The night fell silent over the city, and the cold wind whispered through the branches of the trees in the garden of the Moretti mansion. The mansion, imposing and old, seemed to hold dark secrets within its stone walls and large glass windows. The sky was heavy with clouds, obscuring the moon, as if the universe itself were trying to hide what was about to happen.

A woman approached the mansion, her quick, heavy steps echoing on the stone pavement. Her face was marked by pain and suffering, her eyes swollen from crying and anguish. The wind whipped her disheveled hair, but she didn't seem to care. The only sound that mattered now was that of her heart beating hard, fast, fearfully.

She clutched a bundle tightly to her chest, a weight that seemed more than she could bear. Inside the bundle, a child—so small, so vulnerable, so innocent. The life of a girl who, unknowingly, carried the fruit of a forbidden love. She looked one last time at the mansion, her gaze full of regret and fear, but the decision was made. There was no turning back.

With a pained sigh, the woman placed the bundle in the basket she carried and left it at the mansion gate. The girl inside, with large, curious eyes, stared at her mother with an expression only an innocent child could have, not understanding what was happening. The woman knelt slowly, leaving a carefully folded letter beside the child.

— Forgive me, Michael — she whispered, the words mixing with the tears streaming down her face. — I can't protect her, but I know you can. She's all I have. Take care of her, please!

With a final look full of farewell and pain, the woman stood up, her hands trembling. She rang the doorbell and quickly walked away, her heart heavy with the certainty that she would never see the child again. And then, she disappeared into the darkness of the night, like a shadow dissipating at the first touch of light.

The housekeeper sent one of the staff to check who was tormenting the family at that hour.

The man returned with the small basket and the letter in his hands. The housekeeper called for her employer, who hated to be interrupted, but this was a serious matter.

When Michael Moretti saw the girl there. Huddled in the basket, with large, confused eyes, she looked like a lost angel, but Michael knew immediately who she was. He recognized her not by her face, which was still a child's, but by blood, by the bond that united her to him, an eternal and undeniable tie.

Her eyes, blue and bright, were just like those of the woman with whom he had shared an impossible and forbidden love. The woman who was supposed to be a secret buried in the past. And there was his daughter, living proof of something he could never admit.

Michael looked at the letter, his fingers tightening on the paper, reading and rereading the words as if they were a spell, a curse. The woman he had loved had left him with this responsibility, with this daughter he could never present to the world. He couldn't let anyone know he had had a child out of wedlock. He couldn't. The scandal, the shame, the consequences would be catastrophic for his position and power.

He looked at his wife, who had appeared silently at the door, her eyes burning with anger and suspicion. She knew about the relationship, but not about the child. Or so everyone thought. Her anger, contempt, and jealousy were instantaneous, and the girl's presence only fueled it. But Michael had no choice.

— Hide her. — He ordered, his voice hoarse and emotionless. — She will be raised as a servant. No one can know about her.

His wife, consumed by fury, looked at the child with contempt, but knew there was nothing she could do; Michael's word was always the first and the last. In her heart, she had already decided that the girl would be nothing more than a burden to be hidden, a shadow in the house that would never be visible.

Alice was treated as a servant from that moment on. As she grew, she washed dishes, cleaned rooms, served guests, always invisible to others' eyes, but watched with hatred by Michael's wife. The house was never a home for her, but a disguised prison. At night, when the day ended and the others went to their beds, she was locked in the basement, where the darkness seemed to swallow her completely. The cage was her only protection against the cruel world outside and against the fury of her stepmother, who wanted to see her dead.

The basement, a damp and cold place, became the only space where she could hide from everything. And yet, even there, Alice maintained her strength. Her soul was immune to abuse and suffering.

As she grew older, Alice was given a room, if it could even be called that, but at least she wouldn't be locked in the darkness of the underground. The young woman grew up with a defiant gaze, but also with a sweet heart that no one had ever seen up close.

She was a paradox, a child full of anger and tenderness, marked by suffering, but with an inner strength that made her fight for something more. She knew that the world out there, despite being cruel and unforgiving, still had something to offer to those who had the courage to reach for it.

And when the opportunity came, she would rise. Nothing, not even the man who brought her into the world, would be able to hold her forever. Alice Moretti was a woman made of light and darkness, and no one, not even the man who kept her as a servant, could predict what she would become.

Mornings at the Moretti mansion began before dawn, with the muffled sound of hurried footsteps and orders whispered through the hallways. For Alice, each day was a silent battle.

As long as she could remember, she knew she wasn't welcome there. She had grown up hearing the maids whisper about the night she was left on the mansion's doorstep. How she was probably abandoned by her mother, without a name, only with a thin blanket and an antique brooch. She had been found by one of the employees, the only one there who was her friend. The poor gardener had a great affection for her, but this friendship led her stepmother to convince her husband that the gardener had to be dismissed, and as she always got everything, so it was done.

