(...)
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A strong, sharp male voice resounded through the hall, laced with anger and unmistakable disgust.
The sound echoed across what was supposed to be a party room.
People sat at tables draped in white cloth, frozen mid-motion.
Forks paused in the air. Glasses hovered near lips.
The chatter turned into deadly silence.
One by one, they turned toward the source of the voice.
Faces shifted—some disturbed, some curious, others concerned. A few carried pity. A few wore thinly veiled mockery.
Yet all their thoughts focused on a single person.
Me.
I stood upright, rubbing my injured hand.
I had a beautiful face and deep black hair. My features were strong and defined—far more athletic than what people expected from a "normal" woman. The purple dress clinging to my frame only made that contrast more striking.
Not far from me, a golden-haired man lay partially collapsed on the floor.
He clutched his swollen cheek, eyes wide with disbelief.
It was obvious.
Someone had slapped him.
And that someone was me.
My name is Mahira Kinara.
Kinara is my surname. Mahira is my name.
I'm a tomboy.
I like playing games. Programming them too.
And I hate parties.
One reason is these suffocating dresses my wicked stepmother forces on me.
The other reason?
Men like this.
The man in front of me—clutching his face like a wounded prince—was my ex-fiancé.
I had been engaged to this golden-spoon heir under pressure from my father.
At first glance, he looked perfect. Handsome enough that women would line up for his hand in marriage.
You might ask—wasn't I lucky?
Absolutely not.
This man was a womanizer. Incompetent. Someone who spent more time chasing skirts than accomplishing anything meaningful.
If there was one thing to admire about him, it was his courage—his boldness in fooling around with other women despite already having a fiancée.
"Mr. Blonde," I said coldly, "how dare you touch me—"
"SHUT UP!!"
A blood-curdling scream tore through the hall.
The crowd stiffened.
I didn't.
I remained calm.
I was used to this.
The one shouting was none other than my father.
Everyone shivered as I looked at him calmly.
The man who had forgotten his first daughter.
The man who instead doted endlessly on the daughter born from his affair.
The man who was pathetically seduced by a woman like my stepmother and forgot the one who loved him, as if she had been his entire world.
Has no right to be feared by me.
He clicked his tongue at my unflinched nature as he provided support to the fallen blonde.
"Honey! Don't scold her… after all, she lost her mother at a young age."
Aha! Look at that wicked woman clinging to my father.
"Even so, she can't show that kind of attitude just because he is her ex-fiancé and Lara's
fiancé."
Wow. You're going to make me puke.
Me acting sulky because this guy is leaving me?
I literally jumped with joy when my engagement was annulled.
"That face!?" my father said, brimming with anger. "Mahira Kinara, hereby from today, you are stripped of your position as vice-president and your right to use the Kinara family name! Get out of my sight."
He walked away with that blonde, brushing me off.
My stepmother had a very bright expression on her face, almost as if she had just won the world.
She walked to me and whispered her winning cry. "Get out, trash!!"
Saying that, she walked past me.
At that moment, sounds of pity and concern erupted from the guests.
They speculated whatever they wanted upon seeing my shadowed face.
What do you know about me?
I was actually burning with a sense of freedom and excitement.
If a four-dimensional being were to see my brain cells, they would be dancing.
I kneeled—not out of despair—
But out of freedom.
After the party ended, I returned to my room and changed my outfit into a hoodie and loose trousers.
I was planning to leave. My luggage was my laptop bag and a pendrive that contained all the software designs for the game.
"Sister," a very genuine and sad voice called me.
I looked up, hiding my inner excitement.
There stood an 18-year-old girl with beautiful brunette hair.
She was as beautiful as ever.
"Ah, Lara!" I stood up, wiping my tears of joy. "Good luck on becoming the next vice-president."
"Are you okay with this!!" she shouted, her face shadowed, tears streaming. "Because of me, you—!hic."
I forgot that her own daughter was nothing but a pawn to that woman.
I widened my eyes for a bit, then let out a sigh, wiped her tears, and hugged her.
After she calmed down a bit—
"Lara! Listen, you will do just fine without me—at least that's how I taught you, to save you from your mother," I said, bending down and looking directly into her swollen eyes. "You just have to promise me that you will live for yourself and no one else. That's what my grandfather and grandmother taught you."
"Yeah!" she said, wiping her tears and smiling with an anticipatory nod.
"Good! That's my sister. Now it's time for me to leave." I handed her the pendrive I had been holding onto and entered the elevator.
She held the pendrive tightly as the elevator doors closed.
I checked out at the reception, comforted my team members,
And crossed the rotating door.
The city was bustling as I waited at the zebra crossing to reach the other side.
The traffic light turned green for pedestrians.
The vehicles stopped as I walked step by step.
Then a sharply growing voice resounded.
"Sisteeeerrr!"
I tilted my face just enough to see who was calling me.
There she was—Lara—repeating "sister" while catching her breath.
Then she stood upright, feet spread apart, one arm lifted while the other hung loosely, her head slightly lowered as if gathering resolve.
A styled M mark was visible on her hand.
"That's…!"
The stance she took carried a sharp, confident tension—a pose that felt both calm and explosive, like someone standing on the edge of action, eyes focused on an unseen goal.
It was the exact stance of a character I had created and programmed.
Then, seeing her, the other staff followed her action.
One became two. Two became four.
Soon, all of the staff mirrored the same pose.
Then Lara, who was wearing a microphone connected to ten speakers, spoke.
"I, Lara Kinara, the future president of Kinara Games Co., hereby bid farewell to the vice-president, project manager of Ginaka: Fantasy Simulator, and creator of 'MORGANNА,' a character who won millions."
The people in the cars waiting at the traffic signal came out of their vehicles.
A large crowd gathered. People who knew or don't know Morganna came out.
Phones were out. Lives started.
People whispered cheers. "Whoa! It's the creator of 'Morganna'!"
The digital advertisement screens turned into Morganna's iconic pose.
The people began to do the same pose.
"Thank you, sister," Lara whispered.
I let out a sigh and walked away, lifting my arm and showing the M symbol back.
That day, two sisters who were abused by their mother finally bid farewell.
A crushed pendrive lay in front of an elevator as the entire commotion went viral.
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TO BE CONTINUED ;)
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