Chapter III
Vidalia opened her eyes and blinked repeatedly, trying to adjust to the darkness surrounding her. She sat up abruptly—only to collapse again a second later. She had no strength left, and everything was spinning. As memories of the previous night resurfaced, panic crept in. She wondered how long she had been unconscious. Her stomach twisted painfully with hunger, and nausea rose, making her feel as though she might retch up her empty insides.
Forcing herself to calm down, she scanned her surroundings and realized she was lying in a loaded cart, abandoned there without care. For how long, she didn't know. The tarp covering the cart blocked her view of the outside, but judging by the hunger gnawing at her belly and the severe aches in her body, it had been a long time.
Who were these people?
If they truly were her father's men, shouldn't they have treated her better? She was his daughter, after all.
Vidalia sniffled and curled into a corner, pulling her knees to her chest as she grimaced in pain. Her lives had been nothing but a succession of misery. It wasn't as if she had ever harmed anyone. She wondered what her progenitor looked like in this life.
Her mother had warned her—he didn't care whether she was his daughter or an object. He must be obsessed with her for some reason; otherwise, why go to such lengths for an illegitimate child? Vidalia remembered her mother's jewelry. No—he was a noble. He wouldn't do all this for jewels. She let out a frustrated breath, growling softly. Why did everything in her life have to be so complicated?
The cart suddenly came to a halt, snapping her out of her spiraling thoughts and worsening headache. She lifted her head quickly, panic surging, and pressed herself deeper into the darkest corner behind a barrel. She couldn't stop trembling, dreading what would happen next.
"Hey! Get out of there!" a rough, irritated voice barked.
Vidalia didn't move, pretending she hadn't heard—even though she knew it was pointless. Annoyed, the man climbed into the cart, making it sway under his weight. He strode toward her and grabbed her arm without restraint, yanking her forward and making Vidalia cry out in pain.
This man was no fairytale knight. Vidalia's body felt numb, her bare feet were bleeding, and her filthy, soaked rags felt unbearably heavy on her weakened frame.
She wanted her mother—her warm meals and a soft, cozy bed. Vidalia wiped her eyes with her free hand, forcing herself not to cry. Crying now would only anger her tormentor further.
She was stunned when she saw the castle before her. Everything looked dazzling and majestic—like the English and French castles she'd seen on television. She didn't have time for a proper look, however, before her captor dragged her inside. Everything she glimpsed was blurred, yet breathtaking. After what felt like an eternity, they stopped before a massive door adorned with chains and carvings.
So her progenitor was a filthy rich bastard.
Vidalia sniffed inwardly.
The man knocked softly. At least he could be civilized, she thought bitterly.
"Enter," a cold, deep voice replied.
Vidalia swallowed hard. It felt as though she'd swallowed a stone. Terror didn't even begin to describe how she felt.
Her captor—whom she'd decided to call Bernard—opened the door and shoved her forward. Vidalia stumbled and fell to her knees on an absurdly plush carpet. She wanted to glare at him with all the insults she could muster, but she didn't dare worsen her situation.
"I found the girl, exactly where you said she'd be," Bernard sneered. "No one was around. Easy job. Discreet, just as agreed."
So Bernard was a mercenary.
Vidalia scoffed internally. He hadn't even wanted to trouble his guards over an unwanted child. This felt like the plot of a terrible drama.
"Good," the man replied nonchalantly.
Gathering all her courage, Vidalia lifted her gaze to the man seated behind the richly carved wooden desk. She flinched violently. His icy blue eyes pierced straight through her, as though he could see her very soul. The man—whom she could now confidently identify as her father—looked at her with anything but love or joy. Vidalia felt like prey trapped in a cage with a dangerous beast.
He looked like an actor cast as a mafia boss—elegant yet severe aristocratic features, sandy blond hair perfectly styled, and a suit that likely cost a fortune. His arms were crossed atop the desk as he looked down on her. Against her will, Vidalia found him handsome—and cursed him for it.
"Oscar will take care of you," he said, gesturing to the well-dressed man beside him.
He even had a butler.
Vidalia fought the urge to scoff. Fear took control of her body, urging her to do the only sensible thing—stay silent. Angering this man could be a death sentence.
They were now alone in the magnificent office, surrounded by leather sofas and shelves filled with books. Vidalia looked around, carefully avoiding his gaze.
After a few moments of heavy silence, he spoke.
"Do you know who I am?" he asked curtly.
Vidalia shook her head vigorously, clutching her torn skirt over her knees. She felt like a stray kitten trapped in a golden cage with a peacock staring her down—utterly miserable.
"I am Erwin Sullivan," he said impassively as he stood and approached her with measured, imposing steps. "And I am your father."
Sullivan.
Vidalia had heard that name before.
"I want you to place your hand here." He pointed to a crystal sphere resting on his desk.
That's it?
Vidalia stared at the orb, baffled. All this… just to make her touch a stupid ball? Rage boiled inside her, but she swallowed it down. Trembling, she stood and hesitantly placed her hand on the sphere. If this was her ticket to freedom, she'd accept it gladly.
