chapter 3

The next morning, the mansion was nearly eerily silent. I woke up and moved through my usual routine with mechanical precision: a long, hot bath, the soft scent of lavender filling the air, before I dressed and settled in for a quiet breakfast. Of course, I ate it in my room; being the "mid-daughter" meant there was no place for me at the formal dining table anymore. I couldn't exactly join the staff in their quarters, either, and I certainly didn't belong with my family at the polished, pristine dining hall. Not that it mattered—no one was even there. The silence that wrapped around the house felt more oppressive than peaceful.

Charles was long gone, his cars no longer parked in the driveway, and a strange sense of satisfaction swirled in my chest. Diane had locked herself away, undoubtedly brooding in her room, and my stepmother was likely doing the same—either fuming over her daughter's ruined plans or concocting a new scheme. My father's anger seemed to have burned itself out, and I wondered if Diane had finally signed the papers.

I got my answer when I overheard him on the phone. I was tidying up my room when I heard his voice, tinged with something I rarely heard from him: smugness. "Yes, she signed it," he said to Ronald. "She's marrying him, whether she likes it or not."

I bit my lip, suppressing the grin that threatened to break free. Diane had signed it. Finally, she would be walking down the aisle to that crippled man. I couldn't help but savour the thought—her face when she kissed him at the altar would probably be the highlight of my life.

With Stepmom occupied with her plans and Diane holed up in her room, I finished my chores early. The house was eerily quiet, with no one around to nitpick or bark orders. I even found a moment to text Stacy, the only college friend I'd kept in touch with since graduation. "Hey, long time no see! Coffee at our usual place?"

Stacy responded almost immediately: "Yes! But it's your treat!"

I sighed. Of course, it would be my treat. Stacy, with her well-paying job, could easily afford it now while I was still scraping by. But I didn't mind. At least I had a moment to escape the house. I grabbed my coat and headed out the door.

When I arrived, Stacy was already waiting, grinning from ear to ear. After a quick hug, she leaned in with excitement. "Oh my God, have you seen what's trending all over Bingle? Like, this morning?"

I frowned. "What do you mean? I've been a little out of the loop."

She grinned mischievously. "Your sister—well, step-sister—Diane, is getting married to Mr. Volkov."

My lip curled. "Step-sister," I corrected, the bitterness heavy in my voice. "And that which isn't even technically my step-sister. She's never claimed me as family. So why should I?"

Stacy raised her hands in mock surrender, laughing. "Alright, alright. But seriously? Diane Morgan, marrying Mr Volkov? I never would've guessed."

I smirked, shrugging nonchalantly. "Guess fate decided it for her. Who are we to question the universe's sense of humour?"

We both chuckled at that, but Stacy's expression suddenly turned serious, her eyes widening. "Girl, you're not ready for this. The wedding is tomorrow."

I blinked. "Tomorrow? Diane only signed the papers this morning. How could they be getting married tomorrow?"

Without saying a word, she shoved her phone toward me. The screen was filled with tweets, news articles, and pictures of Diane alongside Volkov. The headlines screamed about their "upcoming wedding." One article even showed the Morgan estate being prepared for the event. I froze, my stomach sinking.

"The Morgan Mansion?" I managed to whisper. That was my house. Our house. And no one had told me this was happening.

"Yes!" Stacy laughed. "Wait, why aren't you home getting ready?"

My heart skipped a beat. Pulling out my phone, I saw the flood of missed calls—fifteen in total, mostly from the head maid. My breath caught in my throat. "I need to go," I muttered, throwing down some cash for the coffee before bolting out the door. "Next time!" I shouted over my shoulder.

I hailed the nearest cab, my mind racing. How had things gotten this far without anyone telling me?

When I got back to the mansion, the gates were crowded with delivery trucks and security guards. Florists unloaded bouquets the size of small trees, and decorators rushed around like they were trying to stop a fire. It looked more like a circus than a wedding.

Inside, the chaos was even more intense. Staff scurried around the entryway, trying to follow the endless orders from my stepmother, who stood in the middle of it all, hands on her hips like a general.

"Silver plates, not gold!" she snapped at a panicked assistant. "What part of silver did you not understand?"

The moment her gaze landed on me, her face twisted into a mask of fury. She stalked across the hall, her heels clicking with purpose, and slapped me hard across the cheek. My face stung, and before I could react, she grabbed my wrist, yanking me deeper into the house.

"Where have you been, you good-for-nothing maid?" she hissed, dragging me through the labyrinth of chaos.

I clenched my jaw, holding my tongue, my anger simmering beneath a calm mask. "I was… running an errand," I managed to say without letting the venom in my words escape.

She didn't care. "Enough excuses," she spat. "There's work to be done. You'd better make yourself useful for once, or you'll regret it."

With her orders ringing in my ears, I trudged upstairs and changed into my maid's uniform. The fabric felt familiar, but it didn't bring me the usual comfort. I moved with mechanical precision, taking care of whatever tasks I could find, trying to drown out the noise of the preparations.

But no sooner had I found a rhythm than Stepmom's sharp voice sliced through the air. "Eve! Evelyn!" she called. "Go get Diane. The bridal coat and makeup artist are here. They're waiting for her."

