Chapter 2: Before the Bloom13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdb0lyb2Wvh
"I’ll work on it again and make it better," I said softly, lifting the embroidery in trembling hands.
"No need for that," my stepmother snapped, already turning away. "You’re just wasting your time now."
She left the room, her heels clicking sharply against the marble floor. The echo lingered even after the door closed.
I kept my eyes down, blinking away the sting in them.
Mara stepped closer, her voice gentle. "Madam, I think it’s gorgeous. You’ve done a lovely job."
I looked up at her, surprised by her kindness. "Oh… thank you, Mara."
She gave a small smile. "Shall we go outside to the garden? I think the fresh air will lift your mood."
A pause, then a slow nod. "That’s a good idea."
And for once, I allowed myself to breathe.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡLi87HE7RZl
We walked toward the garden, away from sharp words and critical eyes—toward something softer, even if only for a while.
The soft strokes of my brush moved slowly over the canvas, painting the distant hills bathed in morning light. The garden was calm—the only place in this mansion that still felt like mine.
Until his voice shattered the silence.
"What are you painting, sister?"
Stephen.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxeyfRDu5uQ
My stepbrother.
He strolled into the garden with that infuriating grace he always carried—shoulders relaxed, lips curled in a half-smile that never quite reached his eyes. He was the kind of man women chased and parents warned their daughters about. Charming, cruel, and intoxicating.
I didn’t look at him. I just answered quietly, "Nothing. Just the scenery."
"Let me see that," he said, leaning in before I could protest.
He studied the canvas for a moment, then burst into laughter—sharp and taunting.
"Hahahahaha… You call this painting? Sister, you’re not good at anything." He smirked. "Honestly, it’ll take you another hundred years just to be decent at one thing."
I didn’t react. I only lowered my gaze, lips pressing into a tight line.
"Anyway," he sighed, brushing imaginary dust from his coat. "I’m off to sword practice. I don’t have time to waste keeping you company."
As if I had asked for his company in the first place.
"Okay," I replied quietly, not looking up.
He left, his steps fading into the distance. And for a moment, I just sat there, breathing.
"Thank God," I whispered under my breath, "he didn’t do anything like before..."
My fingers curled slightly around the brush as the memory surfaced—one I had buried so deep that I sometimes questioned if it had been real.
We had been children then.
Sitting in this very garden.
I remembered how I had been painting, completely absorbed in the world I was creating. Stephen had stormed in, furious over something I couldn’t even recall now.
"Hey, Irina, give me your brush. I need it."
"But you have more," I had told him. "See? They’re right there."
"No," he had said coldly. "I need yours."
When I refused, he snapped. In the blink of an eye, he broke all my brushes. Smeared my paintings with mud. Destroyed everything.
And when my stepmother found out, she didn’t scold him.
She had punished me.
Banned me from painting entirely.
That day, I lost more than just a few pieces of art. I lost the one thing that felt truly mine.
It was only recently, after years of silence, that Father finally said I could paint again.
So here I was—trying to reclaim the pieces I had once lost.
The chandelier above the long oak dining table bathed everything in a golden glow, but the light felt cold. I took my seat quietly, eyes lowered, while the usual orchestra of silverware and small talk filled the room like a well-rehearsed play.
"Oh, my son," my stepmother cooed as Stephen walked in, her voice syrupy sweet, "look at you. You’ve grown so thin."
Stephen chuckled, running a hand through his light-colored hair as he took his seat.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZ3QAUOG6uI
"Mother, I’ve been practicing swordsmanship. I need to be strong—to protect this family. I’m not thin, just lean."
She laughed—sharp, proud, and far too loud. "Well, I suppose that’s true. Just look at my son Victor—already so big and determined. He tells me he wants to grow even stronger to defend his family. Unlike some people..." Her eyes flicked toward me, glinting with disdain. "All they do is eat and drift about the house like delicate petals in the wind."
I said nothing. I never did when she spoke like that.
What was the point?
My father cleared his throat, folding his napkin with deliberate care. "Tomorrow, we’re invited to the Hale estate for their spring celebration. It will also mark the return of their sons. Everyone is to attend, dressed appropriately."
"Yes, Father," Stephen and I replied in unison.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ43rRWYfSQr
"And Irina," he added, his voice like ice against the warmth of the room, "make sure you leave a lasting impression on their family. First impressions... mean everything."
"Yes, Father," I whispered, bowing my head slightly.
Across the room, Mara stood quietly near the doorway, her gaze meeting mine for only a second. In that glance, I found a whisper of comfort—soft, invisible, but enough to breathe through.
Tomorrow, I would meet Wanston Hale again.
After dinner, I rose from my seat. "Mother, I’m going to my room."
She said nothing, just waved her hand in dismissal.
As I reached the hallway that led to my quarters, Stephen’s voice drifted from behind me.
"Sister, don’t forget what Father said—make sure you leave a lasting impact on that family."
I didn’t respond. I was used to their smug little comments, and tonight I didn’t care—not when my heart was fluttering like a trapped bird.
I’m finally going to see him.
Once inside my room, I closed the door behind me and sighed deeply.
"Oh, Mara," I said, almost breathless, "tomorrow I will see him."
She turned from where she was folding linens, her smile gentle. "The young master Wanston?"
I nodded, excitement bubbling inside me. "What will I say to him? Do you think he’ll remember me? Oh, Mara, what should I wear tomorrow?"
"Madam, you seem so excited," she said, laughing softly.
"I am, Mara. I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep tonight, not with this much excitement."
Mara walked over and gently squeezed my hand. "Then let’s find you something beautiful to wear. Tomorrow is the beginning of something new, isn’t it?"
I smiled, hope flickering in my chest like a candle in the dark.
13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7cQkk9mCPv
