It all started when I saw him with her.
How could he? My heart shattered into a million jagged shards, yet they are the ones who call me "monster." They say I am the villainess. Fine. If they want a villain, I will give them one. The world is about to learn the difference between a girl who is hurt and a woman who is dangerous.
Pati ac Dolor.
As the eldest daughter of Duke Ellington, the most powerful man in the empire, she was a masterpiece of cold marble. Her beauty was devastating—all clean lines and sharp, sculpted angles that painters would have sacrificed years of their lives to capture. Her eyes were the color of a stormy sea, deep, complex, and freezing.
She moved with an unsettling, statue-like grace. Her dark hair fell like a disciplined curtain, not a single wisp out of place. She didn't primp or preen; she didn't have to. People were drawn to her like moths to a flame, never realizing until it was too late that she was the kind of fire that provided no warmth—only ash.
The morning began with the rhythmic, meditative hiss of a dust rag against wood.
Pati opened her eyes. A woman in a neat black uniform stood by the dresser, her hands a flurry of unasked-for purpose.
Pati's sanctuary—the only place that was truly hers—had been invaded. She had never asked for a maid. The idea of a stranger's hands touching her belongings made her skin crawl.
She sat up in one sharp, predatory motion. The maid froze, offering a small, polite smile that felt like a mockery.
"My Lady, how are—"
"Where is Maria?" Pati's voice was a blade.
"The First Lord said I was to take care of My Lady myself today..."
"Get out."
The maid flinched. "But My Lady, the Lord said—"
"I do not care what he said. Get out. Now. Send for Maria."
The girl scurried away like a frightened mouse. Pati watched her go, eyes flat. She knew it wasn't the girl's fault; her brother—that bastard—must have forced the change.
A few moments later, Maria entered. She was the only person who had seen the "real" Pati. Her nanny, her shadow, and the only soul she truly trusted.
"My Lady, would you like your tea first?"
Pati nodded and rose, walking toward the balcony. Below her lay a garden filled with soft, innocent blooms. Bullshit, she thought, looking away. They planted these flowers thinking she loved "pretty things." They were too soft, too fragile for someone like her. Only the wind and Maria's silent presence brought her peace.
But the peace was short-lived.
BANG!
The doors to her chamber flew open.
"Pati ac Dolor," a man's voice rang out, cold but with a flicker of something else in his eyes.
"How many times must I tell you?" she snapped without turning. "Do not call me by that name."
"And how else should I address my sister?" he replied with that smart-mouthed smirk that made her blood boil.
"Why are you here?"
"Father wants to see you."
"Why now? What business does he have?"
He looked at her then—a long, lingering gaze. The morning light hit her nightgown, making the silk nearly transparent. She saw the flicker of emotion in his eyes and felt a wave of disgust.
"I will be there in an hour," she said, her voice dropping an octave. "Go. Inform him."
When she finally emerged, she wore a gown that cost more than most noble houses saw in a year. To her, it was a rag. Heads turned as she passed, but no one spoke. They gave her a wide berth, sensing the impenetrable stillness she carried like a shield. She wasn't just walking; she was commanding the very air.
She reached the Duke's office. She didn't knock. She didn't wait for the guards to announce her. With a sharp click, the door burst open.
"Father," she said.
The word held no love, no warmth. They were two of a kind: cold, calculating, and unyielding. She could read almost anyone, but the Duke remained a mystery—a riddle she intended to solve, or break.