ELYRA.

The banging dragged me out of sleep like a hand yanking my hair.

I groaned and rolled over, burying my face into the pillow, hoping and praying it would stop. My body felt heavy, the kind of heavy that came from sleeping with a troubled mind. Last night had been a blur of anger and confusion. After Radiel left, I had left my dinner halfway. The thought of sitting at that long table, surrounded by silence and servants who watched without looking, had turned my stomach. So I had returned to my room, alone, and eventually sleep took me.

Now, someone was ruining it.

The banging came again, louder and sharper, like they were offended that I hadn’t answered the first time.

My eyes snapped open. My heart jumped straight into annoyance.

“What the hell?” I muttered, pushing myself up. “Who bangs on a door this early?”

Before I could even throw the covers off or ask who it was, the door suddenly flew open.

I sucked in a breath.

A petite maid walked in like she owned the room.

She couldn’t have been much older than me. She was slim, sharp-eyed, hair tied tightly at the back of her head. She didn’t look surprised to see me sitting up in bed, my hair messy, face still heavy with sleep. If anything, she looked bored.

For a second, I just stared at her, then I felt the irritation rush through me.

“Excuse me?” I snapped. “Do you usually enter people’s rooms without permission?”

She shrugged, not even bothering to dignify my comment with a word. She just lifted one shoulder like my question wasn’t worth the effort of answering.

That was when my irritation shifted into something hotter.

I was sure—absolutely sure—that the secretary had introduced me yesterday. Even though I hated the title, even though it felt like a chain around my neck, she had still said it clearly.

I was the boss’s new wife. So why was this girl standing in my room like I was nothing more than an inconvenience?

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you manners?” I demanded. “It’s rude to barge into someone’s room.”

She finally spoke, her voice flat and unapologetic.

“I’m here to check if you’re still alive.”

I blinked.

“What?”

“We served breakfast,” she went on, looking around the room as if searching for something interesting. “You didn’t come down. So I came to see if you were dead or just too lazy to get up. The latter seems to be the answer, considering what time it is.”

For a moment, I honestly thought I had misheard her. My chest tightened, just as I lifted my gaze to glance at the wall clock.

“Are you right in the head?” I asked sharply. “Who are you to speak to me like that?”

She looked at me then, really looked at me. Her eyes swept over my face, my rumpled nightdress, my bare feet dangling off the bed. The look she gave me wasn’t respectful. It wasn’t even curious.

I felt embarrassed by her stare.

Something inside me snapped.

“Don’t look at me like that, and if you've got nothing else to say, please leave my room,” I snapped, gripping the bedsheet. “You’re crossing a line.”

She scoffed.

“A line?” she repeated. “Do you think you’re a princess or something?”

I stared at her.

“You didn’t come down for breakfast,” she continued, her tone dripping with spite. “So I thought maybe you expected it to be served to you in bed.”

That was it.

“That’s enough!” I said, my voice shaking now. “Do you even know who you’re addressing?”

She tilted her head, studying me like I was a puzzle she had already solved.

“Oh, I do,” she said calmly. “You’re the boss’s puppet wife.”

The words hit me harder than a slap. My mouth opened, but nothing came out.

Puppet wife?

“And so what?” she added, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

I felt the blood drain from my face, my hands stiff as my sides as I stared at her in shock. My mind scrambled for words, for something sharp enough to throw back at her, but all I could do was sit there, stunned. My heart was pounding so loud I was sure she could hear it.

She gave me a slow, deliberate once-over—not even trying to hide the insolence in her eyes. Then, very abruptly, she turned around and walked out, just like that.

The door closed behind her with a soft click that somehow felt louder than the banging that had woken me.

I sat there for a long moment, unmoving. The room felt too quiet. My hands slowly tightened into fists.

“That didn’t just happen,” I whispered to myself. “It couldn’t have.”

Maybe I was still asleep. Maybe this was some strange dream caused by everything that had happened so fast—marriage, this house, Radiel’s coldness…

Yes. That had to be it.

I swung my legs off the bed and stood up, my feet sinking into the soft carpet. The room looked the same as always. Too big. Too perfect. Too unfamiliar.

If it was a dream, it felt painfully real.

I walked to the mirror and stared at my reflection—my messy hair, the slight dark circles under my eyes. I was a woman who still hadn't recognize herself as someone else's wife.

“Puppet wife,” I murmured.

The words tasted bitter.

Anger slowly replaced the shock. Not just at the maid—but at the situation. At how easily people assumed things about me. At how quickly I had been reduced to a title I never asked for.

I took a deep breath.

“No,” I said out loud. “I won’t accept this.”

I quickly washed up and changed, choosing a simple dress. Nothing fancy. I wasn’t trying to impress anyone. But I also wasn’t going to walk downstairs looking small.

As I stood before the dresser, staring at my reflection on the mirror, my heart beat fast—not with fear, but with resolve. If the maid—and anyone else—thought I was a puppet, I was going to show them just how very wrong they were.

ELYRA.

I pinched myself hard, right on the arm, and the pain was sharp and real, not the dull kind you feel in dreams. That was when it truly sank in—I wasn’t dreaming. An ordinary maid had spoken to me like that. The memory replayed in my head, every word, every look, and the anger that had briefly settled earlier came rushing back like fire through my veins. My chest tightened as I still stood there before the dresser, my hand gripping the edge of the table tightly.

