This was a life marked by curses—like a witch who spends her days casting them, only to be cursed in the end herself. "Witch woman," that's what they used to call her mother. Back then, Audrey didn't understand a thing. Not even when her mom left this world for good, leaving Audrey behind, clueless and alone.
All she could remember was the pity in everyone's eyes as she sat before the coffin—keeping vigil, receiving the quiet, awkward condolences from people who didn't really know what to say.
How could a nine-year-old girl possibly understand the mess of adult drama? She'd grown up with only her mom, no father in the picture, but she never lacked love. No one had ever dared to hurt her.
In her hometown, everyone treated Audrey with kindness. Nothing like the big city, where strangers who knew her name but not her soul couldn't stop staring, as if she came with a warning label.
Back then, in Audrey's innocent little head, only one thought stood out: "If my mom really was a witch, then she was more powerful than any of them."
Witches could do amazing things with their magic. Way cooler than adults who just stood around whispering behind her back without offering a shred of truth.
Audrey had no clue what her mom had done to earn their scorn. No idea why they felt so free to slap that label on her like it was gospel. But even at that age, she could tell—it wasn't meant to be a compliment.
Maybe she was the only one who saw her mom in a good light back then—simply because she couldn't imagine her being anything other than the loving woman who raised her.
Years passed. That little girl grew up. Not quite a child anymore, but still not fully a woman either. And somewhere in that in-between, Audrey finally came to understand why people used to say those things about her mother.
Because now, she was wearing the curse too.
Becoming a "witch woman" in her own right—without knowing how, or when, or why it had turned into something so cruel. A label she never asked for, but one she had to carry alone on her narrow shoulders.
"Hey, Audrey!"
The long-haired girl turned her head lazily toward the voice. Her heavy-lidded eyes looked half-asleep, only adding to the ever-present aura of disinterest she carried.
Audrey Mabel Rosewood, 25 years old, lived alone—no family, just her and a quiet little inn that rarely saw guests.
Today she was mopping the wooden floors when the voice distracted her, its owner still out of view.
Moments later, a head popped out from behind the sliding door. Audrey barely glanced over before rolling her eyes and returning to her mop.
"What's with that look?" the head now revealed a neck, shoulders, and finally the rest of a lanky frame.
Audrey, still facing away, decided to pretend he didn't exist. She went right on cleaning like she'd gone deaf.
"No wonder your inn never gets busy—you treat people like ghosts," the guy muttered behind her.
Audrey slowly turned her head, lips parting as she deadpanned, "Sorry, are you a guest?"
That question was enough to throw the tall guy for a loop. He rubbed the back of his neck like an old man stressed out by high blood pressure.
"No need for the blood pressure act. You've got low blood pressure, remember?" she added, still sounding as bored as ever.
The man opened and closed his mouth a few times, like a fish out of water, then shut his eyes and inhaled deeply—as if preparing for battle.
"It's that attitude that keeps people from staying at this place, you know?" Vale finally snapped.
"Who wants to stay, can stay. Who doesn't, doesn't have to. No one's forcing them," Audrey replied, giving a casual shrug.
"So, what's the deal, Mister Unemployed? Don't waste my time if you've got nothing useful to say."
Vale's eyes suddenly widened as if he'd just remembered something vitally important.
"There's a guest! Hurry up, come help me welcome them!" he said, practically bouncing with enthusiasm.
Sometimes, Audrey felt more like an employee than the actual owner of her own guesthouse. The tall guy in the baggy tee and sweatpants had already grabbed her by the arm and was tugging her toward the front.
"Hey, Vale Sigourney—I can walk just fine on my own. No need to drag me," Audrey grumbled, though she didn't exactly pull away either.
Vale Maximillian Sigourney, with his jobless-young-guy vibe, ignored her complaints completely. Moments later, they were standing at the entrance.
"Welcome to Rosewood's Guest House!" Vale declared with the flair of a fake innkeeper who'd taken the role way too seriously.
Audrey let out a dramatic sigh, then bowed beside him—playing along as the undercover owner posing as staff.
"You're... Audrey Rosewood, right?"
