Katria stood before the heavy velvet curtains, her heart hammering against her ribs. Taking a jagged breath, she finally stepped inside. The moment she entered, the lively chatter of the debutantes died instantly. A drop-dead silence filled the room as every girl turned, scanning her from her messy hair down to her worn-out shoes.
"Really? You actually came?" Beatrice, her eldest stepsister, scoffed. She stepped forward, her silk gown shimmering under the chandeliers. "I thought Mother said she would keep you busy with chores. I guess she failed at that simple task."
Katria barely raised her gaze. "My mother... she said she would finish the work," she stammered.
The room erupted in cruel laughter. Florence, her other stepsister, joined in with a venomous grin. "Finish it with what? One of those spells she brews in the dark?"
The debutantes laughed again, their voices like sharp glass. Katria's face burned with humiliation. For a fleeting moment, she wished the rumors were true—that her mother really was a witch and she a witch's daughter, so she could cast a spell to make them all vanish.
"My mother is not a witch," Katria managed to force out.
The laughter stopped abruptly. Beatrice turned sharply, walking slowly toward Katria until they were inches apart. She reached out, gripping Katria's chin tightly and forcing her to look up. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"
"I said my mother is not a witch," Katria repeated, her voice trembling.
"Oh, she's not?" Beatrice asked in a pretentious drawl, her eyes narrowing. She tapped Katria's nose mockingly before delivering a hard shove.
Katria stumbled back, her heel catching on the floor. She reached out to steady herself against a nearby debutante, but the girl stepped aside with a sneer, intentionally letting Katria crash to the ground.
"If she's not a witch, then how did she die and come back to life, you wretch!" Beatrice hissed.
As Katria lay on the floor, the full extent of her ruined gown was exposed. The tattered hem and the holes the rats had made were now on full display.
"Ew, what is she wearing?" one girl shrieked, pointing.
"She's a maid," Florence added, her voice dripping with disdain. "Of course she's wearing rags. If her mother is such a powerful witch, why couldn't she just conjure a new dress for her?"
The insults rained down on her, each one heavier than the last. Katria squeezed her eyes shut, knowing it had been a mistake to come. She had only done this to make her mother happy, but now she was trapped in a nightmare, serving as the laughingstock for the very girls she spent her days cleaning up after.
Suddenly, the room fell quiet as the grand announcer's voice boomed across the hall. The presentation of the debutantes had begun. The first name called was Beatrice Winchester, titled the "Diamond of the Season"—the girl society claimed was the most beautiful and compatible of all. Katria felt a sharp sting of injustice. That title was supposed to be hers.
Her father, Mr. Winchester, was among the wealthiest men in all of Europe. Only one family held more power and riches, but they had long since left the continent. The position of the legitimate Winchester heir had been stolen from Katria and handed to Beatrice on a silver platter. It was a bitter irony; Beatrice and her sister were the ones who were truly illegitimate, as their mother had been a single parent before marrying Katria's father. Now, their lives were completely swapped.
Beatrice glided down the aisle with effortless grace, radiating a vibrant energy as if she hadn't just finished humilating Katria. Then, the most handsome suitor of the evening stepped forward. Katria wanted to squeeze her eyes shut to avoid the sight. It was Chris, her childhood best friend.
Back when her life was whole, she and Chris had been inseparable. He had promised to marry her, pledging that their union would create the most powerful dynasty in Europe. But the moment the scandal broke and she was branded illegitimate, he had turned his back on her. He discarded her like she was nothing, treating their years of shared secrets as if they were utter nonsense.
Chris took Beatrice's hand and kissed her cheek. Katria's stomach churned with a cold, burning sensation. It wasn't that she still loved him; she held no affection for a man so shallow. It was the raw sting of betrayal that stabbed at her chest. She had to stand there and watch her stepsister inhabit the very life that was meant to be hers.
One by one, the other debutantes descended the stairs to the cheers of the crowd. Finally, it was down to Katria. She braced herself to walk out, but instead of calling her name, the heavy velvet curtains swung shut. It was as if the announcer had forgotten she even existed, intentionally locking her away
Katria wanted to run, to hide, to disappear entirely. But stepping outside now… it would only make her a spectacle. Of course, no one truly saw her as a debutante. She was nothing more than a placeholder, a shadow in the crowd.
Then a murmur ran through the announcer. He blinked, his eyes widening.
"Oh… we forgot one more," he said, voice loud enough for all to hear. "The last… and the least—the illegitimate daughter of the House of Winchester… Katria Winchester."
A hush fell over the room.
The curtains parted, and Katria stepped forward, each movement deliberate, slow. Every eye turned toward her… with irritation, with dismissal. None of the suitors spared her a glance. Her head bowed instinctively, avoiding contact, afraid a misstep would make her even more of a spectacle.
She stopped at the end of the line of debutantes. They all shifted away from her as if she were a nuisance, a shadow that shouldn't exist in their perfect world.
Beatrice stepped closer, her smile sharp and cruel.
"I really hope you find a suitor tonight," she said sweetly, venom dripping from every word. "Because if you don't… and you continue to live in this house… I will make your life a living hell. You made a grave mistake coming here."
She turned and sashayed back to her place, flawless and untouchable.
Katria's gaze drifted upward to the high table as the heads of noble families entered. Her stomach tightened. There, hand in hand, sat her father… and her stepmother. The woman who now claimed the place that was once hers. That should have been her mother.
Soon, it was time for the dance. The suitors moved through the hall, selecting their favored debutantes—the ones they had set their eyes on at previous balls.
Katria had attended them all, yet no one had ever looked her way. Tonight was no different. Every gaze passed over her like she didn't exist. She was utterly alone. She clasped her own hands, trying to keep steady as she watched the other debutantes glide across the floor with their chosen suitors.
Her eyes flicked to the secret window, where her mother and the other maids peeped at the event—maids who normally wouldn't be allowed to witness such grandeur. Her mother's eyes met hers, fierce and unwavering, even as tears threatened to spill. Katria returned the fierce nod, a silent promise.
Then her gaze fell on her father, standing nearby. Her chest tightened.
"Father," she whispered, bowing slightly and brushing a stray tear from her cheek.
"I already told you not to call me that," he replied coolly.
"It's Mr. Winchester,"