"An unwanted child." That's how her stepmother always referred to her, the venom dripping from every word, but this was nothing new, Isadora hated her with all her might and she made no effort to hide it.

At 20, Alice carried the invisible scars of a life of rejection. Although no one said it directly, she knew she was the daughter of Michael Moretti, the local mafia boss. He never admitted it, but the way he avoided looking at her or how he changed the subject when asked about her said more than any words.

That morning, Alice started her day as she always did, cleaning the main hall before the family woke up. The marble floor gleamed under the soft glow of the chandeliers, and she moved with agility, cleaning every corner.

While setting the table for breakfast, the housekeeper, a stern woman named Leticia, entered the room.

"Hurry up, girl. We don't have all day." Her tone was cold, almost mechanical.

Alice didn't answer, just quickened her pace. Talking too much or too little always got her into trouble, so she learned that staying silent always spared her from punishment, even if her services weren't indispensable, either in the house or outside of it.

Even though Alice had Moretti blood in her veins, she was a mere servant inside and outside the mansion. Michael used her for his business and always made it clear that no one could know who she was; Alice just obeyed, since the only time she tried to run away she spent a week locked in the basement, without food and only a bottle of water. She knew that if she tried again, the punishment would be worse.

When Michael came down to the dining room, Alice was already serving coffee. He cast a quick glance in her direction, as if recognizing something in her, but soon looked away, concentrating on the documents he carried.

It was inevitable, Alice possessed a natural beauty, so much like the woman he had loved, but everything was left behind, his love turned into hatred and resentment, on the same day Alice was left at his door, and Alice paid for it, she was the living memory of abandonment.

"Michael, we need to talk about our princess's party." Her stepmother's voice sounded loud and irritated, interrupting the silence.

Alice remained motionless, trying to make herself invisible. She knew that any mistake, however small, would be used against her, so she left, leaving them alone.

At the end of the day, Alice returned to her room. The room, different from the others, consisted only of a bed, a wardrobe, and a dressing table. It was the only place where she could breathe without feeling the judging eyes of her stepmother or the servants.

The space was small, so different from the luxurious mansion, yet Alice was grateful at least to have a roof over her head, even if she hated that place and those people. One day she would achieve her freedom.

She walked to the dressing table and sat down, brushed her reddish-brown hair, and looked at the center. There was the brooch that was left with her when they found her. The silver piece, delicately carved, was the only connection she had to her past. She held it for a moment, studying the details worn by time. Who had placed it on her? Who was her mother? These questions haunted her, especially on lonely nights.

She sighed, placing the brooch in her long hair, before opening one of the old books she had found in the mansion. Reading was her only escape, imagining a simple life outside the walls that made her a prisoner in a way, a life without having to be a hostage to her own father.

Alice closed her eyes and imagined herself in a house facing the sea, the breeze messing up her hair, the air filling her lungs, the saltwater wetting her feet, but it was all just a wish, something Alice was not even close to achieving.

Getting up from the chair, she removed the brooch and prepared to sleep. The next day would be as long as the others.

The next morning, while Alice was cleaning the hallways, she heard her stepmother's hurried footsteps. Before she could avoid it, the woman appeared in front of her, her eyes sparkling with anger.

"You left dust in the main hall." The accusation came without warning.

"I cleaned it, ma'am." Alice replied, keeping her tone calm.

"Are you calling me a liar?" Her voice rose, echoing through the hallway, followed by the sound of a hard slap.

Alice brought her hand to her face, which was surely reddened by the slap. She knew that no matter what she said, her stepmother would always find an excuse to punish her.

"No, ma'am. I'll clean it again." She said, lowering her eyes to avoid direct confrontation.

The woman laughed, a cold, sharp sound.

"That's right. Remember you're here out of charity. You should be grateful."

Alice kept her head down, but inside, she felt anger growing. “Grateful?” she thought, bitterly. Grateful for a life of servitude? For being treated like a mistake? What exactly should I be grateful for?

She clenched her fists, promising herself that one day she would leave there.

That night, Alice went out into the garden, seeking a moment of peace. The stars were hidden by heavy clouds, and the cold wind made the tree branches sway.

She walked to the gate, her eyes fixed on the deserted road beyond the high walls. It was there, at that point, that her life had begun.

"One day, I'll get out of here." She murmured to herself, her voice laden with determination.

Alice knew that her life would not be defined by the rejection or hatred she faced in the mansion. She was stronger than that. And, when the opportunity arose, she would seize it with all her might, even if she was caught again, at least she would have tried. She could endure a week of hunger and thirst, but only if she was caught, and she would try not to be.

As she returned to her room, she felt the weight of her mother's abandonment, like a silent reminder that her past was a mystery to be unraveled, or perhaps it was better to just accept it and move on.

And, in the silence of the mansion, Alice Moretti swore that one day everyone would know who she was and what she was forced to do.