Both Audrey and Vale blinked in surprise at the unexpected guess from the man standing before them. Vale figured the guy must've put two and two together from the name of the place.
'Not like someone as devilishly handsome as me could ever be named Audrey,' Vale thought smugly.
He watched the exchange between Audrey and the new guest, his brow tightening as realization began to dawn.
"Wait... Senior Zavier Lawrence?" Audrey whispered, stunned.
Vale's eyes narrowed. So they knew each other. Of course they did—this guy was from California, same as Audrey. She'd gone to school there before moving back to Wellington two years ago.
'Guess that'll make it easier for her to want to help serve the guest,' Vale mused. Though deep down, he felt a little uneasy imagining her being left alone around this guy.
"Babe, this place is gorgeous! Oh wow, you already found us the perfect spot?" A soft voice cut through the air, stealing everyone's attention—including Vale's, who had just turned to study Audrey's face again.
Zavier smiled brightly and waved toward the voice.
A woman stepped into view, nearly the same height as Zavier—around 5'9". Her waist-length hair shimmered golden in the midday sun, dyed the color of honey. And the smile she offered them all?
It could've belonged to an angel.
The woman's entire look screamed elegance—even though she was wearing a cheap floral dress, the kind you'd find at a traditional market, covered in oversized prints that grandmas adore. Still, on her, it looked like something out of a high-end summer collection.
Audrey unconsciously curled the corner of her lip. A crooked smile flickered, followed by a flash of pain that passed too quickly for most to notice. But not Vale.
His brow furrowed even deeper. This was new. Audrey rarely showed much of anything beyond boredom or disinterest. Smiles were rare. Laughter even rarer.
He had a dozen questions forming in his head, but none of them would be answered anytime soon. Audrey had already slipped back into her usual mask—unbothered, cool, and now offering a polite greeting to the tall, angelic woman… Zavier Lawrence's wife.
The rest of the day passed with Audrey and Vale prepping the couple's room and whatever else they needed. By late afternoon, the guests announced they wanted to explore Wellington and would be back around 7 p.m.
Audrey immediately went into prep mode, mentally counting down and sorting ingredients for their dinner.
"What are you doing in here?"
Vale wasn't oblivious to the not-so-subtle hint that she wanted him gone. The problem? He was a little unhinged. The kind of guy who didn't care much what other people thought. The kind who pushed boundaries just by being himself.
"I saw you smile," he said flatly.
That was classic Vale—blurting out whatever came to mind, no filter. Zero concern for personal space or timing.
"So?"
"You know what I mean, Audrey. Want me to do something about that tall chick?"
There it was. Exactly what Audrey always meant when she called him insane. Vale might've been older than her, but his brain sometimes felt like it belonged to a moody high school kid.
And what was that even supposed to mean—do something? What were they, mobsters?
"Don't be ridiculous, Vale. Who gave you the right to say something like that?"
"Because I'm your childhood friend? Because you're basically my little sister?" he said, shrugging like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Audrey gave him a long, unimpressed glare and slammed the knife onto the cutting board.
Just like that, her motivation to make seafood evaporated. The shrimp she'd been about to clean now sat abandoned on the counter. She had no interest in digging deeper into this conversation. She just wanted to shove it into a dark corner of her heart and pretend it didn't exist.
"You know lying to me never works. Keeping things from me won't either," Vale said.
"I know. You're a maddening, delusional maniac!" Audrey snapped, yanking open the fridge.
She grabbed a bottle of water, hoping a sip would cool the storm inside her.
No such luck.
Vale swiped the bottle right out of her hand, flashed that infuriating grin, popped the cap, and gulped it down until only half remained.
Audrey knew exactly what he was doing.
This was Vale's way of messing with her. The tall idiot knew she hated sharing drinks—especially straight from someone else's bottle. But that was the thing with Vale: he never let up until he got what he wanted.
"Just say it. Whatever it is. It's only five. We've got two hours before they're back. How long could this story be, really?"
"Vale," Audrey said quietly, lifting her head and locking eyes with him, "you've heard the rumors, haven't you? That my mother was some kind of seductress?"
Vale didn't blink. His gaze didn't flinch.
"And I—her daughter—maybe I'm destined to become the same."