Daisy's pov...
The night air was cool as I made my way back from the library, the faint hum of cicadas blending with the laughter that carried from down the block. Even before I saw it, I knew what it meant.
Jallen was throwing another party.
My steps slowed as the Javier mansion came into view, its wide windows glowing gold, music pulsing through the walls like the restless heartbeat of some beast that never slept. Cars lined the driveway—luxury vehicles that didn't belong to anyone from this neighborhood. Strangers would be sprawled on the velvet couches, leaving lipstick stains on expensive glassware, grinding cigarette ash into the Persian rugs Mrs. Javier loved.
And tomorrow, when the house was silent and hungover, I would be the one crawling on my hands and knees to scrub the filth away.
My stomach twisted.
Four years had passed since Mrs. Javier took me in, since tragedy left me an orphan at fourteen. Back then, I had believed this house might become my haven, a place where the jagged edges of grief could smooth into belonging. But havens have a way of becoming cages when kindness dies.
I tightened my grip on the strap of my book bag, hugging the borrowed novels to my chest like a shield. The library was the only place where I could breathe, where the silence wrapped around me instead of suffocating me. Here, in this house, silence was heavy, cold, always waiting for the moment to shatter.
The music swelled as I slipped through the side gate and eased open the back door. If I timed it right, if I kept my head down, I could escape upstairs and lock my door before anyone noticed I was home. I didn't want their drunken stares or their careless words. Just one night of peace—that was all I asked.
But peace was a gift this house never let me keep.
"Well, look who finally decided to show up."
The voice—sweet as poisoned honey—froze me mid-step.
I turned.
Lola leaned against the kitchen doorway, framed by warm light. Her golden curls spilled over her shoulders in perfect, glimmering waves, and her silk dress clung to her curves like it had been stitched by angels just for her. A wine glass dangled carelessly from her manicured fingers, red liquid sloshing against the rim.
Her smile was dazzling. But her eyes? They gleamed like "What do you want, Lola?" My voice was low, tired. I had no energy for her games tonight.
"What do I want?" She tilted her head, feigning thought. "Simple. My friends are thirsty. And since you're not doing anything useful, you can serve us."
Heat crawled up my neck. She knew exactly how much those words cut.
"I'm not a maid," I said, clutching my bag tighter.
Her smile sharpened. "No, you're worse. You're a charity case." She stepped forward, her perfume—a sickly sweet rose—curling in the air between us. "Don't forget who pulled you off the streets, Daisy. Without us, where would you be? Sleeping in a gutter? Selling yourself for scraps?"
The words hit like tiny knives, each one embedding deeper than the last. But I forced my chin up. "I said no."
Something flickered in her gaze—something sharp, triumphant. Then, with a sudden flick of her wrist, she tipped her glass forward.
The wine splashed cold against my chest, soaking my blouse. The crimson liquid spread in dark, sticky rivulets, dripping down to my jeans.
I gasped, the humiliation choking me. "You—"
But Lola was already moving. She brushed past me, her shoulder slamming into mine. Then, with a delicate gasp, she let the empty glass slip from her fingers. It shattered on the floor, sharp shards skittering across the tiles.
She collapsed to her knees, cradling her wrist. "She pushed me!"
The words shot through the air like a gunshot.
"Daisy!"
Jallen's voice thundered from the living room. A moment later he was there, storming into the kitchen. His tall frame loomed, the stench of alcohol rolling off him. His eyes—so dark they seemed black—blazed with anger.
He didn't ask. He didn't pause. His hand came down across my face, the sharp crack echoing.
Pain bloomed hot across my cheek. I staggered, biting back a cry, my vision blurring.
"You forget your place too often," Jallen spat, his lip curling. "Mother didn't adopt you out of love. She enslaved you. You'll never be one of us, Daisy. Don't you get that?"
My chest tightened—not from the slap, but from the truth threaded in his cruelty. A truth I had always feared.
And then I heard the voice I dreaded most.
Damien.
He stepped into the doorway, broad shoulders back, his jaw tight. His eyes, once my sanctuary, now carried only frost. "You disgrace us, Daisy. Do you think we can't see through your heartless games? Lola has been nothing but kind to you, and still you repay her with cruelty."
The words pierced deeper than Jallen's slap ever could.
Once, Damien had been my anchor. My secret. My impossible love. The one who smiled at me when no one else did, who made me believe I belonged. And now… his voice cut me down, his eyes looked at me like I was filth.
I opened my mouth. "Damien, I—"
But Lola was quicker.
"Please, don't be angry with her," she whispered, her false innocence dripping like syrup. She dabbed at her eyes, though not a single tear had fallen. "I'm sure Daisy didn't mean it. She just… feels left out sometimes."
Her words were a dagger wrapped in velvet. She knew exactly how to twist the knife.
Jallen grabbed my shoulder and shoved me against the counter. The impact rattled my bones, the air rushing from my lungs.
"You hear that?" he sneered. "She even defends you, and still you treat her like trash."
The shove knocked something from my pocket. My inhaler clattered across the tile, skidding to Jallen's feet.
Panic spiked instantly as my chest tightened. I stumbled forward, gasping, each breath a struggle. "Please," I rasped, reaching for it.
But Jallen bent first, plucking it from the floor. He held it up between two fingers, smirking. "Still playing your little games? You always know how to make yourself the victim."
I shook my head desperately, clawing at my throat as my airway narrowed. My chest burned, my breaths coming in shallow, wheezing gasps.
"Stop pretending," Damien said coldly. His voice was steady, merciless.
And that was the final crack. The last splinter of hope I'd carried for him—gone.
My knees buckled. The room tilted, black spots crawling across my vision. Somewhere far away, I heard Lola's theatrical gasp, the scrape of her heels as she knelt beside me.
"Oh no! Damien, Jallen—she's fainting! Do something!"
But beneath her cries, I swore I heard it—soft, almost hidden. A laugh.
Then the world collapsed into darkness.