“Don’t touch me!” Was the only thing Amanda could say after seeing Ophelia leave. Filled with anger and frustration, she grabbed the handrail and got herself up, ignoring the two women that anxiously swarmed around her, trying to help. “How could you stay there and do nothing!?”

   “Lady Amanda, we...” As Patricia tried to speak up, probably to justify the reasoning behind her actions, she was immediately interrupted.

   “I don’t want to hear your excuses!” The crimson-haired girl scorned at them, as if they were complete nuisances, creatures who didn’t deserve the air they inhaled. “You’re fucking useless! Get out of my sight!”

   Both Holly and Patricia bobbed their heads and began walking towards the entrance of the ballroom. Amanda needed to be alone and if they remained there any further, they would, most likely, ruin their years of hard work.

   With cheeks plump red, like a tomato and strongly gritting her teeth, Amanda walked out of the balcony. But, instead of leaving through the ballroom, she opted to have a breather elsewhere. As she was about to turn towards a set of stairs that led to the lower garden, something hard crashed against her, forcing her body to fall straight onto the floor.

   “Ouch...” Without even looking, Amanda began massaging her nose, clenching her fingers tightly on her red dress. “How dare you!? Do you even know who...!”

   Her eyes widened in shock once she saw the being standing before her. A man whose short hair mimicked wildfire, and whose dark blue eyes were as dangerous as the bottom of the ocean, drowning everything in its surroundings. His jawline was sharp, as if a skilled artist had sculpted it, and his warm, tanned skin made him look like a foreigner. 

   Dazzled by the man’s beauty, Amanda lowered her head, hoping to control her flushed cheeks and racing heart. But, among all of this, the young noble woman hadn’t seen the coldness behind the man’s eyes, or even the annoyance that was stuck inside his throat, eagerly waiting to come out.

   “Such impertinence.” His rough voice was nowhere near as kind or as warm as she had innocently imagined, forcing her to shudder in a fit of rage. The man spoke as if she was nothing but an ant, a being that could be squished with the snap of his fingers.

   That was the moment that she finally realized who this unknown beauty was. “Amanda Criswell, greets His Highness, the Crown Prince!” Almost immediately, she moved around on the floor until she was in a complete kneeling position, cold sweat dripping on her back.

   Several minutes passed, but Blake Virden, the first son of the current king, remained quiet, simply glaring down at the rude noble woman. It was only after a long and rather awkward silence that his voice resounded through the area. “You may rise.”

   Unconsciously, Amanda let out a sigh loud enough to be heard by the prince and the hooded man behind him. Slowly, she rose, and it was only when the woman was back on her feet that Blake continued. “Nobles should know their place. Aldrich.”

   In the blink of an eye, the woman’s cheek turned vivid red, as if she had become a lobster, her head completely turned to the side; however, that man’s cold and hatred-filled gaze hurt far more than the beating she had just received.

   Probably from the shock, or maybe the impact, Amanda found herself on the floor, once again, as the prince left alongside his servants. Low commoners, who glared at her as if she was nothing, as if her title, her position, didn’t matter.

   She’d heard the rumors surrounding the crown prince. A man who was as splendid as a burning fire, an exotic beauty, some called him; but his personality was rotten to the core. He despised anyone who wasn’t useful to him, and, if you had a title, you were bound to have a special place in his wicked heart. 

   Some said that during the war, Blake killed every soul indiscriminately, without caring for their age, gender, or worth. To his eyes, they were enemies that needed to be wiped out, like wild weeds that need to be cut from one’s healthy garden.

   Indeed... Bradley is the only one for me. She thought while covering her bruised cheek with her hand. A faint hint of sweetness flew through her taste buds, warning that the impact had been so strong that the interior of her mouth was bleeding.

   Exhausted and out of patience to deal with anyone else, Amanda rushed towards her carriage. As she walked, her mind understood the harsh reality. Even as the daughter of a Duke, her entire existence was nothing but a small, weak rabbit inside a lion’s crib, filled with starving predators. 

   As she recalled Blake’s expression, Ophelia’s cold eyes came to mind. Even if she tried to deny it, her gut knew that, deep down, they were one and the same - beings far superior, far more dangerous, far more... special.

   Some months ago, when Blake returned from the war alongside his warriors, victorious, Amanda was thrilled. She even went to the capital, hoping to get a glimpse of the prince at the celebratory parade; however, much to her dismay, he never showed. Stupidly, she thought that the greatest honor one could attain was to gain the crown prince’s favor and, if she captured his heart, the queen’s seat would do just fine.

   How foolish... A faint yet painful smile appeared on her lips.

   Once she was back at the entrance of the building, Amanda spotted Ophelia walking gracefully beside Mace. As if her body didn’t obey her mind, she froze, helpless.

   The young woman could stand the humiliation they had put her through. After all, a dress was only a dress; however, she couldn’t forgive her sister for stealing her fiancé. The way Bradley looked at her, so warmly, made her heart ache to the point she wished she could rewind time.

   As these wicked thoughts ran wild in her mind, something inside her was still unclear: who was the guilty party? Who was the person worthy of such hatred?

   Ophelia for stealing her fiancé or Bradley for betraying her love?

   Simultaneously, the nobleman spotted Amanda, standing still at the center of the path, her eyes filled with horror and a slight hint of envy. Noticing where her gaze fell, he intervened. “Isn’t that your sister? She looks unwell.”

   “Indeed. She must be feeling ill, My Lord. She was always a very frail girl.” With her answer, Mace’s body shuddered slightly, seeing how cold hearted his brother’s fiancée actually was.

   Regaining some of her sense of self, Amanda rushed, heading straight to her carriage. Ophelia’s eyes widened in shock when the red, swollen and bruised cheek dashed past. And thus, as the horses galloped back to the Wharton’s estate, the young woman’s attention was stuck in another world.

   Who could’ve punished Amanda in such a way?

   A sudden sense of reality struck her down, rooting her feet deep into the ground. Ophelia may be the daughter of a Duke, but she was still weak since, compared to other nobles, she was a woman with no title, nothing more than a bargaining chip in a disgraceful marriage.

   Such logic proved itself Earlier in the night, when she found Mace drinking with a handful of noblemen who simply watched her with lustful glares. Not because of her beauty, but because they knew she would become Terrel’s new toy, and they wished she would become theirs instead.