I nodded, my stomach already twisting. Diane had locked herself away in her room all day. But now I had to go face her, to see what was going on in her world.

I dragged myself up to her room, frustration brewing in my chest. Diane was supposed to be in there. Where else could she be? I hadn't seen her all day, and the thought of walking into her room filled me with a dread I couldn't shake.

I knocked at her door, louder this time, but there was no answer. Silence stretched on. I knocked again. Still nothing.

Frustrated, I tried the door handle. It was unlocked, which was unlike Diane. She was always so careful about keeping her room secure. Something felt wrong.

When I pushed the door open, the stale, sickly-sweet scent of perfume hit me. The sight that met my eyes was worse than I'd imagined. Clothes were strewn around the room in a careless mess. Her bed was a tangled heap of sheets. It looked like she hadn't even bothered to clean up after herself, even though we maids cleaned her room every day. But now, it was clear: Diane had let everything slip. She was a mess.

As I stepped deeper into the room, my eyes landed on a piece of paper on the bed. A note. My heart skipped a beat as I picked it up, the handwriting instantly familiar.

I'm very sorry. I can't.

The words blurred together as I read them over and over. I can't get married to him. I'm sorry. I have a boyfriend already. I can't get married to him. I'm sorry, father. I'm sorry, mom.

My hands shook, and I felt my stomach plummet to my feet. What was this? Diane—running away? No. This wasn't cold feet. This was her trying to avoid something she didn't want to face.

The wedding was tomorrow. Tomorrow. The plans were already set in motion. This wasn't just a "change of heart" moment. This was a full-blown disaster.

I dropped the note, letting it flutter to the floor as my mind raced. If I went to Stepmom now, she wouldn't believe me. Dad? He'd never believe it, either. Diane had left them hanging, and now everything was unravelling. The wedding wasn't just a formality—it was supposed to mark the end of a chapter for both families. And Diane had just torn it all apart.

I immediately dropped the letter, my hands trembling, and rushed out of the room. "Mrs. Morgan! Mrs. Morgan!" I shouted, my voice frantic. I bolted up the stairs, my heart pounding in my chest, desperate to find her.

When I reached the second floor, I saw her in the hallway. "What's wrong? Where is Diane?" she asked, her brow furrowing as she took in my panicked expression.

"She's gone," I stammered, "You need to see this."

Ms. Morgan's eyes narrowed, trying to process my words. "What's happened to Diane? They're waiting for her downstairs," she replied, her mind racing to catch up. But seeing the horror on my face, she didn't hesitate. She immediately ran toward Diane's room, and I followed closely behind.

Together, we rushed up to the third floor. Diane's room was in disarray. Ms. Morgan picked up the letter, and as she read it, I watched her face collapse in disbelief. "No... no, Diane, you can't do this. The wedding is tomorrow. You can't do this, Diane!" she cried out, her voice trembling.

In a panic, she called out, "Charles, someone—call my husband! Find Diane, find her!" She shoved me aside in a rush, her movements frantic as she ran out of the room.

Security was immediately contacted, and the search for Diane began. The mansion buzzed with activity as everyone scoured every corner, but it was as if she had vanished into thin air. No trace of her could be found.

"Why would she run away now, of all times?" I muttered, confusion and frustration settling in. "The wedding's tomorrow, everything's set... why would she do this?"

A wave of bitterness swept over me. "She's a witch," I whispered, my thoughts spiralling. I felt a little bad for Dad, but at the same time, he deserved something of this magnitude.

But even though my father wasn't the best, this was more than he deserved. Yet, I couldn't help but feel sorry for him. I didn't want to dwell on it too much, though.

We continued searching, but the hours dragged on, and Diane remained nowhere to be found. When my father finally returned home, his face pale and drawn, it was clear he had been hit hard by the news. Stepmom handed him the letter, and his face drained of colour. He crumpled to the floor, his body shuddering in shock.

"Dad!" I cried out, rushing to him, but Ms Morgan was already calling for a doctor. It all happened so fast—Dad had a stroke. A damn stroke.

The wedding was tomorrow, and everything had just come crashing down. Diane was missing, stepmom was on the verge of losing her mind, and my father—my father was in the hospital. What was going to happen to the company now?

I could only wonder if it was all going to end here, just because Diane refused to marry a crippled man. It wasn't her fault, I supposed. No one would want to marry someone like that. Sure, he was rich, but money couldn't solve everything.

Who would want a man who couldn't even stand on his own?

After everything settled, the house was left in a state of confusion. No preparations for the wedding, no bride, just chaos. I slumped onto my bed, feeling the weight of the moment, though no peace came. It was a bitter sort of quiet, filled with anxiety over what was to come.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. I looked up to see Charles standing there, his usual calm demeanour replaced with worry.

"What's going on?" he asked, his voice steady despite the tension in the air. "I heard Diane ran away."

I nodded, too tired to form a proper response. Charles was always gentle, his calm nature in stark contrast to the madness that surrounded us. If only he had grown up in a different household. I could only imagine the kind of man he might have become.

But his mother—she was the cause of all his pain. A witch, in every sense of the word.

"You should come with me," he suggested. "We should go to the hospital to see Dad."