~Chapter 3~
One Year Later, Spain
"Maria..."
Allison pushed the heavy oak kitchen door open just a crack. The air in the hallway usually felt stagnant, thick with the scent of floor wax and the crushing weight of a year spent in silence. Since they had moved to Spain, her life had been a series of high-ceilinged rooms and locked gates.
Breakfast was usually a tomb of silence, but today, unfamiliar laughter echoed against the hand-painted tiles—sharp, careless, and startlingly human.
Maria looked up, her face brightening in a way that made the kitchen feel warmer. "Señorita! You're awake. You must be hungry. I made your favorite—pancakes with honey and strawberries."
But Allison wasn't looking at the food. Her eyes were fixed on the girl at the table.
The stranger looked to be her age, but she ate with an urgency Allison had never seen—like someone might snatch the plate away. Messy dark curls framed a face that looked wild and untamed, a stark contrast to the sterile, manicured perfection of the villa. Her sharp eyes missed nothing, darting from the silver cutlery to the heavy drapes.
There was a confidence in her movements—unapologetic, loud, alive. To Allison, who had felt like a ghost drifting through these halls for twelve months, the girl looked like a fire burning in a cold room.
They stared at each other.
Silence filled the room, the only sound the distant hum of the Mediterranean wind against the windowpanes.
Maria cleared her throat, looking between them. "Oh... I forgot to tell you. My daughter arrived late last night. Anna, eat properly. The señorita is here."
Neither girl moved.
"Anna is my younger daughter," Maria added nervously, wiping her hands on her apron.
Anna wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and stood, sizing Allison up with a predatory curiosity. "Hi. What's your name?" Her Spanish accent was thick and musical, cutting through the heavy formal air of the house.
"Allison," she replied softly. A strange pull settled in her chest. For a year, she had been a "princess" in a fortress, her only company the memory of Devin and the cold stares of her parents. In Anna's wild gaze, she saw a spark of the rebellion she thought she had lost.
Then, after a beat: "Do you want to come with me?"
Anna tilted her head, a slow smirk spreading across her face. "...Yeah. Sure."
Maria blinked, surprised. The two girls moved as if something had already clicked—something unspoken, a silent recognition between two people who didn't belong in a museum.
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Anna followed Allison into the master bedroom. It was a room designed for a queen but felt like a mausoleum. The ceilings were vaulted with white plaster, and a massive four-poster bed made of dark, carved walnut sat in the center, draped in heavy cream linens that never seemed to have a wrinkle. Huge arched windows overlooked the Spanish coastline, but the glass was so thick it seemed to muffle the sound of the world outside.
There were no posters on the walls, no clutter—only the lonely scent of lavender sachets and expensive dust.
Inside the bedroom, Anna stopped. Her eyes widened as she took in the silk rugs and the gilded mirrors. Allison locked the door behind them, the click of the deadbolt echoing.
"Oh... wow. Cool bedroom," Anna said, sinking into the soft, overstuffed mattress, testing the springs. "I heard you've been lonely here. A princess in a faraway palace." She chuckled, leaning back on her elbows. "So I volunteered to be your buddy."
"Buddy?"
"Yeah," Anna grinned, her eyes flashing. "Your bodyguard."
Allison let out a dry laugh, leaning against the cold wood of her desk. "Makes sense. They've been keeping me locked in here like I'm going to run away."
Anna shrugged. "Sounds like a fairy tale. But I'm different, Allison. The moment I heard about you... I felt bad for you. I'm here with you—not against you."
Allison slowly lowered the book she had been clutching like a shield.
"I like that look in your eyes," Anna said, sitting up. "So... tell me about your boyfriend."
Allison shook her head quickly, her heart skipping. "No way. He's not my boyfriend."
Anna raised a brow, unconvinced. "Not from what I heard. You two ran off, built your own little house in the woods... sounds like a couple ready to get married."
"What? No!" Allison protested, though the memory of the small house felt like a phantom limb. "We were just playing."
"A misunderstanding, then," Anna hummed, walking over to the window to look at the guards by the gate. "Well, what do you expect? You're from a wealthy family. They'll 'protect' you—no matter the cost."
Allison looked down at her hands. "That's not protection. It's suffocating."
Anna studied her, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Not unless..."
"Unless what?"
Anna leaned closer. "Unless you make them believe you've moved on. Pretend you forgot him. Act normal. Do everything they expect." She held Allison's gaze, intense and unwavering. "If you want freedom someday... if you want to see him again."
Allison fell silent. The idea took root, cold and calculated, mirroring the chill of the marble floors beneath her feet.
"How?" she asked.
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Morning sunlight poured through the arched windows, casting long, sharp shadows across the dining room.
Lauren sat perfectly still, her manicured fingers wrapped around a cup of coffee that had long gone cold. At the opposite end of the mahogany table, Alex gripped the morning paper. He hadn't turned a page in twenty minutes. The silence in the villa was absolute—as heavy and suffocating as a tomb.
Then came the sound.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Soft, rhythmic footsteps echoing down the marble staircase.
The rustle of the newspaper stopped. Lauren held her breath. They both looked up as Allison descended into the light.
Her posture was unnervingly perfect, her spine straight and her chin tilted at the exact, aristocratic angle her tutors had demanded for the past year. The wild, grieving girl they had dragged across an ocean was gone. In her place was a flawless, hollow doll.
She glided to her designated seat, moving without a single wasted breath, and folded her hands delicately on the table. Her face was a mask of smooth, unreadable porcelain.
The silence stretched, thick and fragile, waiting to shatter.
Allison slowly raised her head. Her eyes were dark, flat glass.
"Good morning, Mom. Dad." Her voice was soft, even, and entirely devoid of emotion.
A choked gasp escaped Lauren's lips, her hand flying to her chest as tears of shock pooled in her eyes. Alex slowly lowered the newspaper. The rigid, defensive line of his shoulders finally collapsed. He let out a long, heavy exhale, the ghost of a triumphant smirk touching his face as he picked up his coffee. He had broken her. He had won.
But as Alex looked away, and Lauren hastily dabbed at her eyes with a napkin, neither of them saw it.
The porcelain mask slipped—just for a fraction of a second.
As they looked away, the corners of Allison's mouth twitched, curling upward into a slow, chilling smile. It was a dark, calculated grin that never reached her dead eyes.
The war wasn't over. She had just changed the battlefield.