"Perfect. Jeremy vanishes, and suddenly his mom and I are responsible for a dragon-crazy toddler and Mia, the tomboy we're somehow supposed to transform into a high-society socialite."
To keep Rosa from climbing the curtains—or setting something on fire—we take her straight to the kitchen. It's the one place where chaos is allowed.
Jers' mom ties her hair up like she's preparing for war. I pull out every ingredient that remotely qualifies as "comfort food." Rosa drags a stool to the counter like a tiny general ready to command the operation.
Within minutes the kitchen becomes our little world:
oil sizzling,
garlic frying,
Rosa stealing half the cheese,
Mia sitting in the doorway pretending she's not watching.
Jers' mom is laughing every time Rosa "accidentally" drops something into the pan.
It's messy, warm, and loud—the kind of moment that makes even Mia's shoulders relax.
We eat straight from the pan, sitting on the counter, feet swinging. Rosa smears sauce on her cheeks like war paint and declares the meal a victory.
But then reality hits us again.
The Mission.
Operation: Convert Mia Into A Socialite.
She resists the moment we mention it.
"No," she says. Firm. Flat. Deadly.
Too bad.
Before she can escape, we grab her—me by the arm, Jers' mom by the hoodie—and march her straight into the Valkan Mansion.
The moment we arrive, three magical fashion specialists materialize like summoned spirits. They sparkle. They float. They smell like perfume and judgment.
Mia freezes. "I swear, if one of them comes near me—"
And then they clap their hands once.
A burst of enchanted silk, glitter dust, glowing ribbons, and swirling mirrors explodes around her.
Mia screeches. Rosa cheers. Jers' mom pretends to be serious but is clearly enjoying the show. I try—hard—not to laugh.
The specialists swarm her, ignoring every threat, every complaint, and every desperate attempt to escape.
Because like it or not…
Mia is about to become the kind of beauty she absolutely hates.
By the time the fashionistas finally released Mia from whatever magical torment they called "styling," Aunty and I slipped away to the racks of clothes the designers had brought—already tailored, already measured, waiting for us like silent promises.
My fingers trailed over silk, chiffon, velvet… until one dress stopped me.
A cocoon-style frock, soft and sculpting, the kind that curved around my body and held every fold in the right place. Elegant. Confident. Effortless.
Paired with simple black heels and an obsidian pendant that lay cool against my collarbone,
…it felt like a version of me I hadn't met yet—but liked.
Once I was dressed, I walked downstairs.
And stopped.
Because standing at the bottom of the staircase was someone who could only technically be Mia.
Her hair was now a sharp, mesmerizing boy cut—blonde, soft, and shimmering under the chandelier. The red dress the fashion mages had chosen hugged her like it was made of liquid fire. Her hazel-golden eyes glowed brighter than I'd ever seen, framed by the gentlest hint of magic-infused makeup. And on her feet, red heels she absolutely hated—but looked devastating in.
For a moment, she didn't look like a tomboy forced into fashion.
She looked like power.
Reluctant, furious, beautiful power.
And my breath caught.
She was the most ravishing thing I'd seen this century.
A rare, impossible kind of beauty.
Mia didn't just look transformed—she glowed, as if someone had dusted her skin with starlight. That aura, that quiet blaze, that sharp, reluctant elegance… it poured off her like magic dust swirling in the air.
She had the cut and presence of a brown wolf—wild, warm, and strangely endearing, the kind that makes you soften instantly.
I must've been staring too long, because a crisp clap jolted me back to reality.
The fashionistas stepped forward, practically vibrating with pride.
"Here is the masterpiece," they announced.
And for once, I had absolutely no argument.
Suddenly, the main doors creaked open.
Jeremy stepped in first—mud on his boots, confusion on his face—followed closely by Uncle Sam, who looked exhausted from the day.
But the second their eyes landed on Mia, everything stopped.
Jeremy froze mid-step.Uncle Sam froze mid-breath.
It was like watching two statues suddenly appear in the foyer.
Mia, glowing in that molten red dress, her golden-hazel eyes catching the chandelier light… She didn't look like a tomboy forced into fashion.
