The Usurper's Cake

​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.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***