Chapter 3
1507words
The mirror didn’t feel real tonight.
For the first time in twenty years, I was wearing something new, not Ana’s cast‑offs, not something borrowed from the maids, but a dress sewn just for me. The soft fabric brushed my knees like silk rain. My hair actually smelled of lavender shampoo, not turpentine and paint fumes.
I should have been happy. Thrilled, even. Any girl would be. But my hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
The Grand Celestia Hotel glittered like a palace. Crystal chandeliers spilled warm light over marble floors, and every corner smelled faintly of roses and champagne. Guests in designer gowns and tailored suits filled the lobby, laughter and camera flashes echoing off the vaulted ceilings.
It’s my 'sister's wedding today. Ana Valeria Montenegro.
And then there was me standing at the base of the grand staircase, staring at the swirl of gowns and flashing cameras, wondering if I even belonged to this world.
“Lucky,” someone whispered from a nearby group.
The word cut through me like glass. I didn’t have to look to know they were talking about me.
'Lucky? If they only knew.'
If they saw the nights I painted until my fingers bled, the days I starved while Ana smiled for photographs. The scars a carried because of punishments I never did. But they never saw that part. No one ever did.
I smoothed the front of my pale blue dress, heart pounding so loud it drowned the music from the ballroom. Then Ana appeared.
She glided down the staircase like a princess stepping out of a fairy tale, her white designer gown clinging perfectly to her curves, diamonds glittering against her skin. Her smile was radiant, until she reached me. Then it turned to steel.
Without a word, she looped her arm through mine, nails digging into my wrist, and yanked me forward.
“Don’t look so nervous,” she murmured through clenched teeth. “You’re ruining the photos.” she said.
Before I could answer, the ballroom doors opened, and applause rolled toward us like thunder. Guests clapped as we entered, cameras flashing. Ana walked like she was born for this stage, chin high, soaking in every look of admiration.
Me? I just kept my head down. Safer that way.
But even from the corner of my eye, I saw people staring. Whispering.
“Is that the adopted one?”
“She’s pretty, isn’t she? I heard she lives like a princess now.”
“Imagine being taken in by the Montenegros. So lucky.”
I can hear them.
'Lucky. Huh?'
There it was again. I almost laughed. If only they knew.
Ana led me to our table, where I sat stiffly, trying to disappear. The ceremony hadn’t started yet. Servers glided by with trays of champagne. Somewhere across the room, a photographer’s flash caught Ana’s dazzling smile as she entertained guests like the perfect bride‑to‑be.
For a moment, I let myself believe I might actually enjoy tonight. Just for one night, I could be normal.
But Ana never allowed me even that.
She appeared at my shoulder, still smiling for the crowd. To anyone watching, she looked like the perfect sister checking in. But her whisper burned cold in my ear.
“Stand up and follow me.” she said
I obeyed instantly as I always do.
A staff member opened a side door as we approached, and my stomach sank when I saw what lay beyond.
An art room.
Tables lined with brushes and palettes. Fresh canvases waiting for hands like mine.
I froze. Ana shoved me forward, hard enough to nearly send me sprawling. I caught myself against the edge of a table, breath catching. The door shut behind us with a heavy thud.
“You’re going to paint something for me,” Ana ordered.
“What?” I turned, confused. “Your wedding’s about to start—”
Ana laughed, but there was no joy in it. “You actually thought I’d let you ruin my day? No, Avaleigh. You’re not going anywhere near my guests. Just your presence taints everything.” she said
“I’m not trying to ruin anything,” I murmured, throat tight.
“You don’t have to try,” she shot back, eyes glittering.
“Just existing is enough.” she continued.
The words sliced deeper than I wanted to admit.
“This is the happiest day of my life,” Ana said, her voice hardening to a whisper only I could hear. “I don’t want to see you for the rest of it. You should be grateful I even let you walk into the ballroom. That was Dad’s idea, not mine.”