She looked like fire sculpted into a girl.
Aunt's voice floated down the staircase, smug and triumphant:
"At last… my girl looks like a Valkan."
Uncle Sam didn't move. Didn't blink. Didn't breathe.
He just stared at his daughter as if seeing her for the first time in his life.
Jeremy had to physically nudge him—once, twice, and then with a firm shake—before Uncle Sam snapped out of it, inhaling sharply as though waking from a dream.
His eyes glistened.
Overwhelmed.Awestruck.Speechless.
Because standing there was his little tomboy… transformed into something breathtaking.
And he had no idea how to process the beauty she had become.
Mia stared at all our faces—each of us frozen, dazzled, stunned—and her eyebrow twitched.
"Okay, seriously," she muttered, throwing her hands up, "are you guys crazy? Why are you all looking at me like that? Am I a masterpiece or something?"
She glanced between Uncle Sam's teary eyes, Jeremy's half-open mouth, Aunt's proud glow, and me trying not to squeal.
"God," she groaned, "you're all awwwing. That's… low-key cringe. Please stop before I combust."
Without even answering her complaints, all of us grabbed her—Aunt by the wrist, Jeremy by the elbow, and me by the waist—and practically dragged Mia to the nearest mirror.
She stumbled, protesting the whole way.
"Guys—stop—hey! I can walk, you know—"
But the second she faced her reflection, the words died.
Her eyes widened.Her breath hitched.Her posture straightened just a little, instinctively.
For the first time, she saw what we were seeing.
The wolf-like sharpness.The molten-red dress hugging her frame.The golden haze in her eyes.The fierce beauty she never let herself imagine.
She stared for a long beat.
Then a slow, stunned smile tugged at her lips.
"...Okay," she whispered, tilting her head to admire the angle of her jaw, "I'm not going to lie... I could get used to this."
Behind her, all of us grinned like idiots.
Because she finally saw the masterpiece too.
We burst into laughter the moment she said that, the entire room echoing with the sound. Even Mia tried to fight a smile, but it slipped out anyway.
Jeremy, of course, had to ruin the seriousness.
He stepped forward, dramatically squinting at her like he was examining some rare species.
"Well," he said, tapping his chin, "looks like the stylists fixed your lifelong gender confusion and finally turned you into a woman."
Mia's jaw dropped.
"JEREMY!"
Aunt gasped.Uncle Sam choked on air.I almost fell to the floor laughing.
Jeremy threw his hands up, trying to dodge the shoe Mia immediately swung at his head.
"Hey—HEY! I'm just appreciating the glow-up! Don't kill me!"
Mia glared, cheeks going red—whether from anger or embarrassment, nobody knew.
But the sparkle in her eyes betrayed her.
She liked being seen.
After Mia finally accepted her own beauty, the room shifted.
I felt it before I even looked up—the change in their breathing, the soft gasp, the heavy silence.
Then I noticed it.
The entire Valkan family had turned their glistening eyes toward… me.
Aunt, Uncle Sam, Jeremy… even Rosa, who peeked from behind Jeremy's leg.
They stared at me the same way they'd stared at Mia—wide-eyed, soft-hearted, almost reverent.
And suddenly, I felt heat crawl up my neck.
Because those eyes said one thing:
You're next.
My stomach flipped.A strange mix of embarrassment and happiness twisted inside me.
I tugged at my cocoon dress, pretending to adjust it even though it already fit perfectly.The obsidian pendant suddenly felt too loud.My curls felt too soft.The black heels suddenly felt like they were on fire.
They kept staring.
God.I wanted to hide……and yet a tiny, traitorous part of me loved it.
Aunt clasped her hands, smiling like she'd been waiting for this moment.
Uncle Sam whispered, "She looks stunning…"
Jeremy just grinned—mischievous, fond, and annoyingly proud—before saying:
"Alright. Mia's a masterpiece… but Viv looks like a whole painting."
I groaned and hid my face with both hands.
But I was smiling. A comfort I always got from Mom, Dad and the Valkans