Thea's earliest memories were filled with warmth. Her mother's gentle hands, the soothing lullabies she sang every night, and the way her smile lit up their tiny, modest home. It had always been just the two of them, a quiet, simple life amidst the bustling world outside. Thea never asked about her father. She had learned early that his absence was a wound her mother carried silently, one too deep to probe. Her mother's love had been enough.

But then, the sickness came. It crept into their lives like a thief in the night, stealing her mother's laughter, her strength, and, finally, her life. In her final days, her mother whispered words Thea could barely understand, words about a man she had never met. "He must know about you. He must take care of you now." she said, her voice frail but determined. Letters were sent, though Thea didn't know what they contained. All she knew was that her mother's last wish was to ensure she wasn't left alone.

The day her mother passed, Thea's world shattered. The warmth and love that had been her foundation were gone, replaced by a cold, unfamiliar void. She was only eight when a man she had never seen before arrived at their door. He was tall, imposing, with sharp features that seemed carved from stone. He looked at her with an expression she couldn't read—a mixture of regret, obligation, and something else she couldn't name. "I'm your father." he said, his voice as cold as the winter wind that day.

Her journey to her new life was a blur of tears and confusion. The city where he brought her was unlike anything she had ever known. Towering buildings cast long shadows, and the streets buzzed with activity that felt overwhelming. Her new home was grand but unwelcoming, a mansion filled with polished floors and ornate furniture that felt more like a museum than a place to live.

Thea's stepmother, Anna, greeted her with a thin smile that didn't reach her eyes. "So, you're the girl!" she said, her voice dripping with disdain. Her two half-brothers, boys just a few years older than her, stared at her with hostility.

Rumours of Thea's existence spread quickly through society. Whispers of an illegitimate child, a girl born out of wedlock, flared up like a firestorm but were extinguished just as quickly by her father's influence. Still, the stain of scandal lingered, and it was clear she was to remain invisible, a secret no one wanted to remember.

Thea's days became a monotonous cycle of lessons and isolation. Tutors came to the house, teaching her everything from arithmetic to history, but she was never allowed beyond the gates of the estate. Her stepmother's strict rules ensured she had no freedom, no friends, no life beyond the confines of her room. Mistakes, no matter how small, were met with harsh punishment. A spilled drink, a poorly recited lesson—each error brought cold, cutting words or worse.

She was surrounded by people, yet she had never felt more alone. The mansion echoed with voices, footsteps, and laughter that wasn't meant for her. Thea's world was one of silence and shadows, where every breath felt like an intrusion and every movement was scrutinised. She was a ghost in her own home, unseen and unheard, carrying the weight of her mother's love and the emptiness of her father's indifference.