​Slap! The sound cracked through the drawing-room silence, sharp and brutal. A collective gasp rippled through the line of assembled servants.

​Father’s hand was still raised, his fury making the veins in his neck bulge. He pointed a shaking finger directly at me.

​“If it wasn't for your mother’s memory, I would have put you out of this house long ago, you ungrateful brat! Now, you will apologize to your sister immediately!” he roared, his face a terrifying, boiling red.

​“Father, please, it wasn’t her fault,” Aisha whimpered, clutching his arm with feigned distress.

​“Stop making excuses for her, Aisha,” he snapped, though his voice softened fractionally for her.

​I watched Aisha from the corner of my eye. She was pressed against her heavily pregnant mother, and while she squeezed out tears for her performance, a tiny, triumphant smile pulled at the corner of her lips—a detail only I seemed to catch. Her mother, never one to miss an opportunity, shot me a venomous glare before turning her full attention to comforting her 'distraught' daughter.

​Of course, I said nothing to defend myself. What was the point? He would never listen. This cruel ritual had played out countless times over the years. I had simply given up on trying to appeal to the man who was supposed to be my father.

​This low-life bastard cheated on my mother to defend his illegitimate daughter. The thought was a bitter, comforting mantra in my mind.

​The Defiance

​I let my eyes lift slowly, locking onto his. My silence, usually a sign of defeat, seemed to confuse him. I held his gaze, and then, a cold, hard resolve crystallized inside me. I spoke, my voice dangerously soft, slicing through the heavy air.

​“You’re right. I am ungrateful. Ungrateful to live in the house of a low-life, cheating bastard.”

​The words were like a physical blow. Father stared, momentarily startled, the blood draining from his face. But the shock quickly curdled into incandescent rage. He lifted his hand again, faster this time, aiming another blow.

​Before his palm could connect, my hand shot out and seized his wrist. The contact was solid, jarring. I didn't just hold his arm; I gripped it with an unexpected, fierce strength and looked up into his eyes, my own expression dark and utterly devoid of fear.

​“You low-life, cheating bastard,” I repeated, the insult now a title of contempt. “There is no place in your pathetic world left to disgrace me. You want me gone? Fine. I’ll go.”

​I released his arm and stepped around him, my walk not a retreat, but a deliberate, unstoppable march. The silence I left behind was shattered by his booming rage.

​“Don’t you ever dare come back!” he shrieked, followed by the sickening slam of the front door, shaking the very foundation of the house.

​A New Life Begins

​I ignored the fading sound, my heart beginning to pound—not with sadness, but with pure, exhilarating excitement. Just beyond the gates, under the afternoon sun, stood exactly what I was waiting for: a luxurious carriage bearing the unmistakable Duke Crescent’s Flag on its door.

​The coachman, immaculate and stoic, bowed deeply—a profound, respectful gesture that held more deference than my own father had ever shown me.

​“Duchess,” he stated, his voice a low reverence as he opened the carriage door.

​I hadn't taken a single belonging. I didn’t need any keepsakes from that prison. I simply stepped into the opulent carriage, settling into the plush velvet seat. As the horses started to pull us away, I watched the house that had been my cage shrink in the window’s frame.

​I wasn’t sad. I wasn’t hurt. I was simply amazed by the view of the open road ahead.

​Because starting today, my life of shame and abuse was over. Starting today, I was the Duchess House of Miller’s.

​My mother’s grave was still fresh when my father ushered the usurpers into our home.

​A few short days after the funeral, his mistress, Elona, and her daughter, Aisha, moved in. Aisha was my age—three years old. They even shared my birthday, which Father proudly presented as proof that Aisha was his one legitimate daughter. I was the inconvenient secret, and she was the shiny replacement.

​I spent those early years watching them, a small, cold knot of hatred tightening in my chest. I often wondered if Mother knew of his cheating. I glared, the child's silent resentment burning. The transition from distant father to absent father was quick; his affection, his smiles, his life—all belonged to the usurpers.

​The Fury of the Forgotten

​Then came our shared birthday. Father had promised me a grand party for months. I didn't suspect a thing. I remember feeling beautiful in my brand-new, puffy, purple tutu dress, my hair neatly tied with matching bows.

​The moment arrived. The servants wheeled in the cake. And everyone began singing.

​"Happy Birthday to you..."

​But they didn't look at me. The song was for Aisha, who sat beside her beaming mother, in the spotlight next to my father. They were a picture-perfect family, celebrating their triumph while I, the true daughter, was already forgotten.

​I watched them cheer as Aisha leaned in to blow out the candles. It wasn't sadness that hit me; it was a flash of white-hot, furious realization: I would not be erased.

​I screamed. The sound was raw, a desperate cry of a three-year-old demanding recognition.

