Two days before Nora's eighteenth birthday, the mansion was unusually quiet, wrapped in a stormy silence that seemed to warn of secrets long buried.
Lady Catalina paced the drawing room, her fingers trembling as they toyed with the locket around her neck. Her anxiety was uncharacteristic — she was a woman of iron and elegance, but today, fear dimmed the fire in her eyes.
The door creaked open, and a tall, elegant woman stepped inside, dressed in rich crimson and black. Her presence was commanding, almost chilling. It was Mrs. Aveline — Catalina's oldest friend and the keeper of a truth so dark it made Catalina's soul ache.
"Hello, my darling friend," Aveline greeted with a hollow smile, her heels clicking on the marble floor.
Catalina didn't return the smile. "Sit down. This is important."
Aveline arched a brow but obeyed. "What's wrong?"
Outside the room, footsteps paused. Zayan, Catalina's only son, was passing by when the sound of his mother's tense voice drew his attention. He stopped, instincts pricking. Something was wrong. He leaned silently by the doorframe, out of sight but close enough to hear.
Catalina's voice dropped low, trembling. "Do you remember… when you gave birth to a baby girl? Before you married your husband?"
Aveline blinked, stunned. "Yes… yes, I do."
"The one with the brownish birthmark on her arm," Catalina pressed.
Aveline's expression darkened. "Yes. She had it. Why?"
Catalina's voice cracked. "Where did you take her, Aveline?"
Aveline hesitated, then shrugged. "I… I left her in front of an orphanage. She was going to be a problem for me. I couldn't raise her. I left."
"Oh my God," Catalina gasped, standing to her feet. "She's here. In this mansion. Working as a maid."
Aveline's face drained of color.
"Her name… is Nora."
Aveline stood abruptly. "You foolish woman!"
Catalina flinched as Aveline raised a trembling hand to her face. "Nobody should know about this. Absolutely nobody."
Catalina's voice was calm but firm. "You have to tell her. I owe that girl. She saved Zayan's life — your grandson's life. Doesn't she deserve the truth?"
Aveline's lips thinned. "Not now. No. Not yet."
Outside the door, Zayan's jaw clenched. His fists curled. His blood thundered in his ears. Nora? The maid who always wore pain behind her smile. The girl he couldn't stop thinking about. She's Aveline's daughter?
His body trembled with rage. His temper — already volatile — grew darker, heavier. Every muscle in him screamed to burst into that room and demand answers.
But something stopped him.
A gentle breath.
A quiet presence.
Nora.
She was sleeping in her room down the hall. Zayan turned and stalked toward her chamber, every step echoing with fury. He reached her door, cracked it open, and stepped inside.
There she was — curled up on the small bed, her dark hair fanned across the pillow, her lips slightly parted in sleep. So peaceful. So innocent.
So… unaware of the cruel truth.
Zayan walked to her side, sat on the edge of the bed, and gently brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. His expression softened as he looked at her.
"You poor baby girl," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.
He stayed for a moment longer, memorizing her quiet presence… then rose and left, the truth burning inside him like fire.