Kiara stood there, staring down at her hands like they belonged to a stranger. Those nails—chipped, uneven, the cuticles ragged—made her want to scream all over again.
In her real life she'd paid three hundred dollars a month for gel extensions that never chipped, never broke, never looked like they'd spent a lifetime scrubbing someone else's floors. Now they were hers. Adonis's. And she was stuck with them.
Across the table the Count, the Countess, and their golden-haired daughter Iris just stared. Speechless. Shocked. The kind of silence that happens when a dog suddenly starts quoting Shakespeare. This wasn't the Adonis they knew. The Adonis they knew was quiet, head down, the illegitimate little slut who served their meals, cleaned their boots, and disappeared into the shadows the second they snapped their fingers. She never spoke unless spoken to, never looked them in the eye. Today she'd grown wings, a spine, and a mouth that apparently didn't know its place. Where the hell had that confidence come from?
Iris shot up first, chair scraping loud against the marble. "How dare you slap Father back like some common whore!" Her voice cracked with pure outrage. "You forget yourself, Adonis. You're nothing but—"
She didn't finish. Iris launched across the table, shoved Adonis hard enough that her back hit the floor with a thud that knocked the air out of her lungs. Then Iris was on top of her, knees pinning her arms, fingers tangled in long black hair, yanking hard. "Bitch!" Iris screamed, slapping her across the face. "You little brat! You know how I fought for every discount when I was still a broke influencer—"
The words tumbled out of Kiara's mouth before she could stop them—her old life spilling into this one like cheap wine on white carpet. "How dare you pull my expensive hair extensions!"
She slapped Iris right back, hard enough to snap the girl's head sideways. Then she bucked, twisted, reversed their positions so fast Iris didn't have time to react. Now Kiara was on top. Her fist flew—once, twice—knuckles connecting with that perfect, spoiled cheek. Iris shrieked.
"IRIS!" The Countess's voice sliced through the room like a knife. "How dare you touch my precious daughter, you little bastard!"
She came flying around the table, nails out, trying to grab Kiara by the shoulders and yank her off. Kiara didn't even think. She just reached up, wrapped her fingers in the Countess's carefully pinned brown hair, and pulled. Hard.
"What an ugly name," Kiara snarled, still punching Iris with her free hand. "Iris? Even my pet chicken wouldn't accept that."
The Count stood frozen for a second, face purple, watching his wife and daughter rolling on the floor with the maid like common tavern brawlers. Then he bellowed for the guards.
Two uniformed men burst in, grabbed Kiara under the arms, and hauled her backward. Another pair dragged Iris off the floor. The girl was still kicking and swinging, face red and streaked with tears. "Let me go! I'm not finished with her!"
"Enough of this nonsense!" the Count roared. The whole room went still except for heavy breathing. He glared at Kiara, chest heaving. "Adonis. What happened to you? Since when are you this disrespectful?"
She wiped blood from her split lip with the back of her ruined hand and met his eyes without flinching. "Since today." Her voice came out low and furious. "The old Adonis? The one who took your shit? She's gone. I ain't taking shit from nobody anymore."
She turned on her heel and walked out. No curtsy. No apology. Just the sound of her cheap shoes on marble and three stunned nobles staring after her like she'd grown a second head.
She kept walking, head high, shoulders back, until the hallway branched and she realized she had no idea where she was going. The mansion was a maze—corridors, staircases, doors that all looked the same.
She wandered for a few minutes, muttering under her breath about "rich people and their stupid floor plans," before she spotted two guards leaning against a pillar, chatting.
She smoothed her dress (or tried to—the coarse fabric refused to cooperate) and walked up to them with the polite smile she used on brand reps back home.
"Excuse me," she said sweetly. "I'm tired. Could you tell me where I could find a luxurious room to sleep? This place must have at least one decent bed somewhere."
The guards stopped talking. Their eyes slid over her slowly—up and down, lingering. Then they smiled. The kind of smile that made her skin crawl. The taller one leaned in, voice oily. "Well, well. You're looking mighty sexy today, Adonis. Maybe we could… play a little before you go to bed. What do you say?"
Before he could finish the sentence, Kiara's fist connected with his jaw. The crack echoed down the hall. The second guard barely had time to blink before she punched him too—right in the stomach. Both men staggered back, stunned.
She looked at her knuckles like they'd personally betrayed her, wiped them on her skirt with pure disgust. "You're both disgusting. And ugly. I don't take that kind of disrespect from ugly men like you. Ever." She spun on her heel and kept walking, leaving them doubled over and speechless.
A few turns later she spotted it—a door so ornate it practically screamed money. Heavy carved wood, gold handles, the works. She pushed it open without knocking.
Inside was heaven. A massive four-poster bed draped in silk, a vanity covered in crystal bottles, a chaise lounge by a window overlooking gardens. Iris sat in a velvet chair, sipping tea from a delicate cup, a nervous-looking maid hovering beside her. The room smelled like roses and wealth.
Iris's head snapped up. Her face went from pale to murderous in half a second. "Get out."
Kiara stepped inside anyway, closing the door behind her with a soft click. She looked around slowly, taking in every inch of luxury, and felt something click into place. She wanted this room. She deserved this room.
"Oh, sorry, sis," she said, voice dripping fake sweetness. She gave the biggest, brightest, fakest smile she'd ever produced. "I guess we didn't start off well back there. But it's time to straighten our sisterly bond, don't you think? What about we share a room? I'm actually quite organized."
Iris stared at her like she'd suggested they eat dirt. "Slapping our father wasn't enough? Now you dare call me 'sis' and try to steal my room?"
Before Kiara could answer, Iris hurled the teacup. It sailed straight at her head. Kiara dodged at the last second; porcelain shattered against the door behind her, tea splattering everywhere.
Kiara's smile dropped. "I see kindness doesn't work with this ugly witch and her unbalanced face."
She opened her mouth to say more—something even sharper—when the door flew open again. The Count and Countess stormed in, faces thunderous, eyes wide with alarm at the mess and the two girls facing off like cats about to claw each other's eyes out.
Kiara just crossed her arms, chipped nails tapping against her sleeve, and raised an eyebrow.
This was going to be a long day.