“How dare she,” I muttered under my breath.

I didn’t even wait an extra second as I stormed out of the room, intent on finding her. She was going to apologize. I didn’t care how long it took, didn't care what it took. No maid—no one in particular—got to disrespect me and walk away like nothing happened.

But the moment I stepped out, all my determination leaked away.

The hallway stretched endlessly in both directions, wide and silent, polished floors reflecting the high ceiling above. The mansion looked even bigger in daylight, its walls towering over me like a maze designed to swallow people whole. I turned left, then right, my footsteps echoing softly, but there was no sign of the maid. I heard no voices, saw no movement. All I saw before me was just space. Too much space.

I stopped walking.

“What now?” I whispered to myself.

I stood there for a few seconds, my hands curling into fists before slowly relaxing. Chasing after a maid in this massive place suddenly felt foolish, exhausting and pointless.

With a tired sigh, I turned back toward my room.

“She’s not worth it,” I told myself as I walked. I wasn't supposed to be so worked up over something silly a maid had done.

I repeated it like a chant, hoping it would calm me down. It didn’t. My body still felt hot, my nerves tight and restless. By the time I got back into the room, my patience was completely gone.

I glanced at the clock on the wall. 10:52 a.m.

I blinked. “Almost eleven?”

I hadn’t even realized how late it was. No wonder my head felt heavy. Normally, breakfast would have been served hours ago. A full tray. Warm food. Variety. That was how things had always been.

I suddenly began to feel so hot again.

“I need a bath,” I murmured. Maybe it would calm me before I lost my mind.

The water helped. As it ran over my skin, I closed my eyes and tried to breathe slowly, letting the cold water calm me down. For a moment, I pretended I was somewhere else—somewhere familiar and safe.

By the time I dressed up again and brushed my hair, I felt a little more in control. I still felt very annoyed, yes, but I was calmer.

“Breakfast,” I said to my reflection. The maid had mentioned breakfast when she came up earlier. I was sure they'd left mine down at the dining table.

I headed downstairs, my steps light but cautious. The living room greeted me with its usual elegance—wide sofas, tall windows, quiet luxury. But the moment my eyes landed on the table as I stepped into the dining area, I froze.

Something was wrong.

There was no breakfast cart. There were no warmers. No plates stacked neatly. Just a single bowl sitting there, lonely and small, like it didn’t belong.

I walked closer, my brows knitting together.

“A bowl?” I whispered.

I lifted the cover slowly, wondering what it contained.

“What?”

I almost dropped the cover, staring in shock at the bowl of cereals.

It was not even the good kind. I could tell immediately. It was the cheap brand sold in corner shops. And judging by how soggy it looked, it had been sitting there for a long time.

“At least an hour,” I muttered in disbelief.

My hands shook as I set the cover down slowly. This wasn’t a mistake. This wasn’t an oversight.

This was deliberate. A clear provocation.

I took a deep breath. Then another. Screaming wouldn’t solve anything. I needed answers.

Grabbing my phone, I dialed the secretary’s number. It rang thrice, and just when I was about to hang up, the call connected.

“Yes?” the woman answered, her tone clipped, impatient, like I had interrupted something important.

My jaw tightened instantly. I hated that tone. It made me feel like a burden. Like I shouldn’t even be calling.

“There seems to be an issue with my breakfast,” I said, forcing politeness.

There was a pause. “I’ll get through to Mr. Radiel,” she replied quickly.

Before I could say another word, the line went dead. I stared at my phone.

“She… cut the call?” I whispered.

My chest felt tight again, the anger returning twice as strong. I recalled everything that had happened since last night and all I could feel now was pure annoyance.

“What the hell?” I muttered to the empty room. “Is this some kind of joke?”

Right then, my phone rang.

Radiel.

I answered immediately. “Radiel, I—”

“Just eat the god-damned breakfast and stop complaining,” he snapped.

The call ended as abruptly as it had started. I lowered the phone slowly. Silence filled the living room.

I looked around, half-expecting someone to jump out and laugh, to tell me that it was all a prank. But nothing happened. There were no footsteps. No voices.

Just me. And a bowl of cold cereal.

“Hope I haven't made a terrible mistake, though,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “I really do hope this isn't a mistake”

Before I could finish that thought, footsteps approached.

I looked up.

A slender woman stood a few feet away, dressed neatly in a maid’s uniform. Her back was straight, her face stern, her eyes sharp. I recognized her immediately.

The head maid. Finally.

“What is the meaning of this nonsense?” I demanded, pointing at the table. “Is this some kind of insult?”

She didn’t flinch.

“This is the menu for the day,” she replied calmly.

I laughed once, sharp and disbelieving. “You must be joking.”

“Joking?” she asked, giving me an amused look. “I'm very sure I didn't try to make anyone laugh.”

“So this is what I'm going to eat? A bowl of cold cereal, looking all soggy?” I asked, my mind refusing to accept the reality before me.

She tilted her head slightly. “If you don’t want it, you can starve.”

The words hit me like a slap.

“What did you just say?” I asked quietly.

She met my gaze without fear, staring at me for seconds before she finally spoke.

“I said what I said.”