Author's pov

The Jakirwar mansion hummed with the controlled chaos of early morning.

But it was not the maids who filled the large kitchen with industry. Instead, a slim and fragile, twenty-three-year-old girl moved with hurried precision, her movements as quiet as possible, yet filled with a desperate energy.

Maids stood in the periphery, their faces etched with a shared, silent pity as they watched her. This was the ritual of Sriya's morning, a performance of subservience for the benefit of a family who had claimed her but never truly embraced her.

She worked the dough for parathas, flipping them with hands that moved so quickly they blurred.

Beside the pan, she chopped vegetables for a salad, the rhythmic thud of the knife a counterpoint to the soft sizzle of cooking bread.

A sudden urgency seized her, and she grabbed a paratha from the hot pan with her bare fingers. A sharp, private hiss of pain escaped her lips, but she didn’t drop it. A burn was nothing compared to the consequences of being late. She knew the rules of this house all too well.

The concerned glances of the maids followed her every move. They were a silent, sympathetic Greek chorus to her private drama.

Finishing her task, Sriya fled the kitchen, a phantom moving through the sleeping halls.

She clutched the bandage her maid, Devaki, had put on her hand earlier.

A small, private moment of kindness in a world of cold utility. She reached her room, the door clicking shut behind her, and checked the clock. There was a little time. Her day, the one she truly lived for, was about to begin.

Sriya's pov

The water from the shower was a soothing balm, washing away the lingering smell of spices and the faint, phantom sting on her fingertips. I dried my hair quickly, throwing on the first clothes I could find. College was waiting, my sanctuary.

My final year of fine art was nearing its end. Soon, with a postgraduate degree, I could finally find a job and, hopefully, a new life, i don't know if i deserve it but want to change my life just a little it will enough for me.

The clock on my nightstand showed nine o'clock. I was already running late. I grabbed my bag and headed for the door, my mind a whirlwind of art history terms and exam stress. As I reached the main door, a figure blocked my path.

"Beta... take your tiffin and give me your hand, quickly," Devaki ordered, though her expression was a familiar mask of worry.

I obediently put the lunch box in my bag and held out my hand. I knew better than to argue. Devaki was my only solace here, the one person who noticed every scratch, both physical and emotional, since my mother’s death.

She is the only one who cared for me and my brother that my father never did.

As she applied the medicine and wrapped a bandage around my burned finger, my heart swelled with a silent gratitude.

"Go now, beta," she said, giving me a quick hug. "And don't be late , Come home on time."

As I stepped outside, the memory of her kindness was a warm spot in the chill of the morning.

Meanwhile, In the mansion...

Devaki watched Sriya disappear down the driveway. "Don't know when this child will find happiness," she murmured to herself. "Please, God, send someone to love and heal her."

Her prayer was cut short by the sound of Rajiv Jakirwar's heavy footsteps on the grand staircase. He descended, adjusting his tie and jacket, and took his seat at the dining table.

His wife, Maaya, glided down moments later, her face a serene mask of indifference as she joined him. A line of maids, including Devaki, began serving their breakfast.

"This girl is getting too spoiled," Maaya sighed, her voice dripping with venomous sweetness. "See, Rajiv, she doesn't even eat breakfast with us. she can't wake up early? Ugh, I am so tired of her tantrums, she never listen and last night she went to the club where don't know which type of people comes ".

At this age she doesn't do this type of cheap things without thinking about our reputation.

Her every single word is planned to create Sriya 's image as a spoiled child .

Rajiv listened, his thoughts elsewhere, before turning to Devaki. "Go and wake her up," he instructed. "Tell her I want to talk to her now."

Devaki's face turned ashen. She knew the truth—that Sriya had been up for hours. She also knew that telling him would bring down Maaya's wrath upon both her and the sriya. Hesitantly, she nodded and went upstairs, but only to hide in a secluded gallery, waiting for the moments to pass.

Minutes later, she returned, her posture slumped with feigned exhaustion. "Sir, I wake up Sriya beta," she lied softly, biting her lip. "She's just taking a shower."

That's the only thing she do as always , the her routine whenever maya tells lies about Sriya's whereout , cause Rajiv didn't even know how his children suffered in Maya's wrath.

"Okay," Rajiv replied curtly, finishing his breakfast. As he stood to leave for work, he paused. "Tell her she must be in front of me this evening. I want to talk to her, and I should not receive any excuses."

Maaya watched her husband leave, a wicked smirk playing on her lips. She knew Sriya was long gone and there was no way the girl would receive the message in time. She turned to the terrified maids. "Good job," she hissed, her voice low and threatening. "But if anyone tells her, it won't be good for you. Understood?".

The maids nodded in terrified silence. When Maaya had retreated to her room, one of the maids, Rakhi, finally spoke. "How long will this go on, kaki?" she whispered to Devaki, her voice filled with anger. "How much longer must poor Sriya suffer this wretched woman?"

Devaki's reply was a weary sigh. "We can't do anything, Jhumki " Who knows what spectacle she'll create to torment for Sriya this evening. She's already separated her from her brothers, and now she's determined to make every day a living hell for her.".

A somber silence fell over them as they returned to their duties. They worked with an unspoken pact, cleaning every corner of the mansion, ensuring no task was left undone. They would not give Maaya any extra ammunition to use against Sriya later.

Two hours later, Maaya emerged from her room, dressed in her finest clothes for her daily kitty party. The house staff knew her routine well; it was another performance in the grand theater of her fake life.

Every word she spoke about Sriya was a lie, twisted to create misery for Rajiv's children, and especially for Sriya, the quiet, reserved daughter of a rich businessman forced to live like a servant in her own home.

Her power had even reached Sriya's brothers, Aayush and the youngest, both sent abroad where Aayush was expanding his father's business, and the younger one to study.

Sriya was alone, abandoned to a father who remained oblivious and a stepmother who rejoiced in her suffering.

Soon, Maaya swept out of the mansion, leaving the oppressive air of her presence behind.

Sriya's pov

As I walked away from the mansion, my pace quickened with every step until I was running. I couldn't miss the last bus. With my second-to-last practical exam for my fine art degree looming, failure was not an option.

The thought of finding an internship after graduation was a lifeline, a promise of a new beginning.

I arrived at the bus stand just in time, my watch showing 9:29. As I settled into an empty seat on the bus, a familiar sense of relief washed over me. I quickly texted Devaki aunty, letting her know I was safe and get the bus. .

The bus journey was a welcome blur of passing scenery, a temporary escape.

In college...

The bus dropped me off far from the university. I had twenty minutes to walk the final stretch. My feet pounded the pavement, my mind already rehearsing the creative process for my practical exam. I was a fine art student, not a maid, and here, in my element, I felt powerful.

I reached my seat just as the examiner arrived. The topic was "unique, inspired by people's lives." My mind, filled with the contrasting emotions of my life, immediately began to pull at threads of color and form. The canvas felt like a blank page, ready to hold my truth.

I worked with a fierce concentration, my hands a flurry of motion with brushes and markers. The three-hour time limit was a ticking clock, but it was a challenge I embraced, not a consequence to fear. It was my time to create, my time to exist fully in a world that was truly my own.

I created my emotions ,my trauma and everything I ever got from my life in the blank paper with practice ease.

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Hi guys☺️🤗

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Well get ready for more twists

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