The Keal mansion shimmered under the pale morning sun, but the brightness couldn't soften its chill. Every wall gleamed, every servant moved like clockwork, all under one woman's command.
Meryl Keal, the matriarch of the family, stood in the grand hall like a queen surveying her kingdom. Her presence demanded silence. She didn't smile; she never needed to.
"Fresh lilies," she said sharply, pointing to the vases. "Not the white ones pink. White invites the dead."
The staff rushed to obey. She turned next to the event planner, who held a trembling clipboard.
"I want the engagement to be flawless. No mistakes, no delays. Yadiel has been difficult long enough. It's time he fulfills his duty to this family."
Her voice carried the weight of generations and something darker.
Upstairs, she glided into the room prepared for Aria Hyders, the woman chosen to be her grandson's fiancée. Aria stood near the vanity, adjusting a necklace worth more than most people's homes. Her smile was polite, but nervous.
"Beautiful," Meryl murmured, stepping closer. "You'll make a fine addition to the Keal line. Remember tomorrow, you're not marrying a man. You're marrying a legacy."
Aria nodded quickly, eyes downcast. "Yes, ma'am."
Meryl's phone buzzed. She frowned and turned toward the balcony. "Excuse me," she said softly, stepping out into the open air.
The voice on the other end was low, distorted, but unmistakably threatening.
"You think you can ignore me, Meryl?" the man hissed. "You've grown comfortable in your riches, forgotten what binds them."
Her hand tightened around the phone. "Careful," she whispered. "You don't speak to me that way."
"I'll speak however I please," the voice snapped. "You promised the offering by the new moon, the final one, the mega sacrifice. You think I don't know you're delaying?"
Her pulse quickened. "I've handled the arrangements. The girls have been moved."
"Not enough," he cut in. "You owe more. You think your wealth and your family's throne stay untouched without blood? Don't make me break the trust, Meryl. You know what happens if I do."
Silence stretched between them, heavy with decades of buried sins.
Then she said quietly, "You forget who I am."
"No," the man replied. "I remember exactly who you are. The woman who sold her soul for power and now hides behind her grandson's name."
The line went dead.
Meryl stood still, her hand trembling slightly. For the first time in years, fear crawled up her spine. She looked down at the garden below, hundreds of guests would soon fill it, to celebrate a love built on a lie.
But in her chest, she knew the truth.The family's fortune wasn't built on hard work. It was built on bodies.
And this time, the debt collector had come calling.
Meryl ended the call and turned, trying to calm her trembling hands."Where is he?" she snapped at the butler."Still not home, ma'am. His car was last seen near the downtown bar."
Her jaw clenched. "Find him. Before someone else does." ************************************************************ The city was quiet, wrapped in the soft gray of dawn. Yadiel woke with his head against the steering wheel, the smell of whiskey still sharp in his breath. The glass beside him was dry. His phone buzzed once, then fell silent.
He blinked at the screen, fifteen missed calls, all from the same number.His grandmother.
A low groan escaped him as he ran a hand through his hair."Of course," he muttered, eyes burning from the hangover.
The streets were still empty when he drove off. The radio hummed some slow love song that didn't match his mood. His suit jacket hung over the passenger seat, wrinkled and reeking of perfume.
By the time he reached the mansion, the staff were already moving maids with trays, the gardener trimming roses, the smell of coffee and tension filling the air.
He didn't greet anyone. Just climbed the stairs, unbuttoning his shirt as he walked.
In his room, he let the water run cold before stepping into the shower.It hit him like glass, sharp, numbing, sobering.
He leaned his head against the tile, trying to piece together the night before: the club, the girl on stage, her eyes like fire when she spoke to him. He could still hear her voice.
"So what do you want? A dance, or a distraction?"
A faint smirk ghosted his lips. "Both," he whispered to no one.
When he came out, steam trailing behind him, his grandmother's voice was already echoing down the hall.
The hot water hadn't washed away the headache; it only blurred it.Yadiel stood before the mirror, towel around his waist, steam clouding the reflection. His phone lay on the counter, screen flashing fifteen missed calls.
He ignored them all.
By the time he buttoned his shirt, the mansion was already alive, clinking dishes, hurried footsteps, the smell of perfume too heavy for morning. His grandmother's orders echoed down the hall.
