Chapter 1.

𝐋𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐍𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐋𝐎𝐖

The house was in complete chaos. It was September 8th, Melora’s birthday, and today, the whole world seemed to orbit around her. I didn’t want to be here., i had escaped this place and all its suffocating toxicity the moment I turned eighteen, heading off to med school not just because it was my dream, but because it was the only way out.

This house, the one others dared to call home, family had always felt like a prison to me.

I came back yesterday to get a few documents signed, planning to leave as soon as I was done. But Melora had practically begged me to stay for her birthday I might’ve refused, but then Grandma added her usual dose of guilt.

“Oh, so you’re too good for us now, huh? You’ve seen the outside world and suddenly, your family doesn’t matter anymore?”

Her words didn’t sting because they were true, they weren’t but because they echoed the weight I’d carried all these years. I hated this house. But I hated the way she twisted my silence into guilt even more. So I stayed. Not out of love, but because I didn’t have the energy to fight anymore.

Inside, the house buzzed with activities staff moved swiftly, draping fairy lights across doorways and hanging pastel balloons near the ceiling. Fresh flowers adorned every corner, and flickering candles lit up polished tables. It looked beautiful enchanting, even to anyone on the outside. But to me, it was nothung more than a prison.

No one had ever celebrated my birthday like this. I doubted they even remembered when it was. A part of me used to wish for a day like this, where laughter and lights filled the house because of me. But my memories were stained. On my sixteenth birthday, Dad locked me in the attic for going out without permission. On my eighteenth, Grandma and Aunt slapped me curious that I had “ruined” Melora’s dress, something I hadn’t even done.

I blinked away the tears that crept up. I couldn’t let them win. Not again. I had learned long ago how to mask the pain, how to fold it into smiles that didn’t reach my eyes.

I stepped out onto the balcony, craving distance from the noise inside. But peace never lasted long here.

“Lily! Lily! LILY!”

My aunt’s shrill voice pierced through the air. I turned, already bracing myself.

“Are you deaf? I’ve been calling you for ages,” she snapped, glaring at me as if I were the root of all her problems.

I kept my tone flat. “What is it now?”

“Go help Melora get ready,” she ordered, like my only purpose was to serve.

I didn’t argue. Her words exhausted me, but not as much as the drama that would follow if I pushed back. So I followed her to Melora’s room.

My sister stood before the mirror in a sleek black dress. The sight stirred something sharp in me. I could still hear Grandma and Aunt berating me years ago for wearing black on my brother’s birthday.

“Bad luck.”

“Inappropriate.”

“A bad omen.”

Yet here they were, gifting Melora the same color, showering her with compliments.

The hypocrisy hung in the air like smog. It would’ve been laughable if it wasn’t so deeply familiar. I didn’t say anything. I had mastered silence.

Still in my pajamas, I felt Melora’s gaze rake over me.

“Why do you look homeless?” she asked, tone dipped in disgust. “Wear something decent. What will the guests think?”

I bit back a sigh.

“Thanks for pointing that out,” I said dryly. “I was planning to greet everyone just like this, but now that you’ve enlightened me, I’ll change.”

Before she could reply, Aunt chimed in sharply.

“Enough. Do her makeup.”

The frustration I’d buried since morning began to rise.

“Can’t she do it herself?”

Of course, that triggered Melora’s theatrics.

“Lily, please! You always do such a good job. It’s my birthday. I don’t want to lift a finger today.”

As if she ever does, I thought bitterly. But I said nothing. I did her makeup, then styled her hair. Every brushstroke felt like a punishment. After nearly an hour and a half, I stepped back.

“Done,” I said.

Melora turned to the mirror, examining herself. “Hm. It’s okay, I guess. You should’ve curled my hair more. And red lipstick, not nude. But too late now. You can go.”

Her voice was dismissive like I hadn’t just spent over an hour doing something she could’ve done herself. But I didn’t respond. I was used to being taken for granted.

As I stepped out, my aunt caught my arm, her grip unnecessarily tight.

“Wear something simple,” she hissed.

“Don’t you dare steal the spotlight from my daughter. This is her day.”

The words hit harder than I expected. My throat tightened, but I refused to let her see me break. I gently removed her hand from my shoulder, meeting her gaze.

“I’ve never done the things you blame me for. But yes, I’ll wear something simple. And if I still look better, well... that’s not my fault.”

My voice was calm. Controlled. Her eyes widened, stunned. But I didn’t stay to watch her reaction. For the first time, I’d spoken back and I wasn’t going to let her silence me.

I walked away and got dressed not to please them, but to avoid another battle. I could already hear the whispers if I wore anything bold.

“She’s changed too much.”

“Thinks she’s above us now.”

“The city made her arrogant.”

I didn’t have the energy for it today.

I chose a maroon dress, understated yet elegant, and made my way to the backyard. The garden looked dreamy, with soft lighting and flower-scented air. Guests laughed, drinks clinked, and music played softly in the background.

I returned a few polite smiles, though my own felt mechanical. As always, I drifted to the farthest corner an outsider in a celebration that had never included me.

Melora stood center stage, glowing under the lights, surrounded by family and laughter. She looked like the protagonist of a perfect story. And me? I was the forgotten chapter. A shadow.

What does it feel like to be loved? Even for a moment?

People envied me.

“You’re so lucky to come from a rich family.”

Yes, the house had chandeliers and imported cutlery and a wine cellar bigger than my dorm room. But what good is luxury when it can’t offer warmth?

“You lived in a mansion how do you cope in that tiny dorm?”

Easily. Because that mansion never felt like home. Just a place I survived in.

If only they knew the truth that this family was my curse. That behind the curated smiles were wounds that never healed. No amount of money could patch the emptiness they left in me.

A tear escaped. I wiped it away quickly and slipped into the shadows, away from the lights and laughter. I found a quiet bench in the corner of the garden and sat down, letting the silence wrap around me.

Then

“Lily.”

I turned at the voice.

There he was. My father Johnson Winslow. Feared in business, respected in every boardroom he walked into. But to me, he was a stranger. A shadow with a title.

His face was as unreadable as ever. Eyes sharp. Distant. He met my gaze briefly, then looked away like acknowledging me too long might tarnish his image.

“Hm?” I murmured.

“Come with me.”

His tone left no room for questions. He turned and walked away, and like always I followed.

My pulse quickened. Every step toward his study felt heavier. Whenever he summoned me like this, it never ended well.

Inside the room, the air felt colder. My fingers fidgeted, nerves fraying at the edges as I sat across from him, the silence thick enough to choke on.