Inexorable Fate

chapter one

Chapter \[X]

*The Bastard of the Manor*

Footsteps echoed through the seemingly endless marble halls—soft but distinct—punctuating the air like whispers. The maids exchanged glances, snickering behind delicate hands as their eyes flicked toward the young lady of the household.

Lady Luci.

A name spoken with disdain, a girl viewed as little more than a stain upon the family's legacy. Born the illegitimate child of the Duke and the daughter of a mere baron, Luci had been marked from birth—unwanted, unwelcome.

Her mother had died giving birth to her. Whispers in the manor claimed one of the Duke's wives had slipped poison into the woman's tea during labor, intending to end both mother and child in a single, silent stroke. But fate had other plans. Luci survived.

Her reward for living? A life of quiet misery—shunned, tormented, and treated like a ghost that refused to fade.

The wives despised her. The Duke ignored her. Her half-siblings abused her, both physically and mentally, as though punishing her for the mere act of existing.

So she learned silence.

She learned how to shrink into corners, to hold her breath around sharp tongues, to exist without taking up space. Her heart, once fragile, had grown cold—numbed by years of cruelty.

"She harassed the third young lady again, apparently," one maid sneered beneath her breath.

"Again? That demon spawn doesn't know her place," another replied with a gasp.

"She walks around like she owns the manor."

"Why is she even here? A bastard child like her—worthless."

Their words were knives, but they didn't bother lowering their voices. It wasn't as though Luci could do anything. She had no power. No title. No protection. The Duke barely acknowledged her, and where there was no favor, there was no fear.

Even the servants—girls from once-prestigious houses now clinging to the Duke's coattails—felt entitled to scorn her. They spent their idle hours gossiping, bowing to the children of the Duke's legitimate wives, and treating Luci like an unwelcome stain on fine silk.

---

**\[Time Skip]**

Finally—away from the judging stares that followed her like ghosts—Luci stepped into the sanctuary of her room and shut the door behind her.

But her eyes immediately locked onto an unwelcome presence.

One of her older brothers lounged in her chair, his lips curled in a crooked smirk, mischief darkening his gaze. The fourth oldest, and perhaps the cruelest of the lot, rose to his feet with a mock flourish, spreading his arms as if to embrace her.

"Ohhh! My dear sister," he drawled, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Already back from the punishment room so soon? A shame—I was thinking of giving your room a little... makeover."

Translation: he was about to destroy her belongings.

Luci kept her gaze neutral, her tone featherlight—any hint of defiance would be seen as disrespectful.

"Greetings, eldest brother," she said flatly.

His smirk twitched. He froze. Then his grin widened in that twisted, unhinged way that made her skin crawl. He stepped closer and placed a rough hand atop her head, fingers curling tightly in her hair.

"You call that a greeting?" he hissed. "Bow to me, you lowly bitch."

With no hesitation, he shoved her to the floor.

Her body hit the cold stone with a sharp thud. Pain flared through her side, but she made no sound. No cry. No wince. Only silence.

He stared down at her, fist still entangled in her long hair, yanking mercilessly as if trying to pull a reaction from her. But her icy, detached gaze only met his with eerie calm.

"My deepest apologies, eldest brother," she murmured. "It won't happen again."

He snarled and released her, flinging her hair aside like it offended him.

"Stupid bitch," he muttered. "You're not even fun to break."

With that, he stormed out, footsteps echoing angrily down the corridor.

Luci slowly rose to her feet. She dusted off the non-existent dirt on her dress, smoothing the wrinkles from her skirt, and calmly adjusted her hair. Her expression remained composed, save for the briefest scoff of disgust.

*So immature. How pathetic.*

She walked toward the small table in the corner of her room, where a worn wooden chair sat beside a modest stack of books. She was about to sit down when something made her freeze.

Her head snapped toward the door.

Eyes like frozen steel scanned the room, sharp and suspicious. A chill skated down her spine.

*I'm being watched...*

But there was no one. Not a single soul in sight. Just the quiet, the silence, the stillness of her room.

She exhaled slowly, shaking her head with a scoff.

"How foolish of me... getting paranoid."

Yet her gut told her otherwise.

Shrugging off the lingering dread, she decided rest would be the wiser choice. After all, she'd just spent a week in the cold, damp cellar—no food, no light, no warmth. Her bones ached. Her mind was tired.

She lay down and closed her eyes, letting the darkness take her.

Unaware.

Unaware of the pair of glowing, crimson-red eyes watching her from the shadows