"No, white roses. I don't want repetition. This isn't a funeral."
Yadiel stopped at the edge of the dining room, his tie loose, hair still damp. "Could've fooled me," he muttered.
"You're late. Again."
"I wasn't aware breakfast had a clock-in system."
Her eyes flicked toward him, cold and precise. "Everything in this house has order. You, most of all."
He poured himself coffee, ignoring the tension. "You make it sound like I'm on your payroll."
"You are," she said without missing a beat. "You just don't read your contract."
He almost smiled. Almost.
"You really think money buys loyalty, Grandma?"
"No," she replied, finally facing him. "But it buys silence. And silence is far more useful."
The air between them tightened.
Then, footsteps. His father, Mr. Keal, entered quietly, already dressed for the day, the picture of control, though his eyes betrayed fatigue.
"Morning," he said carefully.
Yadiel's tone stayed flat. "Is it?"
Madam Hyders gestured to the seat across from her. "Sit. We have things to finalize."
"What things?"
"Your engagement," she said simply. "It's this Saturday."
The coffee cup stopped halfway to his lips. He blinked once. "You mean your engagement plans."
"Our family's," she corrected. "You'll attend, you'll behave, and you'll smile. I don't need another scandal this quarter."
Yadiel's laugh was humorless. "You talk like I'm another company asset. File me under 'hostile takeover' while you're at it."
Mr. Keal sighed. "Yadiel, not today."
"Then when, Dad?" he snapped, calm, but the kind of calm that cut deeper than shouting. "When were you planning to tell me my life's a merger deal?"
His grandmother leaned forward, her voice low but sharp.
"You were born into this. You don't get to choose the terms."
"No," Yadiel said softly, leaning back. "You just choose the cage."
The silence that followed was suffocating. Madam Hyders stood, collecting her planner. "Be ready tonight. No alcohol, no attitude. We're building a legacy, not indulging your moods."
She walked out, heels echoing like a countdown.
Yadiel stared at the untouched coffee, then at his father, who still hadn't said a word.
"You going to stop her?" he asked quietly.
Mr. Keal adjusted his tie. "You don't stop your mother, son. You survive her."
Yadiel gave a short, humorless laugh. "Guess I'm not built for survival."
And just like that, he walked out, leaving the glass table, the cold breakfast, and everything that made the mansion feel more like a prison than a home. ___________________________________________________________________________
The sunlight that touched their window was weak, filtered through torn curtains and the dust of the street below. The neighborhood was half-awake: children chasing stray dogs, women arguing over borrowed sugar, motorbikes coughing through puddles from the night's rain.
Inside, the air smelled of burnt bread and cheap perfume.
Rina sat cross-legged on the floor, scrolling through her phone. The glow lit her tired face, streaks of last night's makeup still on her skin. On her feed, her own photos looked like another person's life: smiling under neon lights, drinks in hand, nothing but laughter.
Across the room, Amara was quiet. She sat by the window, her long fingers absentmindedly sewing a torn hem. Her eyes, though gentle, carried something that didn't belong to her age; patience carved from too many disappointments.
"You came late," Amara said softly, not looking up."Or didn't come at all."
Rina sighed, tossing the phone aside. "I came back. Isn't that what matters?"
"Coming back isn't the same as being safe."
There was no answer, just the low sound of the street outside. Rina reached for the brown envelope on the table and opened it. Inside was a handful of crumpled notes and coins.
She began to count. "Three thousand… three-five… four."She smiled faintly. "See? We'll manage."
Amara looked up then, her eyes sharp.
"And how many hours did you sell for that?"
Rina froze. "You think it's easy out there? You think I like it?"
"I think you're forgetting yourself."
The words cut like glass, soft, but deep. Rina swallowed hard. "Someone has to pay the rent. You want to starve? Go ahead."
Silence stretched between them. The air grew heavy with what neither wanted to say.
Amara stood, walking toward her sister.
"You don't have to drown to prove you can swim, Rina."
For a second, Rina almost smiled. Then she looked away, blinking back something that wasn't anger, more like exhaustion.
She reached for her bag and placed a few notes into Amara's hand.
"Here. For food. I'll figure the rest out."
Amara hesitated, then took it. Their fingers brushed a quiet promise that neither could speak