Be Calm

As I neared the mansion, the afternoon sun bathed its gated entrance in a golden hue, casting long, dappled shadows across the path before me.

The wrought iron gates, painted a deep, ominous black, stood tall and imposing, with designs that seemed to twist and coil like serpents.

The sunlight glinted off the metal, creating a mesmerizing play of light and shadow that danced across the ground.

Despite the warmth of the sun, a chill ran down my spine as I gazed upon the entrance, its dark color seeming to absorb the light rather than reflect it, adding to the sense of foreboding that hung in the air.

I bit my lip nervously, feeling out of place in the opulent surroundings. The dress Zayn had insisted I wear hugged my figure, a deep shade of red that contrasted sharply with the pristine white of the mansion's facade. I wasn't accustomed to heels, but Zayn had insisted, claiming they added to the illusion of confidence.

As I approached the entrance, Zayn's words echoed in my mind: "Sway."

How did he expect me to sway in this dress? I would probably look like a dancing peacock.

Still, I tried,attempting to mimic the confident stride he had instructed. In my head, it was a constant mantra: cross leg, sway, cross leg, sway. I flipped my hair over my shoulder, trying to exude an air of self-confidence as I continued walking.

But as I neared the entrance, the guards intercepted me, their disdain evident in their sneers. "What are you doing here, you forgotten scum?" one of them scoffed, their words like a slap in the face, shattering the fragile facade of confidence I had tried to maintain.

I was already use to them speaking to me this way, it was a coon thing for them to because they know I was not valued by my father, step mother or anyone in this home.

Still, I won't let it bring me down. Not anymore. I owe them nothing, they had taken my fiancé, my birthright, my life, I would not let them take my will to survive.

I squared my shoulders, masking the hurt in my heart with a cold demeanor. With a calculated tone, I replied, "Just admiring the view of mediocrity from the outside. Quite a change from the stench of entitlement on the inside, I must say."

The guards were taken aback by my unexpected retort, their expressions shifting from arrogance to surprise. It was unlike me to engage in such verbal sparring, especially with those who had once been a part of the world I had tried so desperately to belong to.

I had tried to please everyone, even the maids, I helped with the chores, I was like a slave in my own home. And they never even cared. The more I gave, the more I lost myself.

"Please do your job by opening the door," I stated firmly, refusing to allow their presence to intimidate me further.

The guards exchanged glances before reluctantly complying, opening the door to allow me entry. As I stepped inside, I let out a breath of relief, feeling the tension ease from my shoulders. This was so not me, but I had to maintain the facade of strength for just a little longer.

Upon entering the mansion, I was greeted by the sight of my stepmother, dressed impeccably as always, her expression cold and distant. It was clear she was preparing to leave, her belongings already gathered by the door.

The moment I saw her, I could feel my back sting. I remembered the way she had hurt me for taking things that belonged to Aurora— even playing with Aurora was considered a sin.

Traumatic memories flooded my mind: the fear of the flat iron burning my skin, the dread of being flogged, and the pain of doctors stitching my injuries to hide them from my father. I was her punching bag, the one she needed to pour her psychotic tendency on.

I shook my head, trying to dispel the haunting thoughts. I had done nothing wrong.

As I watched my father approach, Janice's face changed from its usual icy demeanor to a sad smile. Such a great actress, I thought bitterly, masking her true intentions behind a facade of concern.

"Ember darling, where have you been? You did not stay for the wedding?" Janice said stepping closer and placing her hand on my forehead.

I tried not to flinch and kept a cold gaze. It was foolish for her to ask me why I did not stay for the wedding when basically it was my wedding they stole.

Pathetic. I was pathetic for letting them steal from me for too long.

Don't say much, Zayn had said so I kept quiet.

Janice's eyes held confusion as I refrained from running into her arms, refusing to crave her toxic love.

"What are you doing here?" My father's voice cut through the tension.

I shifted away from Janice and looked at my father as he stepped into the house. "I am here to get my things," I replied, trying to keep my voice steady.

He scoffed dismissively. "You have nothing here," he declared coldly.

I bit my lip, repeating Zayn's words in my head like a mantra. "Don't say anything. Don't say anything." Taking a deep breath, I managed, "I want to get my clothes. The rest you can keep it. Just like my birthright."

Janice came closer, her expression a mix of concern and curiosity. "But sweet Ember, where would you go? What do you even mean by birthright? You're still the heiress to the Stark Corporation. Remember, you willingly gave your mum's fashion company to Aurora."

One of the biggest mistakes I made.

Would it still be considered willingly when Aurora had pointed a gun on my head and told me to sign the paper, and if I had dared say a word about it she would make it that I never found my mum.

All lies and petty threats, still stupid me fell for it.