Star's Pov
Darkness.
That was the first thing I felt.
Not pain.
Not fear.
Just darkness.
The kind of darkness that swallowed everything around me and made me question whether I was awake or trapped inside a nightmare.
My body ached from lying on the cold floor. The air was damp, carrying a strange smell of dust and old walls. I tried to move, but my muscles protested, reminding me that I had been in that room for too long.
I opened my eyes.
Nothing.
No window.
No light.
No sound except the quiet rhythm of my own breathing.
My hands trembled as I pushed myself up, my back pressing against the rough wall behind me.
Where was I?
The question had been haunting me since they threw me in here.
I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to hold onto whatever warmth remained.
But the cold wasn’t the worst part.
The worst part was remembering.
Remembering the person who would never open the door and call my name again.
“Star.”
My father’s voice echoed inside my head.
A broken sob escaped my lips.
“Dad…”
I covered my mouth, trying to stop the sound, but the tears came anyway.
My father.
The only person I had in this world.
The only person who looked at me and saw his daughter, not a responsibility. Not a burden.
Just his little girl.
And it all started with a simple holiday.
Two weeks earlier…
The sound of my suitcase wheels dragging across the marble floor filled the quiet hallway.
“I’m home!”
My voice echoed through the house.
For a moment, there was silence.
Then—
“Star!”
A smile immediately spread across my face.
My father appeared at the end of the hallway, and despite his serious reputation, despite the fact that many people saw him as a powerful businessman, at that moment he was just my father.
The man who always looked happier when I was around.
“You finally decided to come back,” he teased, opening his arms.
I laughed and walked straight into his embrace.
“You missed me.”
“Of course I missed you,” he said, pulling away to look at me. “The house has been too quiet without you.”
I rolled my eyes playfully.
“You survived two weeks without me.”
“Barely.”
I laughed.
That was my father.
Marcellus.
To the world, he was a respected and intimidating man. Someone people listened to when he spoke.
But to me?
He was the man who remembered my favorite meals.
The man who called me whenever he traveled.
The man who always made sure I knew I was loved.
“You look tired,” he said, taking my suitcase from me.
“I spent hours traveling.”
“Then you should rest.”
“No,” I replied immediately. “I want food first.”
He shook his head with a smile.
“Still demanding.”
“You created this monster.”
“I created a spoiled daughter.”
“A loved daughter.”
His smile softened.
“Yes.”
A loved daughter.
Those words would become the memory I held onto when everything else fell apart.
That evening felt normal.
Perfect, even.
My father had prepared dinner himself, something he rarely did because he was always busy.
We sat together, talking about my holiday, laughing over stories I had collected.
For a few hours, there was no danger.
No secrets.
No enemies.
Just us.
I didn’t know it would be the last peaceful night we would ever have.
After dinner, my father sat in his study, going through some documents while I watched a movie in the living room.
That was when his phone rang.
At first, he ignored it.
Then it rang again.
And again.
Something about the sound made me look toward the study.
My father rarely ignored calls.
Especially not repeatedly.
A few minutes later, I saw him walk out.
His expression had changed.
The smile was gone.
The warmth disappeared.
“Dad?”
He looked at me quickly.
Then he forced a smile.
“Everything is fine.”
I frowned.
“You don’t look like everything is fine.”
He walked toward me and placed a hand on my head.
“Sometimes adults have problems they need to handle.”
I hated when he said things like that.
Because it meant he was hiding something.
“Promise me you’re okay.”
His eyes stayed on mine for a long moment.
Then he smiled.
“I promise.”
But something in his eyes told me he was lying.
Across the street, hidden beneath the darkness of the night, someone watched.
A figure stood near the window of a parked vehicle, observing the house.
Observing Marcellus.
The person lifted a phone.
“He’s home.”
A pause.
“He doesn’t know.”
Another pause.
Then a quiet response.
A slow nod.
The call ended.
The figure looked toward the house one final time before disappearing into the night.
Two days later…
My father wore a black suit.
I stood in front of my mirror, adjusting my mask.
The invitation had arrived earlier that week.
A masquerade ball.
A gathering for powerful people.
My father didn’t usually bring me to events like that, but this time he insisted.
“Stay close to me tonight,” he told me.
I looked at him.
“Dad, you’re making it sound like something bad will happen.”
For a moment, he said nothing.
Then he smiled.
“Just promise me.”
I sighed.
“I promise.”
If only I knew that promise would be impossible to keep.