The Ugly Duckling

The Agnes family was perfect — at least in the eyes of everyone else.

Golden hair, porcelain skin, and striking blue eyes ran in their bloodline like a royal trait. Camille, the eldest daughter, was graceful and praised like a goddess. Adrian, the eldest son, was the pride of the family — athletic, charming, brilliant. Even their youngest, Clarisse, was delicate as a doll with curls kissed by sunlight.

And then there was Issa.

With hair the color of moonlit frost and eyes the shade of the deepest ocean, she was the odd one out. A single look at her was enough to earn a scoff from her mother, a slap from her father, or cruel words from her siblings.

“You’re a mistake,” her mother would sneer.

“Stop looking at me with those cursed eyes,” Adrian spat once, throwing her against a wall.

“No one will ever love a freak like you,” Camille said sweetly, brushing Issa’s hair only to yank it hard moments later.

Their abuse wasn’t just emotional — it was ritual. A daily cycle of dehumanization. She was the family’s secret, the shame hidden behind drawn curtains and tight smiles at galas. They blamed her for things that broke, for secrets that leaked, for their own unhappiness.

But Issa took it. She endured it all in silence — because she wanted to belong. She tried to smile like Camille, study like Adrian. She worked harder, cried quieter. Maybe, just maybe, they’d one day see her as part of the family.

The only one who ever did… was Clarisse.

The youngest child, just twelve, was the gentle heartbeat of the house. She never raised her voice. Never joined the others in mocking Issa. When Issa was locked in the attic without food, Clarisse would sneak up the stairs late at night, quietly push open the door, and bring her warm dinner — food she’d hidden from her own plate.

“Sis Issa… I saved this for you,” she’d whisper softly, placing it by her sister’s side with teary eyes.

She would hold Issa’s hand in the dark, wipe her tears with her small fingers, and hum lullabies they both barely remembered.

“I’m sorry they’re mean… You’re the prettiest person I know.”

Those moments were the only warmth in Issa’s cold world. And that warmth was what helped her survive.

But even that wasn’t enough to stop what was coming.

That hope died the day her father called her into his study.

He didn’t even look up from his whiskey glass.

“Your presence ruins this family’s name. You’ll never be one of us.”

Something inside Issa cracked.

“Then I won’t be,” she whispered, voice trembling but firm.

He blinked, surprised.

“What did you say?”

She looked up — straight into his eyes for the first time in years.

“I said I’m done,” she said louder, her fists clenched. “I’m done pretending I’m one of you.”

And then it exploded — years of pain, of bruises, of swallowed screams — all breaking loose like a dam giving way.

She threw the glass vase at the door. She screamed back at Camille, who tried to slap her again. She pushed Adrian when he grabbed her wrist. She tore the family portrait from the wall and shattered it beneath her heel.

“You’ll regret this!” her mother cried.

Issa turned, hair wild, eyes like a storm.

“No. You’ll regret not killing me when you had the chance.”

She ran.

Not out of fear, but freedom. For the first time in her life, she wasn’t scared. She wasn’t crawling. She was done being their ghost.

Her breaths were shaky, her heart pounding. She stopped at the empty park where she used to go as a kid. The moon hung above like a silent witness.

She pulled out her phone with trembling fingers… and called the only person she ever trusted outside that house.

“Felix,” she said the moment he picked up.

There was silence on the other line, then a calm but concerned voice.

“Issa? Where are you? What’s wrong?”

She bit her lip, tears finally spilling.

“I need your help,” she said. “I want to disappear. For good. I want… I want to start over.”

Another pause. Then his voice, firm and unwavering:

“Tell me where you are. I’m on my way.”

That night, Issa Agnes died.

And from the ashes of that cold-blooded family’s discarded daughter, a new identity began to rise — forged by pain, strengthened by betrayal, and named with power:

Shana Rivera.

And beside her…

The only one who never saw her as a monster.

Felix Delgado.

End of Chapter 1

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