1. Silent Rebellion

I sat at the big dining table, my little legs swinging beneath the heavy wood, barely able to reach the floor. The smell of roasted meat filled the air, but my stomach twisted in knots. My father’s laughter boomed around me, drowning out the voices of his wives, but I couldn’t join in. Something felt wrong.

“Father,” I said, my voice shaky but firm, “why can’t women rule? Why is it always you?”

The room fell silent. I could feel their eyes boring into me. My father’s smile disappeared, replaced by a dark glare. “Because men are superior, Cessalie. That’s how it is,” he snapped, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“But women do all the work!” I protested, my heart racing. “They take care of everything!”

In an instant, he shot a look at my mother, who was sitting quietly at the table. She rose from her seat and came toward me, her expression unreadable. I trembled as she grabbed my arm, her grip like iron.

“Enough!” she hissed, dragging me out of the dining room. I looked back at my siblings—Rylan was pale with fear, Meliora’s eyes were wide, and little Kaelen just stared, confused.

Once outside, she spun me around and slapped me across the face with a force that sent me stumbling back. My cheek burned, and tears sprang to my eyes. “You will know your place!” she snarled, her voice low and fierce.

“Please, stop!” I begged, but my words only seemed to make her angrier. She slapped me again, harder this time, and I cried out in shock and pain.

“Stay in your limits!” she shouted, her voice echoing through the empty halls. Each slap felt like a knife cutting into me, tearing at my spirit. I pressed my hands against my burning cheeks, wishing I could make the pain go away, wishing I could disappear.

But all I could do was stand there, trembling and broken, feeling the weight of her hatred crushing me. I hated her for this. I hated him for making her this way. All I wanted was to be seen, to be heard, but in that moment, I felt more invisible than ever, trapped in a nightmare I couldn’t escape.

...****************...

I opened my eyes and gazed into the mirror, watching as the maid delicately applied blush to the very cheek where my mother had struck me for the first time.

“Lady Cessalie, you’re ready to go,” she said, her eyes lingering on my cheeks for a brief moment before she stepped back.

I turned my face toward the mirror, scrutinizing the reflection. “Thank you. The scar needs to be covered,” I replied, my voice steady despite the memories swirling in my mind.

My mother had always worn her wedding ring backward, with the stone towards her palm. Its cold, unyielding surface left its mark with each harsh slap—a cruel reminder that the bruises would fade, but the bleeding scar would never disappear. It was a testament to the love I once craved but never received, etched into my skin like a permanent reminder of her fury.

As soon as I left my room, I was met with my mother, elegantly dressed, her soft expression an unchanging feature that offered me no comfort. It was a mask of vulnerability and oppression that only fueled my resentment. I hated her for the way she accepted her fate, never raising her voice or fighting for her rights as my father's legitimate wife.

In Valkathra, a man cannot take more than one wife unless he divorces or his spouse passes away. Yet my father, a man of indulgence and deceit, had three mistresses. The very thought twisted something inside me, an anger that burned fiercely for all that he took from her without a second thought.

I loathed the resemblance between us, those same real eyes inherited from her that always betrayed her sadness. My hair, the coral hue I got from my father, was a constant reminder of a legacy I wished to escape. I never wanted to look like them, to carry their burdens and shame.

“Cece? Are you ready?” My mother’s gentle voice pulled me from my thoughts, her smile bright but hollow.

I nodded, keeping my eyes forward, and walked past her, feeling her presence linger behind me like a shadow.

So naive, her blind optimism is only a reminder of the cage she had built around herself.

“Cece, your father told me to pass you a message,” she said, quickening her pace to walk beside me.

I didn’t stop. “What is it, Mother?” My voice was flat, stripped of the warmth she might have hoped to hear.

“He wants you to be present in the dining hall today.” Her tone was light, but I could sense the underlying tension, the hope that this would mean something—something more than another display of my father’s arrogance.

I paused. Froze. I didn’t look at her.

Slap. Laughter. Mother.

That memory haunted me, a shadow that loomed over every meal I was forced to share with my family. Ever since that incident, I’d avoided dinner with them entirely. I couldn’t stand the sight of them sitting there, too afraid to speak, as if their silence could shield them from the reality of our lives.

Why? Because they're women? That’s why they can’t stop the violence?

My jaw clenched at the thought. “Mother, I refuse politely,” I stated, my voice icy as I tried to move past her.

But she grabbed my wrist tightly, panic in her eyes. “Cece, no! Your father said if you do not attend, he… will punish me.”

Fucking bastard! He knows exactly what gets under my skin. He knows how to manipulate me.

Finally, I turned to her. She looked nervous, her hands trembling slightly as she sought to regain composure. “What is the matter?” I asked, softer now, though I fought to suppress the irritation boiling beneath the surface.

She shook her head, her eyes darting away, as if the truth was a fragile thing she couldn't bear to speak aloud. “I’m not allowed to discuss it before he does. Please understand.”

