1

Elara’s Pov

I woke up at five in the morning, long before the sun was fully up, and walked quietly down the stairs. My body felt heavy, like I was carrying bags of rocks inside my bones, but I pushed through it.

I always pushed through it. I walked into the big, silent kitchen to make breakfast for my eight-year-old daughter, Lyra. I wanted us to have just one peaceful morning together, just the two of us, before the rest of the house woke up and started judging everything I did.

I was flipping pancakes when I heard soft footsteps behind me. I turned around with a warm smile on my face, hoping to see my little girl looking happy.

"Good morning, sweetheart," I said softly, wiping my hands on a kitchen towel. "I made your favorite pancakes with fresh strawberries."

Lyra walked over to the table and sat down, but she didn't look at the food. She didn't look at me either. She just stared at her hands, her face wearing a serious expression that looked far too old for an eight-year-old child.

"Grandmother says I shouldn't eat too many sweets," Lyra said in a small, rehearsed voice. "She said women in the Rooke family must always watch their figure and be strong enough to handle big responsibilities. She said being too soft or eating junk makes people weak."

A sharp pain squeezed my heart, tighter than a fist. I put the spatula down on the counter because my hand was shaking too much to hold it.

"Lyra," I whispered, walking over and pulling out the chair next to her. I sat down and tried to catch her eye. "Grandmother has her own ideas, but it is okay to just be a child sometimes. You don't have to carry heavy responsibilities right now. You are only eight."

Lyra pulled her shoulders back and crossed her arms over her chest, mimicking the exact posture of my mother-in-law, Octavia. "Grandmother says that is just an excuse ordinary people use when they don't want to work hard. She said you wouldn't understand because you didn't come from a strong family."

Those words hurt worse than a physical slap. They cut straight into my chest, reminding me of all the years I had spent trying to prove that I belonged here, trying to be a good mother and a good wife.

Octavia had spent years whispering poison into my daughter's ears, turning my own flesh and blood against me, making Lyra believe that I was nothing more than a fragile, ordinary burden.

"I am your mother, Lyra," I said, and my voice cracked just a little bit. "I love you more than anything in this entire world."

Lyra looked away, picking at a loose thread on her sweater. "Grandmother says love is about actions and status, not just saying words."

Before I could say anything else, heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway, and Darian walked into the kitchen. He looked immaculate in his expensive tailored suit, his dark hair neatly combed, but his eyes were completely dead to what was happening around him. He was already holding his phone in one hand, scrolling through financial reports with a frown on his face.

"Darian," I said, looking at him with a desperate plea in my eyes. "Can we talk to Lyra about—"

"Not right now, Elara," Darian interrupted smoothly, never once looking up from his phone screen. "I have a very important merger meeting in London this morning, and the stock market opens in twenty minutes. My mind is entirely tied up right now."

Right at that moment, Octavia glided into the kitchen like a cold ghost. She took one look at the table, sneered at my cooking, and sighed loudly.

"Is this really what you prepared for the future heir of the Rooke family?" Octavia asked, her voice dripping with sharp disappointment.

"Carbs and sugar. No wonder the child looks unfocused. Darian, truly, sometimes I wonder what possessed you to marry a woman with such ordinary instincts. A proper wife for you would have been someone like Mirelle—someone sharp, ambitious, and capable of managing both a household and a high-level corporate office without complaining about fatigue."

My blood ran cold. Hearing Mirelle's name—the beautiful executive assistant who was always by Darian's side—felt like a knife twisting in my stomach. I looked at Darian, praying, begging with my eyes for him to say something. Just one word. Tell his mother to stop. Tell her that I am his wife and she cannot talk to me like that in my own home.

Darian didn't say a word. He just took a sip of his black coffee, completely ignoring the insult, and nodded at his mother as if she had just given him a brilliant business tip. His silence was louder than a scream. It told me everything I needed to know. To him, my feelings didn't matter. My place in his life didn't matter.

Suddenly, the kitchen started spinning around me. A thick, black wave crashed over my eyes, and my knees buckled. I grabbed onto the edge of the kitchen counter just to keep from falling. My head throbbed with a blinding, terrifying pain, and I couldn't catch my breath.

"Elara? What is wrong with you now?" Octavia asked, her voice sounding far away and annoyed. "Always causing drama in the morning. So fragile."

"Elara?" Darian said, his voice finally showing a hint of confusion, but he didn't move toward me. He just stood there by the coffee machine, trapped behind his wall of business and indifference.

I couldn't breathe. My chest felt like it was crushing inward. I knew right then that I couldn't wait another minute, couldn't take another day of this invisible life. I had to know what was wrong with my body.

An hour later, I was sitting in a sterile white examination room at the city hospital, staring at the doctor's desk. The waiting room noise felt miles away. I had told myself it was just exhaustion, just stress from eight years of living in a house where I was invisible. But the doctor wasn't looking at me with pity or comfort. Her face was pale, tight, and completely grim as she stared down at the medical file in her hands.

I gripped the edge of my purse until my knuckles turned pure white, my heart pounding. I wanted to run out of the room, but my legs wouldn't listen to me. I was so scared, so terribly alone.

The doctor slowly closed the heavy manila folder, looked up into my eyes, and broke my entire world into a million pieces.

"Mrs. Rooke," she said in a quiet, trembling voice, "we need to talk about how much time you have left."