Her gaze raked over me, cold and calculating.
“I want something beautiful. Perfect. Something I can give my loving husband. You know what will happen next if I don't get what I wanted” Her lips curled in a smirk.
A shiver shot through me at the memory, the smell of mold, the skitter of rats, the endless dark. I clenched my fists.
Ana stepped closer, voice dropping lower.
“The door will be locked. So don't bother trying to escape, unless you feel like jumping from the fiftieth floor.” she said.
She started to leave, then paused at the door, eyes gleaming.
“Oh, and one more thing. I invited Selene. You remember her? Your little best friend?” Her smirk deepened.
“So do your job.” she said as the door slammed shut.
I didn’t bother checking the lock. I knew her well enough. It would open only when she wanted it to. So I sat and painted.
Not because I wanted to. Not because I owed her anything. But because I had nowhere else to go.
I poured every ounce of anger, hatred, and exhaustion into the canvas. Every brushstroke was a scream I couldn’t let out. Every color was sharp, deliberate, a wound made visible.
When it was done, I leaned back and stared.
At first glance, it looked like a perfect wedding portrait, Ana and her groom at the altar, taken straight from one of their prenuptial photos. I’d dressed them in a gown and tuxedo, lips brushing in a picture‑perfect kiss.
But the background told another story.
A sea of white flowers surrounded them, not roses, not lilies of love, but blooms used in funeral rites. Tall, flickering candles stood like sentinels in mourning halls.
It was beautiful. Romantic, even, until you understood what it meant.
Ana would adore it. At least until someone pointed out that I’d painted a death scene instead of a wedding.
I smirked. That was the irony, the future CEO of Salazar Portrait Inc. didn’t even understand art.
The party outside was winding down. Any minute now, someone would come to fetch me. Right on cue, the door opened. But it wasn’t Ana.
“That’s… interesting.”
The voice was deep, smooth, masculine. I turned.
A man stood in the doorway, tall, sharp‑featured, with dark eyes that seemed to strip the paint right off the walls. His hair, tousled but deliberate, caught the light in warm brown highlights. He carried a wine glass like he owned the world because of his aura.
“You’re the one who painted this?” he asked, gaze still locked on the canvas.
I tilted my head, teasing. “Is it that obvious?”
He stepped closer, eyes now on me. There was amusement there, but something else too, curiosity? Calculation?
“Yeah. But tell me something…” His gaze flicked back to the flowers. “Are you sure you painted the right ones?” he asked me.
I grinned.
'He knew.'
Of course he did. Even a man like this, who didn’t look like he cared about flowers at all, understood what they meant.
“I did,” I said simply.
He raised a brow, lips twitching into the faintest smile. “You seem… interesting.”
“So do you,” I shot back.
His smile deepened, as if I’d surprised him. He sipped his wine, watching me like I was another painting to decipher.
Silence stretched, thick with something I couldn’t name. Heat prickled my skin. I should have looked away, but I didn’t.
“So…” I said, voice low, playful.
“Are you interested in a little adventure tonight?” I asked him
His eyes widened just slightly. Maybe he hadn’t expected defiance from me.
I stood, walking toward him slowly, deliberately. He towered over me, but I kept my chin high.
“No?” I whispered. “Then I guess I’ll find someone who is.” I said.
I slipped past him, heart pounding. The hallway was quiet, the music from the ballroom faint now. I headed for the elevator, already planning to vanish into the city lights below.
The doors slid shut or almost.
A strong hand caught them, forcing them open again. It was him.
“I am interested,” he said softly, stepping inside.
Before I could answer, his arms scooped me up effortlessly, bridal style, as if I weighed nothing at all.
I gasped, startled, heart racing as he walk to the wide hallway between different rooms.
Until we finally enter one of those rooms.
I pulled myself together as I can feel nervousness running through my veins. I know to myself that this is what I want.
'But did I choose the right guy?'