​I charged the table. Using every bit of strength in my tiny body, I grabbed the platter and flipped the entire cake. The sticky, sweet mess—icing, cherries, and crumbled layers—splashed directly onto Aisha's face and hair.

​“Ahhhh!” she shrieked, the sweet victory literally running down her face. Elona screamed too, scrambling to peel the sugary layers off her princess.

​Father’s voice came out as a strangled, deafening roar. “Donna!”

​I planted my feet, jutting out my lip. “Did you forget today was my birthday, Daddy?” I yelled, ensuring every shocked adult in the room could hear the accusation.

​The collective gasp was a moment of utter silence before the murmuring began. Faces turned from Aisha's mess to Father's terrified face.

​“Wait, isn’t that his true daughter, Lady Donna?” a woman whispered. The whispers spread like fire, connecting the dots of betrayal.

“Both the same age.”

“Same birthday.”

“Does that mean Aisha is the illegitimate daughter and her mother the mistress?”

​I let a single, triumphant smirk flash across my face. Father’s body twitched with barely contained violence. He saw Elona’s discomfort, the shame on his face. He wanted to strike me down, but he couldn't lose his reputation in front of his esteemed guests. The silence was his defeat.

​“Due to unexpected circumstances,” he announced stiffly, his voice strained with fake composure, “we must, unfortunately, end the party early this evening.”

​The Calculated Escape

​The aftermath was inevitable. Father ordered the nanny to deprive me of food or water for two days and locked me in my room. A petty punishment. I was already prepared, having squirreled away wrapped bread, apples, and a pitcher of water—survival tools learned from repeated neglect. The maids were too lazy to clean my room, so I was safe.

​I watched the clock, counting down to my freedom. Tonight. Father, Elona, and Aisha were attending a grand ball. Tonight, I was leaving this manor.

​I packed my rations into an old pillowcase. Carefully, I climbed onto the windowsill. The drop was frightening, but the thought of staying was worse. I slipped out, landing silently in the flowerbed below.

​Outside the main door, the family carriage waited. I crept to the back, lifted the heavy trunk lid, and squeezed inside, pulling the lid down to leave just a sliver of air.

​I heard their muffled voices as they boarded, the arrogant chatter of the family I was escaping.

"Mom, do you think George will like my newly purchased garment?" Aisha sounded giddy.

"Any of the boys would, that's right, honey," Elona crooned.

“Yes, our daughter is the loveliest; George will adore it.” Father's pride was nauseating.

​The carriage ride was a bumpy thirty minutes. It halted at the palace gates. I held my breath, ready to leap out the moment they entered.

​But then, the carriage started moving again. My heart hammered. What if I was trapped?

​Suddenly, the trunk door swung wide open.

​I stared up at the coachman, Mr. Ron, his face a mask of concern. “Lady Donna, you are welcome to depart now.”

​Relief flooded me, quickly followed by suspicion. “How did you know I was here?”

​Mr. Ron sighed, his eyes full of sympathy. “You ought to be relieved it was me and not your father. I may not know why you’re fleeing, but whatever the reason, I understand.”

​I scrambled out and wrapped my arms around his legs. “Thank you, Mr. Ron.”

​He set me down on the dusty road. As he turned away, I called out, a final, desperate idea forming in my mind.

​“Mr. Ron!”

“Yes, Lady Donna.”

“Can I ask you one question?”

​He turned, waiting.

​“Do you know the whereabouts of my grandfather on my mother’s side?”

​The question visibly shocked him. He looked at me, curiosity warring with concern. “Indeed, lovely Donna. Is this the cause?” I nodded. “He might be at the ball tonight, I’m not certain. But I will gladly escort you to the Duke’s palace.”

​“Yes, please,” I whispered, tears finally stinging my eyes. Mr. Ron was my only lifeline.

​The Duke's Embrace

​The carriage moved with new purpose, taking me away from my old life and toward a terrifying unknown.

​We stopped at the Duke Miller’s palace. It was massive, overwhelming. When Mr. Ron helped me out, Duke Miller and his butler, John, were standing at the entrance. They both froze, staring at a small girl in patched pajamas being helped from a carriage.

​Inside the magnificent parlor, the Duke—my grandfather—sat across from me, his expression intense.

​“Does your father know you are here at this hour, young lady?” he demanded.

​“Wait—you know who I am?”

​He gave me a look of fierce protectiveness. “Naturally. You are my sole granddaughter. You are the image of my daughter.” The relief was a warmth I’d never felt. I didn’t have to fight anymore.

​“Tell me what’s happened.”

​My fists unclenched. I looked down. “My father neglected me.”

​The words were soft, yet they detonated in the quiet room. Mr. Ron stepped forward, tears in his eyes. “Sir, I can verify. Please help her.”

