Who Is The Main Character In 'The Cat In The Box'?

Catherine is the daughter of a renowned ballerina and she's also a prodigy in ballet but she stopped dancing ever since her adopted brother went missing. While she was on search on her brother, she met Lyra a beautiful ballerina whom she immediately had a crush on. And the more their relationship gets deeper, the more it gets complicated. Lyra is connected to her missing adopted brother.

My husband's first love had been trapped in a car for an hour. After they pulled her out, his rage shifted onto me. “It’s your fault she got hurt,” he spat, his eyes blazing as he grabbed me. Before I could make sense of what was happening, he forced me into a wooden box, slamming the lid down with a deafening crack. “You’re going to feel every ounce of the pain she went through,” he hissed, nailing it shut. I pounded on the walls, my screams tearing through the air. “Please, I didn’t do anything! Let me out!” My throat burned with the effort, my fists aching, but nothing stopped him. “Stay in there until you’ve figured out how to act like a decent human being,” he said, his voice cold, dripping with contempt. Hours passed. My body twisted unnaturally in the tight space, bones throbbing as blood smeared the wood beneath me. I whispered into the dark, the pain unbearable. "Please… just let me out…" But he didn’t care. A week later, he returned, his laughter echoing with hers as they entered the house, carefree from their trip. He finally opened the box. But by then, I was already gone. The woman he locked away was no longer breathing, no longer pleading. Just a cold, silent corpse.

My roommate brought back an old music box, saying she had picked it up at a flea market. I told her not to keep it. It was too old. Who knew where it had come from or how many hands it had passed through. But the moment the music box was opened, and the melody began to play, a chill ran down my spine. The next day, a girl from the dorm next door jumped off the building. A week later, a child from a nearby orphanage died the same way. When the police came to investigate, my roommate quietly hid the music box. It wasn’t until I found myself standing on the rooftop that I realized none of this was an accident. When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the day she brought the music box home. This time, I was going to make sure she listened to it.

After toiling in the underworld for three hundred years, I finally earned enough merit to be reincarnated. Then the King of Hell got drunk. Instead of sending me back as a human, he accidentally dropped me into the animal realm, where I was reborn as a plump orange cat belonging to the Sterlings, one of the wealthiest families in Evermont. Feeling guilty, the King of Hell compensated me with a hundred-year lifespan and one bizarre bonus: I could understand babies. Since I was stuck there anyway, I embraced the easy life, growing up alongside Victoria Sterling, the Sterlings' spoiled young heiress. Over the years, she became my devoted meal ticket, and I became an irreplaceable member of her family. On the day she gave birth, I lounged outside the delivery room, happily crunching on my imported freeze-dried treats. A panicked baby voice suddenly echoed in my head. [Waaah! I don't want them to take me away! My scumbag father is swapping me with his illegitimate daughter!] [I don't want to end up in an orphanage! I don't want to leave Mommy!] Before I could process that, another baby's voice rang out sinisterly. [Once I become the real heiress, the first thing I'll do is poison that woman and that fat cat.] I froze mid-bite. Every hair on my body stood on end. [Meow. You really picked the wrong cat to mess with.] [Anyone who dares lay a finger on the girl I raised is about to learn a very painful lesson.] With one powerful kick of my hind legs, I launched myself like a furry cannonball straight toward the delivery room.

Trapped in a sweltering 40-degree sauna room, I overheard my older brothers talking outside. My second-oldest brother, Sean Lambert, remarked, "This kid is too stubborn. We need to teach her a lesson." My third-oldest brother, Jacob Lambert, replied, "The temperature has been adjusted. She won't die." I was locked up alone for 72 hours. It was their way of punishing me because of my stepsister. Yet, they were the ones who used to love me the most. My father was a business tycoon, my eldest brother, Axel Lambert, was skilled in finance, Sean was a legal expert, and Jacob was a medical prodigy. My mother passed away after fulfilling her mission, leaving these four men to look after me. They once showered me with love like I was their precious gem, until I turned five. That's when my stepmother and her daughter came into the picture, and I was banished to the housekeeper's room. Their attention shifted entirely to my stepsister. Whenever she cried, my father would bring out the punishment box for me to draw lots. 72 hours passed, but no one came to open the door. Before I blacked out, a few lines of small text popped up before my eyes: [The minor character is about to die. Once she dies, she can be reunited with her mother.]

To punish me for losing my autistic younger brother, Ezra Clement, Mom locks me inside a custom-made steel box. The box is about 20 inches wide and is welded in place in the deepest corner in our basement. "There's a walkie-talkie inside. You'll stay in there until you admit that you deliberately left Ezra beside the human traffickers' van." She locks the lid, plunging me into darkness. For the first three days, I cry and beg through the walkie-talkie, trying to tell Mom that I only let go of Ezra's hand to lure the traffickers away from him. One of the traffickers has slashed me across the back, and the wound keeps bleeding and festering. But Mom refuses to listen to anything I have to say. All I hear are her furious accusations. "Evelyn, you're just jealous of Ezra. A vicious sister like you deserves to be locked in there until you die." On the fourth day, torrential rain floods the basement. Muddy water rises past my knees, soaking the knife wound on my back in filthy water. The pain is so unbearable that I claw at the metal walls until all ten of my fingernails tear and break. I desperately press the talk button. But all I hear from the other end is Mom's gentle voice coaxing Ezra to sleep. To prevent me from disturbing him, she powers it off. When the water that is mingled with the blood from my mangled fingers rises above my head and floods into my nose, I stop struggling. Mom has no idea that on the back of our family photo, I have written down my plan to work hard, earn money, and pay for Ezra's treatment. Helplessly, I think, "Mom, I confess. In my next life, I will never be your daughter again."