The funeral ended without rain.
Mira thought that was unfair. Death deserved something dramatic—thunder, tears from the sky, a sign that the world understood what she had lost.
Instead, the sun shone softly as if nothing had happened.
She stood beside her father's grave in a borrowed black dress, her hands folded neatly in front of her. People whispered condolences she didn't hear. Their faces blurred together until none of them mattered.
Only one face was missing.
Her mother's.
Mira did not cry when the coffin was lowered. She had already cried enough during the nights when no one was there to hear her. What remained was emptiness—heavy and unmoving.
It wasn't until the crowd thinned that she sensed someone standing behind her.
"Mira."
The voice was familiar.
Too familiar.
She turned slowly.
Selene Hale looked exactly the way Mira remembered—beautiful, flawless, untouched by time or regret. Sunglasses hid her eyes. Her black dress fit her perfectly, like it had been tailored for the scene.
For a moment, Mira thought her heart might start beating again.
"You came," Mira said softly.
Selene removed her sunglasses. Her eyes were dry.
"I just found out," she said. "My schedule—"
Mira nodded.
She didn't ask what kind of schedule made a mother miss her daughter's father's funeral.
"I'm sorry," Selene added, placing a hand on Mira's shoulder. The touch was light, distant. "You've grown so much."
Mira stepped back.
"You left," she said quietly.
Selene stiffened, then sighed. "Mira, now is not the time."
"When would be the time?" Mira asked, her voice calm in a way that scared even herself.
Silence stretched between them.
Finally, Selene straightened. "You can't stay here alone. You'll come with me."
Just like that.
No question.
No apology.
Mira looked past her mother—to the grave behind her. To the man who had chosen her every single day of his life.
"I'll pack my things," Mira said.
---
The Blackwood mansion was nothing like Mira imagined.
It wasn't just large—it was cold. White marble floors. High ceilings. Quiet hallways that echoed with footsteps that didn't belong to her.
"This is your home now," Selene said, her heels clicking sharply against the floor.
Mira nodded, holding her single suitcase.
A tall man stood near the staircase, his expression unreadable.
"Victor," Selene said. "This is Mira."
Victor Blackwood glanced at her once. His eyes were sharp, calculating.
"So this is her," he said.
Mira lowered her gaze.
Footsteps descended from above.
Slow. Heavy.
When Mira looked up, her breath caught.
Dominic Blackwood stood at the top of the stairs, dressed in black, his presence filling the space without effort. His gaze landed on her—and stayed.
Not curious.
Not welcoming.
Cold.
Assessing.
"This is my son," Selene said. "Dominic."
Mira met his eyes.
Something dangerous flickered there.
Dominic said nothing. He simply looked at her as if she were an intruder who had walked into a place she didn't belong.
A girl's voice echoed from the hallway.
"Who is she?"
Ariana Blackwood appeared beside Dominic, her expression sharp, her eyes instantly hostile. Behind her followed a boy with softer features—Liam.
"Mira," Selene said, smiling faintly. "Your sister."
Ariana scoffed. "She doesn't look like family."
Dominic's gaze never left Mira.
"Is she staying?" he asked.
"Yes," Selene replied. "She's my daughter."
Dominic's jaw tightened.
"Then keep her out of my way."
The words hit harder than any slap.
Mira tightened her grip on her suitcase.
She had lost her father.
Now she had entered a house where no one wanted her.
And Dominic Blackwood had just made that clear.