​Duke Miller’s eyes darkened with a cold, terrifying fury. “So, he dared to harm my grandchild.” He slammed his hand on the table. “John!”

​“Send a message to the King immediately. Tell him an urgent matter of blood has pulled me from the ball. I will explain later.”

​John bowed and hurried out.

​“Mr. Ron, you may go. Donna, you stay here. I will handle this.”

​Mr. Ron pulled me into a tearful hug. “You’re in safe custody, Lady Donna. Just lead a good life.”

​Grandfather watched him go. “He is a good man.” He then led me away. “Come on. You’re exhausted.”

​The maids helped me bathe and dressed me in soft, warm clothes. Later, I drifted off in the huge bed, finally safe.

​But one thought kept me awake: My father was still celebrating at the royal ball, completely unaware that the Duke he was trying to impress had just become the architect of his ruin.

​The next morning, I woke up right where I'd fallen asleep: curled in a velvet armchair in the parlor. It was real. I hadn't dreamed it.

​A moment later, a brisk knock sounded. “Donna, are you awake?” Grandfather’s voice boomed from the hall.

​He stepped in, holding a neatly folded stack of clothes. “The maid says her son’s clothing ought to fit for the moment. After breakfast, we’re going to O’Barlly Town Square to get you properly fitted. We’ll outfit you completely.”

​I took the clothes. “Thank you, Grandfather. I’ll promise to pay you back once I get a job.”

​He stopped, his brow furrowed in confusion, which quickly twisted into a look of hurt. “Pay me back? Child, you are my granddaughter. You shouldn't worry about such things.” He puffed up, indignant, and stomped out of the room. I stood staring blankly at the closed door, and from the hall, I heard the maid stifle a giggle.

​A New Look

​I quickly changed into the simple tunic and trousers. Grandfather was waiting outside, hands clasped behind his back, pretending not to pout. We proceeded to the Great Hall for breakfast.

​Once we’d eaten, we were off. The carriage ride was a blur until we arrived in the bustling square, stopping at a charming boutique called Madam Loffy’s. It was a whirlwind of soft fabric, shimmering ribbons, and the scent of expensive perfume. For the next hour, I was measured, pinned, and fitted for an entire wardrobe. I even had my hair professionally done—the simple act of letting someone else fuss over me felt unbelievably luxurious.

​“Grandpa, I’m done,” I whispered, stepping from behind the curtain, shyly looking at my new shoes.

​Grandfather looked up and his excited expression melted into something soft and nostalgic. I was wearing a vibrant, silky yellow gown embroidered with elaborate floral designs. It had a fitted bodice, a flattering rectangular collar, and a long skirt trimmed with ruffles. My dark hair was wrapped tightly with a matching yellow ribbon, falling in fluffy curls around my shoulders.

​“You truly do look like your mother, Anna,” he murmured, his eyes shining.

​My own eyes sparkled in response. Hearing him say that felt like a warm embrace.

​“Here are the rest of her clothes you ordered, Duke Miller,” Madam Loffy’s associate chimed in, walking out with what seemed like a mountain of boxes. “All with matching sets, including shoes and hair accessories!”

​My panic returned. All that?

​“That will be $56,000 Ton, Duke Miller,” the associate said in a rushed tumble of words.

​I felt dizzy, and one of Grandfather's guards rushed to check on me. My grandfather, Duke Miller, merely pulled out a ledger, signed a few lines, and paid the staggering amount away as if it were a trivial sum.

​He turned to the associate. “Would you kindly have these delivered to my home today, Mrs.? I’ll cover the additional cost of shipping.” He offered the woman a gentle, charming smile.

​“Of course, Duke Miller!” she exclaimed.

​Grandfather then turned to me. “We have time for a quick visit to the Imperial Palace before we head home, alright?”

​The Imperial Palace. My anxiety and excitement warred inside me, but I nodded. It was a place I’d only read about in books.

​An Unexpected Audience

​We were escorted past polished marble floors and towering statues until we reached the grand Throne Room of King Richard Thompson. He was every bit the commanding figure of the tales: a handsome man with chestnut hair and brown eyes that held a chilly, authoritative stare.

​The King rose, descended from the throne, and walked right past Grandfather, stopping behind him to examine my face with his hands on his hips. His expression broke into a warm, surprised grin. “Wow! So this is the indefinite one who encouraged Duke Miller to bravely skip my ball?” He chuckled.

​“She’s my granddaughter,” Grandfather said, a note of warning in his voice.

​The King’s eyes widened slightly. “Ah, that explains why she resembles Anna. Anna and I would have been married if it wasn’t for your father, little one.” He touched his chin, a playful gleam in his eyes.

​Grandfather’s face darkened with fury. “Married to you?” I asked, confused.

