Days passed in silence and shadows. Saphira learned to move like a ghost through the Duke's domain, unnoticed and unheard. But inside her, a fire was growing.
She wasn't just surviving. She was watching.
The servants whispered about the Duke's son, Rowen — cruel, distant, feared by all. But when she caught his eye once, something flickered. Not hate. Not fear.
Curiosity.
One evening, when the house was drenched in rain, Saphira found herself near the library, a forbidden place where the Duke kept secrets. She saw Rowen struggling with a locked chest. Without thinking, she stepped forward.
"Let me," she said softly.
He froze, then nodded.
With nimble fingers, she picked the lock in seconds. The chest creaked open, revealing old letters and faded photographs.
Rowen looked at her, a flicker of respect in his eyes.
"You're not like the others," he said quietly.
Saphira smiled for the first time in weeks.
Maybe being unseen was her greatest strength.