“I understand,” I replied, rolling my eyes. The bitterness was palpable on my tongue. No matter how much he abuses her, she’s loyal to him till the end. It’s disgusting.

I could feel the weight of her fear, but it only deepened my resentment.

Why should she protect him? Why should she continue to endure the torment he inflicted upon us both?

My mother’s loyalty was like a chain, binding her to a man who thrived on power and cruelty.

“Cece, please,” she urged, her voice trembling. “It’s for the best—”

“For the best?” I interrupted, incredulity flaring within me. “This is about survival, not about what’s ‘best’ for you! How can you call it that when he treats you like this?”

Her gaze dropped, and I could see the weight of her acceptance crushing her spirit. I released a heavy sigh, torn between my anger and the sympathy I felt for her plight.

“Just… just think about it, okay?” she pleaded, her grip loosening but her fear still evident.

I wanted to scream at her, to shake her awake from the stupor she lived in, but all I could manage was a curt nod. I hated this cycle. I hated how our lives were dictated by a man whose whims were as unpredictable as the wind.

“Fine. I’ll go,” I muttered, the words tasting bitter on my tongue.

“Thank you,” she breathed, relief washing over her face.

...----------------...

I was just about to enter the dining hall when I noticed my older brother approaching from the opposite direction. Rylan Evander Draevin stood tall, his athletic build accentuating his presence. His green eyes were a blend of our father’s dark intensity and his mother’s elegance, while his auburn hair mirrored hers in its vibrant hue.

As he got closer, his expression shifted from serious to a smirk, the corners of his lips lifting with a mixture of amusement and challenge.

He stopped in front of me, tall and dominant, but I refused to be intimidated by the noble aura he exuded. “Cece, what brought you near the dining hall, huh?” he asked, casually stuffing his hands into his pockets, as if the conversation were light-hearted.

I returned his smirk, feeling a spark of defiance. “Father wanted me here, brother.”

He hates it when Father’s attention shifts to me. As the rebellious and stubborn child, I was always the target of Father’s discipline, leaving Rylan to wallow in neglect—and I enjoyed it.

“Why would he want you here? You never shut your mouth,” he shot back, his smirk returning, though it lacked its usual superiority.

I stepped into the hall, and he followed closely behind, his footsteps echoing against the marble floor. “I’ll shut my mouth the day women start taking their stand,” I replied, my voice steady, even as I felt the weight of the atmosphere in the dining hall press against me.

Rylan scoffed, shaking his head as if my words were nothing but folly. “You really think that’s going to happen? You’re just making things harder for yourself, you know.”

“Harder?” I echoed, my frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “Maybe it’s time someone made things harder for them. The status quo has been suffocating for far too long.”

He fell silent for a moment, and I could see the wheels turning in his mind. Rylan had always been the pragmatic one, the one who chose to play the game rather than challenge it. “You’re going to get yourself hurt, Cece,” he finally said, his voice low and serious.

I met his gaze, unflinching. “I’d rather be hurt than live in fear. At least I’ll be fighting for something.”

“Just… be careful,” he replied, the concern creeping into his tone betraying his tough exterior.

I nodded curtly, dismissing his worry. The dining hall loomed ahead, filled with the usual pomp and circumstance. My heart raced with anxiety.

On the dining table sat Rylan's mother, Anwen Lyra, my father’s first mistress. She had been his true love, but due to my father’s arranged marriage to my mother, they could never wed, leaving Rylan to bear the stigma of being illegitimate. Anwen’s raven-black hair framed her sharp features, her lime-green eyes exuding an elegance that outshone the others, and her tall frame, even taller than my father’s, dominated the room.

Beside her sat his other mistress—Amara Lythienne, with her platinum blonde hair and calculating hazel eyes.

Across from them sat their children, each one of them a reminder of the fractures in this twisted family.

Meliora Estelle Draevin, my older half-sister, her lustrous blonde hair falling perfectly, her hazel eyes warm and inviting, but I knew better than to trust that gaze. She always masked her true self with a veneer of kindness. Sitting next to her, Evalise Iliana Draevin, her little shadow, with her strawberry-blonde hair and brown eyes, ever the eager spy for her sister. She’d follow Meliora into hell if it suited her.

And finally, Kaelen Thorne Draevin, the bastard who had recently turned 18. His uninterested hazel eyes scanned the room, no doubt trying to make sense of the incessant gossip exchanged between the mistresses. His light red hair was ruffled, a sign of his casual indifference, but I knew better. He had ambition too, hiding beneath that mask of aloofness.

Ugh! I hate seeing their faces.

Every time I sat at this table, the tension was suffocating. The air thick with silent judgments and the weight of unspoken rivalries. I despised them all—each one was a reminder of the corruption and brokenness of this family, of the lies and betrayals that held us together.

And here I was, forced to sit among them, playing the dutiful daughter in a house full of pretenders.

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