Chapter 1:Nightmares and Reality

Lyra’s POV

“Lyra!” A familiar voice sent a cold shiver down my spine. Pushing my blanket off my body, I dashed towards the door, opened up quickly and ran down the stairs in my pajamas. “Dad, I told you Lyra has been lazing around, always wasting my time because she's got no responsibilities.” No responsibilities? I was literally the nanny in this luxurious mansion.

Standing at the foot of the stairs, I watched as a redhead paced around the lounge, glancing at her wrist watch with each second that passed by. When she finally raised her head to stare at me, my heart skipped a beat,

“Meera, I—”

“I'm late for school because of you, bitch!” She snapped, charging towards me with flames dancing in her eyes. I swallowed hard, urging my feet to move out the way, but I knew better than running. I'd get punished over and over again, a never ending torture.

Closing my eyes slowly, I anticipated the sharp pain on my cheeks, but it never came. Instead, a searing pain shot through my body as Meera sank her polished nails into my scalp, dragging my hair roughly,

“What did I tell you about waking up late? You know your duties here!”

My eyes burned as I struggled to release my head from her grasp. She kept moving my head like a ragged doll, not giving me a moment to speak or explain. Meera was my relative, my uncle's daughter. I had thought being taken in by her father was going to change my life for the better, but it made my life even more miserable. I winced as I pulled on her hands,

“Meera, I'll prepare breakfast. I'm sorry, okay?”

Heavy footsteps filled my ears and Meera's movements suddenly stopped. Her voice became softer, “Dad.” She muttered, clutching my hair harder, “Dad, I'm late because of this bitch again.”

“That's enough now, Meera.” His cold voice made me swallow hard, he wasn't any better. He was just as evil, perhaps way worse than Meera. While Meera pushed me aside, I had to clutch the railing for support, catching up my breaths. I wiped my tears slowly and faced my Uncle,

“Uncle Zorah—”

“We have something important to discuss over breakfast, get in there and fix something quickly.” Uncle Zorah gave his usual orders, but I didn't know what he would want to discuss with me. I was only his brother's daughter, practically his slave, cook and housekeeper. I nodded slowly and headed straight to the kitchen to prepare breakfast.

The kitchen was messy as usual, I did the whole cleaning in here. Meera never picked up a thing, never cleaned up the dishes, cleaned up her own room or wet the flowers in the garden. It was just me, her faithful, loyal servant. Ever since my parents lost their lives in a gruesome accident, my life hit rock bottom, I'd practically prefer dying with them than experience this torture over and over again.

Uncle Zorah took everything.

He claimed my father's properties, my mother's and my whole inheritance. I had thought he was saving it up till I became of age, but it was almost my eighteenth birthday, and he said nothing about it. Instead, he made Meera the most beautiful teenager, showering her with warmth and dresses. As I scrubbed the dishes, I checked on the pancakes and made sure they weren't burnt.

Meera was extremely picky.

A single burn would force me to start the process again.

Once, she made me fry the same pancakes for several hours, complaining about the burnt sides and painting it as dirt. It took only half an hour to get the whole breakfast ready. To pair with the pancakes, I prepared two mugs of coffee and allowed it to cool down for a while.

Meera and Uncle Zorah sat across from each other, having a conversation with a wide smile plastered on their faces. It reminded me of my mother, her warm, golden smile and how she'd talk about her day while braiding my hair. My eyes stinged with tears, but I blinked them quickly, clutching a large, silver tray in my hands.

“Hurry, do you have to be so slow?” Meera snapped, eyes filled with disgust. She tucked some loose strands of her hair behind her ears and tapped the dining table,

“Place my coffee here.” she ordered coldly before placing her fingers on her thigh. I swallowed hard and shakily placed it on there, only to spill a few drops over her dress. Her brows shot up as a shrill cry pierced the air, “You bitch! Are you planning to ruin my skin?”

I took a few steps backwards, terrified to death,

“I'm so sorry.”

“You think sorry's going to solve this? That's the same way you apologized to your parent's corpse after their death, do you think your mere apology would wake them?”

“Lyra, you should have been careful.” Uncle Zorah warned sternly, reaching for his mug of coffee I had placed beside him. He took a small sip and groaned, running his hands through his hair,

“You really can't do anything right, Lyra!” His voice made me tremble, and Meera's cruel words made my heart twist in pain. My parents death was a scar that would never heal, really. Each day, I was cursed with rewatching the scene of death over and over again.

Having to deal with their absence was already hard enough, but being reminded? It was like tearing my chest open and plucking my heart out.

My hands trembled as I struggled to form up some words, but none was forthcoming. I inhaled a shaky breath, running my hands over my pants,  

“I'm sorry, Uncle Zo—”

“Just shut it.” Uncle Zorah sighed, pushing the mug away, “Your days are numbered here already, there's no use yelling over a spilled milk.”

My heart sank as his words replayed in my head repeatedly,

“My days are numb…ered?” I stuttered, blinking constantly.

“You're getting married to my old friend, Luciano, to save this family.”