The crystal began to glow.
Vidalia gasped in shock and tried to pull her hand away—but it was stuck. The light intensified, flooding the room with blinding brilliance. She screamed in panic, wrenching her hand free at last and collapsing backward, breathless. She felt all her strength drain from her body. She shot an accusatory glance at the orb, then at her father.
He had drained her.
Erwin's expression turned manic, terrifying her. He looked at her like merchandise—his gaze ravenous and unhinged, utterly different from the bored coldness he'd worn before.
"Oh," he said, a sadistic smile curling his lips. "You're quite a powerful little thing."
He crouched down to her level. Vidalia recoiled in fear, but he seized her chin between his thumb and forefinger, squeezing her small face. She grimaced but forced herself to meet his gaze, squeaking when he abruptly shoved her away.
"Interesting," he said simply.
Vidalia stared at him in disbelief.
Suddenly, the door flew open, heels clacking furiously against the marble floor. Vidalia looked up in surprise at the woman who entered. She had sky-blue hair, an oval face, and striking blue-gray eyes. She wore a navy Victorian gown adorned with diamond jewelry, her hair styled in an elegant bun decorated with floral ornaments. Only one thing marred her beauty—her face was red and twisted with rage.
The woman noticed Vidalia, casting a disdainful glance at her worn clothes before meeting her eyes. Her nose wrinkled in disgust. Vidalia hid her flushed face behind her tangled hair.
She was only five years old—couldn't this woman show a shred of restraint?
"Erwin! How dare you ignore me!?" the woman shrieked. "Why did you bring her here?" she demanded, pointing at Vidalia.
"She belongs to the Sullivan family," Erwin replied calmly. "And she possesses high magical affinity."
"You intend to keep her!?" the woman cried. "That fruit of infamy!? What about my children—what do you think they'll say? You'll disgrace this family!"
What was she even doing here!?
Vidalia couldn't take it anymore. She began crawling toward the exit on all fours while the two argued. But just before reaching the door, she froze.
Two pairs of polished shoes stood before her.
She slowly lifted her head and saw two children—one around ten, the other six.
Her eyes widened in shock. The boy had the same sky-blue hair as the woman and the same blue eyes as her father. He looked adorable in his sailor outfit. The girl beside him was the woman's miniature—cute, with round cheeks and a floral dress. So different from Vidalia, who was thin, filthy, and wrapped in torn rags.
Vidalia couldn't help comparing herself to the girl. Her hair was neatly tied into twin ponytails adorned with butterfly accessories that matched her dress. She wore pristine white shoes. Vidalia, by contrast, sat before her with hair so long it reached past her knees—hair she would have loved, if only she could care for it. Instead, it was wild and unkempt, covering her dirty, grimy face.
Vidalia was mentally twenty-four, yet she couldn't stop herself from envying them.
She had no place here.
The children stared at her with furrowed brows. The boy looked curious; the little girl looked disgusted.
"Mother? Father?" the boy called.
Panic surged in Vidalia. They had nearly forgotten she was there.
The two aristocrats stopped arguing and turned toward their children.
"Who is she?" the boy asked.
"Your little sister," Erwin replied coldly.
"What!?" the girl shrieked, horrified and repulsed. The reaction hurt Vidalia more than she expected.
"Erwin!" his wife snapped. "Don't worry, Angela, my dear. She won't stay," she reassured her daughter gently.
Angela?
Angela Sullivan.
Vidalia's eyes widened as she stared at the little girl.
Her sky-blue hair reminded her of a bright summer sky. Her blue-gray eyes sparkled with joy, and her ever-present smile was infectious. Her creamy, soft skin made one want to caress her endlessly. Kind and gentle, she helped everyone regardless of social class.
Angela Sullivan was an angel fallen from heaven.
Vidalia couldn't believe her eyes.
She had reincarnated into her favorite novel—and the heroine was now her older sister, staring at her with disgust and shame. The gentle, loving Angela Sullivan stood right before her.
"Why?" Erwin said. "She possesses high-level magic. She could become a great asset to the family—unlike Angela." He hesitated before finishing the sentence.
Angela bit her lower lip and shot Vidalia a hateful glare no six-year-old should be capable of.
"Don't compare that wretch to our precious daughter!" the woman snapped.
Vidalia wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out.
The woman pulled Angela into her arms, holding her protectively.
"From now on, she will be Angela's servant," she announced coldly.
"Excuse me?" Erwin frowned.
"You brought her here against my wishes," she continued sharply. "I didn't throw out her courtesan mother just so her spawn could usurp my child's place. If this family becomes the subject of gossip about your adultery in high society, it will be your fault."
Erwin growled in irritation, unable to retort.
She left the room with Angela, who cast Vidalia a satisfied look over her shoulder.
Vidalia felt numb.
How had she ended up in some twisted version of Cinderella?
The adrenaline—or whatever had been keeping her upright—finally faded. Under her brother's conflicted gaze, Vidalia collapsed into unconsciousness.