My footsteps echoed through the long corridors, Clara trailing close behind. Everything around me felt oddly familiar, like a place I'd seen a hundred times in a dream. It was my first time here—yet somehow, I knew I could live as Abril. I could become her.
Clara pushed open the grand double doors to the dining hall, and I inhaled deeply, steeling myself.
There he was—Duke Vinsant. The man who ruled over vast lands powerful enough to rival entire nations. The Vinsant duchy had been founded nearly alongside the empire itself, and our name still carried weight in every corner of high society. Which is exactly why someone like me—emotional, impulsive, defiant—was considered a blemish on the family image. But even so, I remained. No matter how many outbursts or tantrums they endured, they never sent me away.
And that was what puzzled me most.
In families like this, the troublesome ones were usually exiled to distant estates… or quietly disposed of. A sudden illness, a fatal fall. It was how inconvenient people were dealt with.
The fact that I was still breathing felt like a miracle.
As I stepped inside, icy stares met me from every direction. At the head of the long rectangular table sat the Duke, watching me without a hint of emotion. On his right was Débora, the former marchioness, her posture flawless and her smile sharper than steel. On his left was Alan, the heir to the duchy, seated with effortless confidence.
And further down sat Anelle—the youngest daughter, the very picture of innocence... if you didn't know better. Beneath the sweet expression and delicate features lay something darker. A wolf draped in lamb's clothing.
From the fragments of the story still tangled in my mind, I knew there had always been hatred between us. It wasn't subtle. It wasn't hidden. We'd never been allies. Not once.
What caught my attention most, though, was the seating arrangement. The third chair, usually reserved for the youngest, was empty. And the one that had always been mine? Taken. By Alan.
"I see someone's taken my seat," I said calmly, stepping closer to the table. Even though I stood just a few feet from my so-called family, it felt like an invisible wall separated us.
"Will you fight for your place, Abril?" Débora asked, her voice smooth with expectation. She was waiting for the familiar tantrum, the outburst, the scene.
That's how it had always gone before. Alan or Anelle would occupy my spot, I'd lash out, the Duke would scold me, and I'd storm out in a fury. A cycle that repeated itself again and again.
And I always lost.
"Not today," I replied with a shrug. "It's too early to get worked up." I offered a small bow. "Good morning to the Duke, the Duchess, and the Vinsant children."
The room went still. Débora dropped her silverware with a sharp clatter against her porcelain plate. Eyes widened in quiet shock.
In the past, no matter how angry I was, I'd never stopped calling the Duke Father. Even when I loathed him, the word always slipped out—perhaps out of habit, or maybe a need for his approval. He was the only one I'd never openly defied.
Now, I had stripped away even that.
If anyone was surprised, it wasn't him. His face remained blank, as if my words hadn't registered at all. Or maybe he simply didn't care.
I slid into the third chair and quietly took a sip of the tea that had been poured, waiting for breakfast to be served.
According to Clara, it was nearly the New Year. The annual duchy banquet was just weeks away, the beginning of the social season. The story itself hadn't officially begun. That wouldn't happen until the first prince's birthday in February—when the heroine and the prince would finally meet.
"Two months, huh?" I murmured under my breath, earning a glance from Anelle. She said nothing and returned to her meal.
"Abril, dear," Débora said sweetly, wiping her lips with a napkin. "Will you be attending the New Year's dinner?"
I never cared much for parties—but now I was curious. I nodded.
"And Duke," I added deliberately, "may I go to the capital today? I'd like to shop for a few things and enjoy the city."
Again, I avoided the word father, and it didn't go unnoticed. The servants stiffened. Even Alan looked up. But the Duke, as always, barely reacted.
"Do as you wish," he said, cool and dismissive.
Clara helped me dress in simple attire—despite her protests—and joined me for the trip. As I stepped outside, the cold winter air stung my cheeks. Even in the heart of the season, the world seemed brighter than I remembered. The sun hung high behind a thin veil of clouds, and the wind brushed gently against the buildings as if hesitant to disturb the stillness.
Beside the carriage stood Luca, tall and composed like a knight from a fairy tale. Clad in black with a cloak draped over his shoulders, he looked every bit the part. His brown hair fell neatly over his forehead, and his emerald eyes were as piercing as ever.
"You waited long, Luca," I said with a faint smile.
He returned it with a slight bow. "It's good to see you again, Miss Vinsant. I hope you're feeling better."
"I am," I replied. "Thank you for worrying."
He offered his hand and helped me up into the carriage. Clara followed silently, and the vehicle lurched into motion, heading toward the heart of the capital.
As the scenery passed beyond the window, I found myself staring out in quiet contemplation.
If I was going to make a mark in this story... would I have to become something cruel?
Could I be ruthless enough to succeed?