Chapter Three - Past

One Year Ago

She didn’t trust herself to speak.

Not when her heart was beating like a war drum in her chest.

Not when the taste of betrayal was still thick on her tongue.

Not when she could feel her father’s eyes on her back, like a vulture waiting for the moment she finally broke.

The butler asked if she needed anything as she passed, but she didn’t answer. She couldn’t.

She didn’t stop walking until she reached the far end of the estate, to the only place that hadn’t yet been gutted or emptied out or swallowed whole by debt and desperation—the old greenhouse.

It was unlocked.

Of course it was. No one came here anymore. Not since her mother died.

Serena pushed open the door and stepped inside. The smell of soil and dust hit her first. Then came the silence. Not the poised, oppressive kind from the rest of the house—but a different kind. A quieter one. Real.

She sat on the stone bench in the center of the greenhouse and let her coat fall off her shoulders.

For a moment, she just sat there, staring at the stained-glass panels above her, the twilight filtering in through vines and old roses.

And then—

She broke.

She covered her face with both hands and let out a breath that felt like it had been trapped in her lungs for years. Her shoulders shook. Her throat ached. She didn’t cry loudly. She didn’t scream.

She just—crumbled.

Quietly. Completely.

The kind of pain that doesn’t ask for attention. The kind that eats you alive when no one’s looking.

It wasn’t just the marriage. It wasn’t just the fact that she was being handed off like a spare script.

It was everything.

Every headline. Every rejection. Every time she walked into a room and felt eyes on her like she was either too much or not enough. Every time she said no and paid the price. Every time she convinced herself she could make it on her own—and her father reminded her she never really could.

She pulled out her phone, staring at the article still glowing on her screen. Rumors of Hollywood’s King and Queen uniting for a cinematic masterpiece. Produced by Lucian Vale.

And now she was supposed to be the leading lady.

She barked out a laugh. It was humorless. Ugly.

He’s going to hate me, she thought. He probably already does. She would hate someone forced into her dream project too.

Serena knew Lucian Vale by reputation. Everyone did. Ice in his veins. Money in his mouth. And a temper that could incinerate a career in one sentence.

And she was supposed to be married to that?

No—owned by that? Just like her father owned her. Except her father was too occupied to cash his ownership over her. Yet, he comes knocking to demand her soul in exchange when he does lord his ownership over her.

And then, for the first time since she was a kid, sitting in this very greenhouse with dirt under her fingernails and her mother humming in the background—

She felt trapped.

Not by fame. Not by scandal.

But by blood.

By power.

By the golden cage they were dressing up as a fairytale.

The night had turned colder, or maybe it was just her.

Serena sat curled up on the worn bench just outside the Rivera estate’s greenhouse, hidden from the house, from the weight of her father's commands, from everything. Her hands trembled, but not from the cold. Too many shadows. Too much silence for thoughts to get loud.

Serena wiped her face with trembling hands. She didn’t want to cry anymore. Not when it would do nothing. Not when it only made her feel weaker.

She pulled out her phone again. Her fingers hovered for a second—then she tapped the contact. To the one person she could call to chase away her pain.

Eliora Rivera

Baby Sis.

It rang twice.

“Rena?” came the sleepy voice, soft and half-slurred from sleep.

Serena closed her eyes. “Hey. Sorry. Did I wake you?”

“You kinda did,” Eliora mumbled, “but it’s okay. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Serena lied.

Eliora didn’t buy it. “You don’t sound fine.”

“I just... I just missed you.”

Eliora was quiet for a moment. Then, gentler, “What happened?”

Serena looked up at the sky. Black velvet. Empty stars. “Nothing you should worry about.”

“You don’t have to talk then,” her sister whispered. “Just… stay on the line.”

Serena exhaled, the kind of breath that felt more like release than air. She leaned her head back and listened to the quiet sound of Eliora breathing on the other end, the familiar rhythm grounding her.

They used to do this when they were kids. Hiding in closets during their parents’ fights, whispering stories back and forth, just to feel less alone.

Serena had grown used to being alone. But never with Eliora.

“Is it snowing there yet?” she asked softly.

“A little,” Eliora said, her voice warming. “Everything’s kind of magic right now. There’s this bookstore I found today. It smells like cinnamon and old pages. I think you’d love it.”

Serena smiled faintly. “Take me there one day?”

“Promise,” Eliora said without missing a beat. “We’ll have cocoa and sit by the fire. And I’ll make you read something that isn’t a script.”

Serena let her head rest against the cool glass behind her. “Sounds nice.”

It sounded impossible.

But she didn’t say that.

They stayed on the phone like that for a while, not talking, not needing to. Just breathing through it together.

Eventually, Eliora's voice dropped with sleep again. “I’m here, okay? Whatever it is. Even if you don’t want to tell me yet.”

“I know,” Serena whispered.

“I love you.”

“I love you more.”

Serena didn’t hang up until her sister’s breathing evened out completely. She sat in the dark with the phone still pressed to her ear, staring at nothing, heart splintered and quiet.

The world was closing in.

But at least one part of it still loved her without conditions.