The Rejected Female Child was Born to Rule Them のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 1 - チャプター 5

“Get up, Maya! Why haven't you arranged my backpack yet?” My eyes snapped open, stinging from the sudden jolt. I stared up at the polished hardwood ceiling and the crystal chandelier suspended above me. The faint, expensive scent of fresh lavender filled the room, accompanied by the gentle hum of the central air conditioning. Under my fingers, the high-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets felt impossibly smooth.“This room... this house…” I murmured beneath my breath as it was caught in my throat. The last thing I remembered was the suffocating smell of burning sulfur, the sky turning the color of rotting blood, and the icy claw of a beast tearing through my chest while I lay starving in the dirt, yet here I was, alive!“Didn’t you hear me, or are you deaf as well as useless?” Martin roaring voice came again.I slowly turned my head. Standing over my bed was Martin, his face flushed red with teenage entitlement. He was wearing the freshly pressed, dark-blue blazer of the Royal Herita

Three years had bled away into the red dirt of the village. To anyone watching from the outside, I had been broken down into a simple rustic girl. My once-smooth palms were now calloused from hauling heavy wooden buckets of well water, clearing stubborn brushwood under the blazing sun, and tilling the harsh soil behind the mud house. In my past life, those three years were filled with endless tears, bitter resentment, and nightly sob sessions as I wondered why my own family had discarded me like garbage but this time, I never shed a single tear. Every drop of sweat, every blister, and every hour of heavy manual labor was merely conditioning for the hell that was about to break loose. I used the hard labor to build strength, turning my frail, pampered body into a weapon.More importantly, those three years were not spent in vain. Grandmother had not only survived her illness under my care she had opened up her life’s work to me. Day after day, she taught me the ancient, forgotten arts

The five days passed in a blur of useless opulence. While my mother fretted over silk lace samples and my father bragged to corporate reporters about the upcoming merger of empires, I sat quietly in my room, letting the seamstresses pin the white satin of my wedding gown. To them, I was just a docile bride-to-be, staring blankly out the floor-to-ceiling windows of our mansion.They had no idea that behind my quiet gaze, I was counting down the hours.Through the clear glass, I watched the late afternoon sun cast long, amber shadows across the manicured lawns. Everything looked so peaceful, so fragile. The bustling city in England hummed in the distance, cars honking on the highway, news anchors droning on about stock markets, people chasing wealth they would never get to spend.In less than twenty-four hours, all of it would end. A sharp knock broke my train of thought, and the heavy oak door swung open. Martin walked into my dressing room, wearing a tailored midnight-blue tuxedo. He