"Hurry! Get up to the attic and hide!" the woman urged, her voice low but desperate, her plump figure barring the stairwell as she pushed the taller girl upward.
"I can't let the Alpha see you," she added sharply, her brown eyes darting to the front window as a sleek black car rolled into view.
Mirabelle hesitated, her long brown hair slipping over her shoulder as she turned back, her striking blue eyes narrowing. "But I'm hungry. Can't I at least bring something to eat up there?" she complained, her tone petulant but melodic.
"No! There's no time," her aunt, Claudine snapped, her gaze hardening. "His car is already here." she pointed out.
"Ugh." Mirabelle sighed dramatically, pulling her skirt higher as she trudged up the stairs, the wood creaking under her weight.
From the plush couch in the corner, Sally snickered.
Her eager grin, made ridiculous by the garish smear of red lipstick, stretched as she lazily kicked her legs. "Go away, Mirabelle. Don't ruin this for me."
Mirabelle paused at the top of the stairs, rolling her eyes. "Okay, sorry," she muttered half-heartedly before disappearing into the shadows above.
Sally stood, spinning on her heel with exaggerated grace, her silky brown hair cascading down her back. "Well? How do I look?" she asked, striking a pose for her mother.
Her mother's lips parted in awe, her hands fluttering to her chest. "You look… like you'll keep the alpha prince here forever," she replied, her voice trembling with excitement.
Sally's smile widened, her brown eyes sparkling as she tilted her chin. Every strand of her smooth hair was flawless, her cat-eye liner drawn in sharp, precise lines.
"Sit. Pretty." Her mother clapped her hands, shooing her toward the couch. "Your father is bringing him inside any moment now."
Sally perched delicately on the edge of the seat, her nerves palpable even as she tried to maintain her composure.
Whilo her mother, Claudine fidgeted beside her, her fingers twisting the hem of her apron.
"It's finally happening," she whispered, more to herself than anyone else. "They'll choose you. You've come of age, and you're perfect. The alpha prince will have no choice."
She was proud of her daughter.
———
Meanwhile,
"Ouch," Mirabelle cried softly as her knee collided with the wall in the dark stairwell. She hadn't even reached the attic door yet and was already stumbling.
Her hands trembled as she pushed the creaky door open, revealing the dusty, cramped space she had come to call her haven.
It wasn't by choice.
Ever since she lost her parents at the tender age of five and was sent to live with her aunt's family, Mirabelle had been treated as if she carried some unseen curse.
Her aunt's words—always biting, always cold—echoed in her mind: "Don't do anything to stain this family."
Stain. As if she was dirty. As if being an orphan made her less.
Mirabelle eased herself onto the worn wooden floor, the air thick with the scent of old wood and neglect.
The attic had become her refuge, the one place in the house where she could breathe, where the weight of her aunt's disapproval and her cousin Sally's endless vanity couldn't crush her.
Then her stomach grumbled, this place offers a weird sense of comfort. But even here, her hunger gnawed at her. She had just returned from work, the late hours leaving her exhausted.
She hadn't eaten yet, and now—because the alpha prince was coming—she wouldn't get the chance.
Her stomach growled in protest, but she ignored it, leaning her head back against the wall. Her mind began to churn with frustration.
Why am I hiding? Why am I supposed to hide?
The thought came unbidden, but once it surfaced, it refused to let go.
She was a young woman too, wasn't she? Just as capable, just as deserving.
If her parents were alive, wouldn't they have prepared her to meet the alpha prince?
Wouldn't they have celebrated the possibility of her being chosen, instead of shoving her into the shadows like a shameful secret?
Her lips pressed into a thin line as she stared at the sliver of moonlight peeking through the cracked attic window.
Her cousin Sally had every opportunity handed to her—new dresses, lessons in poise, and praise lavished on her at every turn.
But Mirabelle? She was expected to stay out of sight, invisible to the world unless when she leaves for work.
Still, she shook her head, trying to push the bitterness aside. She wouldn't let herself spiral into self-pity. Not now.
She didn't care about the alpha prince.
Did she? No.
She couldn't afford to care about some man she didn't know, someone who might not even glance her way.
What she did care about, though, was herself. She had worked too hard, endured too much, to let her aunt and cousin continue to dictate her life.
But it was clearly hunger speaking because she couldn't fight them when she had nothing to her name but them.
Her stomach growled again, louder this time, and Mirabelle sighed.
"I'd rather find something to eat than think about a man," she muttered, pushing herself off the floor. The attic was no place for dreams or self-doubt.
If she was going to survive in this family, she needed strength—and food.
But as she reached the narrow window to peer outside, the gleaming black car pulling into the driveway sent a chill down her spine.
What would she do now?