I have never struggled a day in my life.
Born into power, cradled in privilege, shielded by armed guards and the silence of fearful men_ I lived a life most women would kill for. A mansion nestled in the hills of Volaris, marble floors that echoed my heels, closets curated by fancy designers, and a brother so protective he made other men think twice.
But in the world I come from, a woman's freedom ends at birth.
We are raised like dolls_ educated, polished, praised. But not for our minds. No, that's a luxury. We are merely trained. Trained to be silent, loyal. Trained to be sold.
My father never told me I could change the world.
He told me I would belong to it. Neatly wrapped, untouched, a pawn in a game of power older than my bloodline.
Today, I turned twenty-three. And though I wore a thousand-dollar dress and returned from four years abroad, graduating top of my class in economics_ none of that mattered.
Those were just unnecessary things that were just done because we had money.
I was promised at seventeen.
To a man I've never met.
Rafael Sinclair. A known name among the rich.
Power broker. Ghost. Devil. Rumors say he runs arms across oceans, launders billions through countries like water through a sieve, and that he's never once loved anything he couldn't control.
I had never cared to know him. And yet, my fate is shackled to his name.
The wedding was set for Wednesday.
Three days from now.
And as the jet landed on home soil earlier that afternoon, a quiet decision bloomed in me like wildfire:
He will not have all of me.
If my body was currency to be traded, then I would steal back the only part of me that was still mine.
My first time.
Someone else would take it before him. Anyone.
Because I'd rather choose the thief than bow to the owner.
~~~
The house hadn't changed in four years. It still smelled of orchids and old money. The servants bowed. The halls shimmered. The walls whispered the same secrets they always had.
As I reached the top floor and entered the bedroom I had once called mine, I stood still for a long moment. The room was almost sterile in its perfection_ white linens, gold-trimmed furniture, diamond-cut chandeliers catching the last rays of dusk.
"Put my suitcase on the bed, theres no need to unpack" I said to Miranda softly, eyes still on the mirror.
Miranda, my childhood nanny_ now graying, still graceful_ paused in the doorway. She looked at me the way one watches something slowly unravel. Gently. Quietly. With helpless love.
"Are you sure, Lyra?" she asked, her voice still wrapped in that warm Castilian lilt.
I nodded.
I walked to the mirror, slipping off the silk scarf from my head, letting waves of golden blonde hair around my shoulders. My emerald eyes stared back at me_ same color as my mother's.
But the girl I saw was not the same one who had boarded that plane four years ago.
She was all grown now.
I traced the curve of my collarbone and forced a smile. It did not reach my eyes.
My fate was waiting.
But I had one last choice to make before surrendering to it.
With my gaze still locked on the mirror, the sudden vibration of my phone startled me. I blinked, slowly drawing my eyes away from the girl in the reflection_ the one pretending she had a choice_ and glanced at the screen.
It was a message from Celine.
"Lyra, will you be joining, or have you changed your mind?"
A faint smile tugged at my lips. Celine was more than just a cousin_ she was my partner in quiet rebellion, the only one in this cold glass palace who still called me by name instead of title, who knew how to make me laugh when all I wanted to do was scream. We had grown up like sisters_ sharing secrets, hiding under the beds from the storms, painting each other's nails with stolen lipsticks, dreaming about freedom in whispers.._
And now, she was asking if I would show up.
If I would dare.
Of course I would.
Tonight was not just a party. It was the beginning.
I had returned home gilded in education and layered in expectations, and yet tonight, I would strip all of that away. I would drink for the first time. I would dance until my feet bled. I would taste recklessness. I would flirt. I would look into a stranger's eyes and dare them to touch me_ not as a possession, but as a woman.
I would let go.
I ran my fingers through my hair, letting the silky waves cascade around my shoulders like liquid sun. It shimmered under the soft bedroom lighting, framing my face like something out of a vintage portrait. I had always been beautiful_ objectively so, praised for my symmetry, my coloring, my 'delicate aristocratic features'_but tonight I didn't want to look pretty.
I wanted to look provocative.
My green eyes flicked back to the mirror. I needed something striking. Not soft. Not demure.
And so, I chose a dress that whispered sin with every thread _a deep emerald satin slip dress, backless, with delicate crystal beading tracing the curve of my spine like falling stars. The fabric clung to my body like a second skin, fluid and sensual. It hugged my waist, dipped low at the neckline in a way that dared anyone to look and challenged them to keep looking.
It made my eyes glow brighter, like crushed jewels under moonlight, and turned my golden hair into something almost untouchable.
On my feet, I wore strappy gold stilettos, delicate but deadly.
Perfume_ something floral and sharp_ kissed my throat.
A single golden cuff around my wrist. No necklace. No distractions.
My lips? I painted them pink.
By the time I was done, I barely recognized myself.
"This is it," I whispered to my reflection, smoothing down the silk over my hips.
The house was quiet as I walked out. The kind of quiet that came before a storm or after a war. My heels clicked gently against the polished marble, echoing through the hallways lined with oil paintings and fresh roses. My father was nowhere to be seen. Good. If he had looked at me dressed like this, I'm not sure even the thousand lies I had rehearsed would have been enough to convince him.
Only the guards watched me, blank-faced, still as statues.
But even they turned their eyes as I passed.
At the gates, a pair of headlights pierced the dusk, followed by the soft hum of an engine. Celine's car _sleek, black, and rebellious, like her. The passenger-side door flung open before the car had even stopped, and there she was_ grinning, glowing, the very definition of freedom.
With an excited wave, I ran the last few steps and slid into the seat beside her.
"You look stunning" she said with a dramatic sigh. "I'm obsessed."
I laughed_ a real one this time. Loud and unashamed. "You're not so bad yourself."
She winked. "I'm just here to make sure you do something you'll regret."
I leaned back into the leather seat, the night wrapping itself around us like a promise.
"Oh, don't worry. I intend to."
And with that, we drove off into the darkness, toward the first night of the rest of my life.