Seventeen years later.
Present day.
In a bathhouse near downtown Ayodale—
Karlyle Navarro.
The name felt heavy, carrying the scent of wealth, fame, power.
A seventeen-year-old boy scrubbed the slippery tiled floor on all fours.
Despite the name, his tank top and shorts smelled only of sweat and hard work. His body was lean, shaped by labor; his face held a quiet sharpness—steady eyes, an intelligence that did not belong here.
Suddenly, he slammed the scrubber down and dropped onto his backside.
"What the hell am I even doing?"
The scrubber skidded away. Nearby, a man slipped mid-scrub and landed hard.
"What's that for?" Daniel Wu shouted, sitting in a puddle. "Lost your mind already? I told you not to study so hard." He grunted as he stood. "Just inherit this place when I die. Simple."
"Master," Karlyle said, sitting cross-legged on the wet floor, "how did you jump to that conclusion?" He smirked. "Could be the scraps you feed me after all this backbreaking work."
Daniel laughed. "Be thankful, kid. No one gives a damn about people like us." He nodded toward the tiny space behind the counter. "You get food and a roof."
Karlyle glanced at the cramped room where they slept—boiling in summer, freezing in winter.
He had grown up in poverty.
It's a blessing I got a good brain despite it.
Daniel no longer reacted to Karlyle's mood swings. They had become routine.
"What is it this time, mad genius?"
"My mother," Karlyle said. "She was kind to everyone. And she still died alone by the roadside."
Something shifted in him.
Grief pressed against his chest—restless, contained, never gone.
Daniel kept scrubbing.
Again.
And again.
Until his reflection stared back from the tiles.
Not smiling.
Not crying.
Just empty.
"Karlyle," Daniel said quietly, "work until you fall asleep. That's how you forget. That's how you start a new day."
Karlyle watched him.
Then he crawled forward, picked up the scrubber, and joined him.
Daniel Wu was his only family in Ayodale.
After Elara died, Daniel had called him here. She had taken them both in—two abandoned boys raised by an orphan who never married, who worked herself thin trying to give them a life.
Poverty followed anyway.
"We inherited her hard work," Karlyle muttered. "And her poverty."
"At least you inherited genius," Daniel said with a smile. "A scholarship to the Royal Academy."
Karlyle's gaze lowered.
Tomorrow is a big day.
Ayodale Royal Academy.
His jaw tightened.
I will rise to the top.
* * *
Meanwhile—
At the Wei Manor, 7 Nova Lane, Bright Side.
"Miss Liora… Miss Liora…"
Sophie Laurent knocked on the locked door.
No answer.
Because of Liora's history, locked doors were forbidden.
Sophie turned and ran downstairs.
* * *
She stopped outside the study, steadied herself, then knocked—three sharp raps.
"Who is it?" Clara's voice drifted out.
"Madam, it's Sophie. Miss Liora locked herself in again."
"Come in."
Clara lay on the sofa by the tall windows, eyes closed.
Sophie's gaze went immediately to the pill bottle.
Quetiapine. 100mg.
Night dosage.
"Ma'am," Sophie said, tension rising, "you were told to stop this medication."
Clara stirred, barely conscious.
"Liora needs you. You can't sleep now."
"Oh, stop…" Clara murmured. "Liora this… Liora that…"
Her lips curled. "Call your lover. Let him save his child."
Hatred flickered across her face before sedation pulled her under again.
If this gets to the patriarch, she'll be thrown out.
Sophie turned away, jaw clenched.
* * *
Upstairs again.
The family portrait loomed beside the staircase.
Clara.
Dorian.
A younger Liora.
Frozen smiles.
Painted perfection.
Lies.
Liora's door was still locked.
"Sweetheart," Sophie said softly. "Please open the door."
Nothing.
Her phone rang again. No answer.
"I'm calling your father," she said, voice trembling.
Silence.
Her eyes burned.
* * *
Inside, Liora sat on the cold marble floor, knees drawn to her chest.
No light.
Only silence.
Somewhere… there must be happiness.
The box cutter on the shelf caught the moonlight.
It glinted.
Invited.
Her body trembled, caught between fear and longing.
Mom… why won't you see me?
* * *
Back in the study—
Clara drifted in sedation.
A cry.
A storm.
A stroller.
Then nothing.
* * *
On the outskirts of Ayodale—
Karlyle slept in the damp heat of his tiny room.
Tears slid silently down his face.
No dreams.
Only sorrow, reaching for someone he had never known.