made her blood run cold.
Her father looked stricken. "Celeste—"
"What?" Celeste's eyes gleamed as she lifted her teacup. "Do you want her to live in ignorance? She's not a child anymore. Better she learns the truth now than clings to false hope. We are dangling over the edge of a cliff. And prayers will not stop the fall."
Lillian's throat tightened. She turned to her father, desperate for denial, for comfort, for anything—but he said nothing. His silence was confirmation enough.
She forced herself to smile faintly at him, though her chest felt hollow. "Things will get better," she whispered, as much to herself as to him. "They always do."
Celeste's gaze flicked to her, cold and calculating. "Perhaps," she said, her tone heavy with meaning. "But better days demand sacrifices. You'll understand soon enough."
A shiver ran down Lillian's spine.
The rest of breakfast passed in silence. Camilla occasionally smirked at her, and Celeste's eyes followed her like a hawk. Lillian ate little, her mind swirling with dread.
When the plates were cleared, she retreated into the garden, her only sanctuary.
The air was fresh, carrying the faint perfume of roses. Morning sunlight spilled over the trellises, casting patterns across the stone path. The fountain murmured softly, its rhythm calming her racing heart.
She sat on the old stone bench hidden among climbing roses. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a small, worn book. Its leather cover was cracked, the edges frayed. It had belonged to her mother.
Her fingers brushed over the faded inscription inside: For my little Lily—may your heart always find beauty, even in sorrow.
Tears blurred her vision. She clutched the book tightly. "I miss you, Mama," she whispered, her voice trembling. "If you were here, you'd know what to do. You'd protect Father. You'd protect me."
The only answer was the chirp of sparrows in the branches above.
She pressed the book to her chest, letting silent tears trail down her cheeks. Her mother had been her light, her anchor. Without her, Lillian felt like a ship adrift in stormy seas.
Her father was slipping deeper into despair. Celeste's words echoed like poison in her mind: Sacrifices. You'll understand soon enough.
What kind of sacrifice? And why did her stepmother's smile make her stomach twist in fear?
The roses swayed gently in the breeze as if whispering secrets. Lillian didn't know what the future held, but deep down she felt it—the calm around her was deceptive.
The storm was coming.
And when it did, her world would never be the same again.