Rain drummed against the car windows, relentless and steady. Outside, the city blurred into streaks of neon and shadow, the storm painting everything gray.
Inside, Serena clutched her bag to her chest like a shield. Her fingers dug into the worn strap, knuckles bone-white. In her pocket, her other hand brushed against cold metal , a single key, dulled at the edges.
The last piece of the world she had left behind.
That apartment had been her whole life.
The walls cracked and peeling, the curtains always heavy with the smell of stir-fry. Neighbors' laughter and arguments spilled through the thin ceilings. The place was small, noisy, imperfect. But it had been home.
Now, it was just a memory.
Serena pressed her forehead against the cool glass. Raindrops smeared the city lights into watercolor streaks. Her chest ached as if the storm outside had taken root inside her.
I'm leaving, but part of me is stillthere.
Their apartment in the old quarter had been cramped two bedrooms, a narrow balcony, laundry lines swaying like banners. Rain seeped in during storms, plaster darkening at the corners. The fridge rattled all night like an old man groaning in his sleep. The stove hissed with temperamental flames, tiles chipped and stained.
But there had been warmth.
Her father, Richard, had filled every crack with laughter. He had a way of making even cooking into a circus, juggling tomatoes, chewing carrots like cigars, turning chopping vegetables into a show. Her mother, Anna, would laugh until she had to lean against the counter for balance, swatting at him with a spoon.
Some nights, Richard would pull her mother into his arms right there in the kitchen. No music, just the hum of the fridge and the sound of their laughter. Serena used to pretend to be busy at the stove, stirring eggs that didn't need stirring, just so she could watch her mother's sparkling eyes as her father spun her once beneath his arm.
That was safety. That was love.
And then it ended too fast.
The hospital smelled of disinfectant and boiled cabbage. Machines beeped without mercy.
Richard had grown thin, his voice raspy, his hand trembling when he held hers. His humor never fully left him he'd still smile through the pain but it became softer, weaker.
One night, his voice cracked when he whispered, "Serena… I'm sorry. I'm leaving too soon."
Her tears had soaked his gown. Her fingers clawed at him like anchors. "No. Don't say that. Please, don't say that."
But the machines didn't stop. The beeping was steady. Indifferent.
That was the night Serena's world broke.
The car jolted over a bump, yanking her back to the present.
The old streets were gone now. No vendors shouting, no children splashing barefoot in puddles, no old men smoking under awnings.
Instead, there were manicured hedges, silent boulevards, glass towers that seemed to scrape the clouds.
The farther they drove, the emptier it felt.
Her reflection in the window looked pale, hollow. Not her. A stranger.
I don't belong here.
After her father's death, Anna had changed.
The woman who once laughed freely buried herself in endless work double shifts, late nights, her hands cracked from scrubbing and cleaning. Her back curved under exhaustion. The light in her eyes dimmed.
Serena tried to help. Tutoring younger students, waitressing, scraping together what she could. Still, money was thin, stretched until it snapped.
Two years passed like that.
Then, one night, Anna had come home with a strange light in her eyes. Her hands trembled as she told Serena:
"I've met someone. His name is Marcus. He's a businessman. He's kind. Serena… I think I love him."
The words hit harder than any storm.
Serena remembered the first time she saw Marcus. Tall, elegant, a presence that filled the hospital corridor. His suit pressed, his hair streaked with silver. Power clung to him like a second skin.
But what shattered her most was not him , it was her mother's laughter.
Laughter she hadn't heard in years.
Serena had turned and fled before they noticed her. That night, she curled on the floor of their apartment, clutching her father's shirt, whispering to herself that nothing would ever be the same.
***
The car slowed.
Gravel crunched beneath the tires.
Serena lifted her head, and her breath caught.
Before her rose a mansion so vast it seemed to consume the sky. Stone walls, sweeping eaves, windows glowing with golden light. A fusion of glass and tradition, towering and cold. The gates were iron, black and heavy.
They swung open without a sound.
The driver hurried out, raising an umbrella over her as she stepped into the rain. The air smelled of cedar and wet earth, clean and sharp the scent of wealth that didn't belong to her.
The gates closed behind her with a dull clang.
She looked up at the mansion, its silhouette lit by storm clouds and lantern glow. Her stomach tightened.
This is my new home?
Her grip on the key in her pocket tightened until it hurt.
The driver opened the massive doors.
Light spilled out chandelier brilliance, marble floors polished like mirrors.
And there, waiting at the center, was Anna.
Her mother wore silk, her face glowing in a way Serena hadn't seen in years. Radiant. Alive.
For a moment, Serena's chest loosened.
She looks happy. Maybe… maybe this will be okay.
She took one step into the hall. Her eyes lifted to the grand staircase.
And then !
Thud.
A sound sharp and heavy.
It echoed down the marble steps.
Serena froze.
Another sound followed, a voice, low and furious, spilling like thunder:
"Do you think you can tell me what to do?"
Her pulse quickened. Her hand tightened on the strap of her bag.
She hadn't even met him yet.
But already, the storm inside this house had begun to stir.