"Lilith, why don't you eat your food?"
Finn—the man who raised me after my mother's death—spoke gently. Too gently.
"I had them prepare something special for you tonight," said his wife, her voice dripping with mockery.
I glanced at her, then down at my plate.
Something special? What a joke. It was the usual: leftovers from the servants' meals, some burnt scraps, and a piece of meat that wasn't even fully cooked. I guess she thought the meat made it "special." Pathetic.
I looked up at Finn. He was smirking. He knew. He always knew—and never said a word.
I took my first bite. Immediately, Sina, Finn's wife, gave me a smug little smile.
"I didn't know you liked rat meat, Lilith. Maybe we should serve it to you more often," she sneered.
I froze. The nausea hit me hard. Rat meat?
My stomach churned violently. I shot up from my seat and ran to the bathroom, barely making it before I threw up.
"Lilith, you ungrateful little rat!"
Finn's voice exploded through the house, his hands slamming down on the table, rattling the dishes. He stormed after me, grabbed me by my long black hair, and dragged me to the basement.
No mercy. No hesitation.
He threw me to the cold ground and locked the door. Total darkness. Not even a sliver of light.
Two days passed—according to one of the maids, who seemed to enjoy my misery. Then, they dragged me back to my room. I was given cold leftovers and ordered to practice for the theater play happening the next day.
15 minutes before the play
"Lilith! Hurry the fuck up!"
The director's voice echoed from across the hall.
"I'm done!" I shouted back.
"Don't fucking scream!" he snapped, storming toward the dressing room.
He flung the door open, already nagging.
"What the hell are you doing? The play starts in 13 minutes!"
"I was just adjusting my dress. It's not exactly easy doing fight scenes in this thing," I replied, calm as ever.
He narrowed his eyes.
"You better not screw this up. I chose you out of hundreds of students."
I met his gaze.
"Don't worry. I don't make mistakes when it comes to something I've trained for since childhood."
He scoffed.
"Don't get cocky. I don't trust you. I don't like you. I chose you because you were raised to be an assassin. That's it."
Then he turned on his heel and walked off.
"Five minutes, Lilith. Hurry up!" he shouted over his shoulder.
As I stepped out of the room, the hem of my dress snagged on something. I didn't notice until it tore—ripping a clean line down the side.
Just as I was about to walk onto the stage, the director stopped me. His eyes landed on the tear.
Then came the eruption.
"You good-for-nothing brat! Do you even know how expensive that dress was?"
"I never should've given you the role!"
"You're nothing but a disappointment. No wonder your father abandoned you!"
"If your mother were still alive, she'd have left you too!"
That last one... That was it.
Something inside me snapped.
I didn't want to scream.
I didn't want to cry.
I wanted his head on the floor.
I wanted to hear him beg.
To be continued...