​“Your Majesty,” Grandfather said, his voice dropping to an icy, dangerous register. “I strongly advise you never to speak so loosely to a child.”

​The King gazed at him, seemingly shocked but also a little thrilled by the Duke's brazenness. Then his face brightened with a new idea.

​“Fetch my daughter, Helen!” he commanded his servants.

​A few moments later, a girl my age appeared, wearing a sophisticated lavender dress with puff sleeves and a soft yellow belt. She curtsied elegantly. “Yes, Daddy?”

​“You have a brand-new friend,” the King announced. “This is the grandchild of Duke Miller. Come, reintroduce yourselves.”

​Princess Helen walked over to me, her face alight with curiosity. “My name is Princess Helen Thompson. Hello. It’s lovely to meet you.”

​Grandfather nudged me gently. “Don’t be shy, greet her.”

​I turned to the Princess and bowed low. “My name is Lady Donna. Princess Helen, it is an honor to meet you.”

​The King clapped his hands together twice, a cheerful sound in the vast room. “I have it! Why don’t you two enjoy a pleasant, private tea party picnic? Your grandfather and I have… affairs to attend to in the interim.” He gave Grandfather a sly smile, which only seemed to irritate the Duke further.

​Princess Helen, however, was delighted. She seized my hand and led me out toward the Royal Garden, where she quickly arranged a picnic of food and drink.

​Royal Tea and Twin Trouble

​“It’s been ages since I’ve had a visitor,” Princess Helen confided, picking up her cup of tea. “To be honest, I don’t have any friends. They used to try, but it was always a scheme to exploit my family’s name or get closer to my elder brother.”

​The idea of a princess having trouble making friends intrigued me. Feeling safe and comfortable, I found myself speaking casually, explaining the upheaval of my life until just a day ago.

​Princess Helen teared up as I spoke, but I reassured her that everything was alright now. “Honestly, the fact that you genuinely want to be my friend surprises me even more. I never had any friends either. Everyone always shunned me, siding with my half-sister the moment she showed up.” I sighed, looking into my teacup.

​A voice cut us off. “You have company, Sis? This is not common.”

​A boy dismounted a sleek horse and approached us in his princely clothing.

​“Lady Donna happens to be the granddaughter of Duke Miller. Come greet yourself,” Helen instructed.

​He took a step closer and froze. His heart seemed to skip a beat as he took in my appearance: the yellow dress and my chocolate-colored skin, gleaming in the sunlight.

​Princess Helen giggled. “Hello, Lady Donna. I’m Prince George. It’s nice to meet you,” he finally managed, bowing to me, a blush spreading across his cheeks.

​I blinked as I looked from one to the other. “Wait—are you two identical twins?”

​“Yes, George was born a few minutes before me,” Helen replied, waving a dismissive hand at him.

​“I traveled a great distance to check on you, and you have the audacity to dismiss me?” Prince George huffed, frowning and crossing his arms.

​Meanwhile, high above us, from a Royal Palace window, King Richard watched the scene below. He was barely smiling, dressed in a loose robe. He watched the children laughing and talking.

​“Your grandchild seems to have a powerful influence on my twins,” the King remarked to someone unseen. “I rarely see them open up like that. Interesting.”

​He glanced at Duke Miller, who was sitting on the lavish bed, flushed and covered in hickeys.

​“Shall we proceed with round two?” King Richard grinned, leaning closer.

​“You beast!” Duke Miller yelled, grabbing a pillow and hurling it at the King, who caught it with a laugh.

​“You aren’t still cross about my comment regarding your granddaughter, are you?” King Richard teased, climbing onto the bed, looming over the gorgeous old man who was glaring and blushing fiercely. “Part of it was true, you know. If it weren’t for her father, I would have been forced to marry Anna. And I never would have had the chance to truly be with you.” He looked admiringly at the Duke. “I turned down every planned engagement when I was an adult, of course. I needed heirs for the throne to be complete, but I didn’t need a wife. I hired a financially-strapped woman to carry my child. Who would have guessed I’d end up with twins? She was very grateful when I paid her handsomely to help her escape her own forced marriage.”

​Duke Miller turned to face him, seeing the love-filled truth in the King’s eyes. He reached up, his blushing hand brushing King Richard’s cheek. The King turned his head to kiss the palm. With a deepening blush, the Duke leaned forward, and their eyes closed as they met in a passionate kiss.

​The Duke’s Commission

​Later that day, on the way back home in the carriage, Duke Miller was silent, occasionally shifting awkwardly. He pulled out an official document and handed it to me.

​“Your residence name has been changed,” he explained, avoiding my eyes and blushing slightly. “Ensure that your father signs it. I won't be able to stay with you, but I’ll send you backup.”

​I held the document tightly, the paper rustling in my hand. My grandfather was leaving, but he wasn’t abandoning me. He was sending help.