Alice Moretti - 20 years old

The days in the Moretti mansion followed a cruel monotony. Alice would get up before everyone else, work in silence, and return to her room, always behind the scenes, invisible to the family and especially to the guests. However, with each passing day, something inside her grew: an insatiable desire to know the real world, beyond the high walls that surrounded her gilded cage.

That morning, Alice was polishing the mirrors in the main hall when she heard voices coming from the hallway. She stopped for a moment, keeping quiet behind the ornate frame.

"And what about Camilla's birthday party?" "asked the stepmother in her authoritarian tone."

"Everything is being organized. I just want to make sure our family name is spoken of for its elegance, not for scandals." Michael replied, his voice low but firm.

The name “Camilla” made Alice’s stomach churn. Michael's legitimate daughter was everything she could never be: admired, protected, the family jewel. Camilla knew this and made sure to rub her superiority in Alice's face whenever she had the chance.

As Alice returned to her work, her stepmother's words echoed in her mind. The party was an important event, and she knew she would be overloaded with tasks to ensure everything was perfect.

The following afternoon, Alice was in the kitchen preparing the flower arrangements for the party when Camilla entered, her high heels echoing on the floor.

"Alice, I need you." Camilla said, tossing a dress box onto the table.

Alice took a deep breath, hiding her irritation.

"What do you need, Miss Camilla?"

Camilla smiled, but the gesture was full of malice.

"I need you to adjust this dress. It’s a little loose. And make sure you don’t leave any marks on the seams. I don’t want to look poorly dressed at my own party."

"Of course." Alice replied, already taking the box.

As she went up to her room with the dress, Alice felt the familiar sense of humiliation. Camilla didn't need her to adjust anything. It was just another way to remind her that she was inferior.

In her room, Alice opened the box and took out the dress. It was a delicate fabric, with embroidery of shiny stones that seemed to magically capture the light. She held the dress against her body, imagining for a brief moment what it would be like to wear it.

She walked to the worn-out mirror. The reflected image was a cruel contrast: her tired face and eyes marked by the fatigue of someone who never rested, against the luxurious shine of the dress.

"Don’t delude yourself, Alice." she murmured to herself. "This will never be yours, everything you have is borrowed, stop dreaming."

She put the dress aside and began to adjust it, her skilled hands working quickly. However, in the back of her mind, the idea of being at her own party, of being seen as an equal, continued to torment her, yet, this would never happen.

That night, while putting away some arrangements in the hall, Alice was surprised by the presence of the governess, Leticia. The woman, usually cold and distant, seemed to want to say something.

"Alice." she called, her voice low.

Alice stopped, looking at the governess cautiously.

"Yes, ma'am?"

"You are an intelligent girl. But your intelligence can be your greatest enemy here." Leticia said, her eyes fixed on her.

Alice frowned, not understanding.

"What do you mean?"

Leticia sighed, looking around before continuing.

"Don’t try to draw attention, girl. The mistress is always watching, waiting for a reason to get rid of you."

"I know that." Alice replied, in a defensive tone.

"No, you don’t." Leticia said, shaking her head. "I’m only saying this because I saw what happened to..."

"To whom?" Alice questioned.

"Just don’t act too smart, but one thing, rest, they will need you tomorrow night, Mr. Michael sent word, don’t leave your room, you need to be well-rested and without that tired look on your face."

Alice didn’t answer, but those words remained etched in her mind. Leticia knew more than she let on, but Alice also knew that no one there spoke openly about the Moretti family’s secrets.

Leticia withdrew, and Alice left afterwards, she was already thinking about what she would do the next night, what task would be assigned to her this time.

The next day, Alice slept late, waking up at lunchtime. She freshened up and went down to eat. She decided to get a head start on the arrangements; she was finishing organizing the flowers in the hall when Michael entered. He was on the phone, giving orders in a firm tone.

She tried to move away, but he saw her. For a moment, their eyes met. It was rare for Michael to look directly at Alice, and this made her uncomfortable.

"You..." he began, pointing to the flowers. "Did this?"

Alice nodded, not knowing what to expect.

"They are good." he said.

It was a simple compliment, but Alice felt a pang of confusion. Michael rarely spoke to her, much less in a positive way.

"Go up and rest, the night will be long, you will receive instructions shortly." Michael finished and left.

That night, as she was getting ready, Alice thought about her interaction with Michael and her conversation with Leticia. Something inside her was changing. She didn’t know what it was, but she felt that destiny was in motion.

With the brooch in her hands, she studied it once more, her fingers tracing the details engraved in the silver.

"Who are you?" she asked in a low voice, as if the object could answer. "Why did you abandon me, Mommy?"

Alice knew she needed to discover the truth about her past. She knew that what was hidden there was more than rejection.

And before she could question herself again, the door opened.

Isadora Moretti (Stepmother)

Camilla Moretti

Michael Moretti