"I quit!" Mrs. Agatha's voice rang out, sharp and final, as she stood in the center of the grand Lewis living room. Her white summer dress, once cheerful with sunflowers and roses, was smeared with jam and butter, while sticky streaks of gingerbread frosting clung to her hair. Her flushed cheeks and trembling hands betrayed her frustration.
She had been the tenth governess hired this month to care for the infamous Lewis heiress, and she was determined to be the last. The promise of an extravagant paycheck had blinded her to the warnings: whispers of pranks, tantrums, and an untamable spirit. At first, she had convinced herself she could manage, that her experience and patience would triumph. She couldn't have been more wrong.
"I'm sorry Ma but I can't do this anymore, am unfit to govern her" Agatha words haste out in an hint of irritation and suppression of her fuming heart that's against her chest, her breath in exhale and heavy from all the rounds of pace she had take from the clown customs the child had worn chasing her in the damn immense mansion said to be a simple home. The inner floors are set in three and each floor holds a set of three to five rooms and each room has an independent setting of bathroom and closet. The ceilings were carving of art , less of the walls that holds a striking painting that could feed a lay man for months or years. The stairs are that of a golden mix with sliver, like literal gold that frames the railings and that guides the hands in support. In short, the mansion is a striking beauty to that of a royal castle thou presented simplicity it hold a powerful say to the eyes.
"Mrs. Agatha, I'm sure we can talk this out," Lady Bell said, her voice calm and measured. Though in her late fifties, the aunt of the notorious Lewis heiress carried a timeless grace. Her warm brown eyes, flecked with hazel, seemed to glimmer with an understanding far beyond her years. A striking simplicity defined her features: full, soft lips set against a round face, framed by streaks of silver in her dark hair. Even age hadn't dulled her charms, she moved with an elegance that still turned heads in any room.
"Perhaps an increase in pay should help you reconsider your decision" Lady Bell offered with a gentle smile that faded on the glance of Agatha's scowled face. "I know it hard caring for her but I just hope you would reconsider, she's just a child"
Just a child, a literal hiss almost escaped Agatha's jaw on Lady Bell's words, the girl was everything but a child. Yes her age and appearance presented a child form but her cunning and devious mind and plot presents something else and deep within she was certain even Lady Bell knew that.
And perhaps she was aware, but the child was her niece, the only child of her younger brother and sole heiress to the LewisTech multi-billion-Leones fortune. Others dismissed the girl's behavior as rebellion or rudeness, but Lady Bell knew better. Beneath the defiance was a child grappling with silent wounds. At just nine years old, Betty had lost her mother and, with her, the nurturing care she desperately needed. To make matters worse, her father, consumed by his work, rarely spared her the attention she craved. Unable to voice her feelings, literally or figuratively, Betty's actions seemed like her only way to demand the love and presence she lacked.
"Not necessary. I'm done with this job," Agatha said in the politest tone she could muster, though her voice trembled with frustration. Her mind was already set on leaving, sooner rather than later. She added firmly, "And no amount of money will make me reconsider."
Before Lady Bell could utter another word, Agatha turned on her heel and marched out the door, her steps quick and resolute, as though escaping a burning building.
'Goodness," Lady Bell sighed heavily, her eyes drifting to her niece, who stood silently at the top of the staircase, watching the scene unfold like a distant spectator.
"Betty, child, what is your problem? Why do you keep driving away every caretaker?" she asked, her tone pleading, though the child's expression remained indifferent, as if the concern meant nothing to her.
Betty hadn't always been this way. Once, she'd lived a normal life, a life filled with the warmth of a mother's care and the steadfast love of a father. But all that changed on a gloomy afternoon that shattered her world. The accident that claimed her mother's life had also stolen her voice, leaving her trapped in silence and weighed down by a grief no child should bear. Since that day, her life had spiraled into a void of loneliness and emotional chaos, leaving scars too deep to be seen but impossible to ignore.
Even so, Betty didn't mind her situation as much as the constant changes in caregivers and the endless concerns from her father and aunt. Their attempts to "fix" her only made her feel more broken and vulnerable. She tried to understand their intentions, but every time they went overboard with their efforts, it left her feeling worse, like a problem that couldn't be solved. In frustration, she ensured that no governess lasted long in the Lewis household.
Most of the caregivers showed little genuine care for their job. Many arrived out of curiosity, eager to meet the rumored spoiled heiress, while others had ulterior motives, scheming ways to ingratiate themselves with the wealthy Lewis family. Those, in particular, Betty was only too happy to drive away.
It had been five years since her mother's passing, yet the pain clung to Betty like a second skin, raw, ever-present, and unrelenting. Not a day passed without her aching for her mother's gentle touch, the only person who had truly seen her, understood her without words. In that woman's arms, silence had been comforting. Now, it was a prison.
Lady Bell, having watched the last governess storm out in defeat, released a long breath and turned her gaze from the staircase.
"Forget it, Mather," she called gently.
From one of the side corridors, a woman emerged, stooped with age but still dignified in appearance. Her floor-length gown, the same shade of dusty rose as her bonnet, swayed lightly with each step. Time had carved its story into her face, deep lines of laughter, sorrow, and service etched like poetry across her skin. Mather had been with the Lewis family long before Betty was born, and though she was Lady Bell's contemporary, her body had not been kind in return.
"Yes, ma'am," Mather answered, her voice soft and respectful, her eyes following the unspoken weight that lingered in the room.
Lady Bell stood, brushing invisible wrinkles from her dress. Her eyes flicked to the staircase once more, where Betty had disappeared minutes earlier, silent as ever.
"Have the young lady dressed and ready," she said, her voice resolute yet tender. "She'll be enrolling at Lovet Academy."
Without waiting for a reply, she sank into the velvet cushions of the sitting room, the weight of years and worry settling beside her. Her thoughts were already far ahead, on Betty's future, on hope, on the strange grace that Lovet Academy might offer her bruised and beautiful niece.
At another end in the city, in the heart of its oldest district, the famous Church of the Holy Father stood dressed in white roses and golden ribbons. Inside, a hundred or more guests murmured softly among polished pews, waiting for the ceremony to begin.
Yet chaos erupted and secrets are revealed…