The house was too quiet for a mansion that grand.

Eirene Callista Drakos stood at the edge of the marble staircase, fingers curled around the railing as if anchoring herself to something real. The morning light spilled through the stained-glass windows in delicate ribbons, but the beauty felt cold—too perfect, like the rest of the house. Too lifeless.

Voices murmured in the drawing room, laughter laced with cruelty echoing faintly from the east corridor. Her sister was probably entertaining the French tutor again, pretending to be the doting, golden daughter. It was a performance. Everything here was.

Everything… except her.

She descended the stairs slowly, the cuffs of her oversized black sweater skimming her hands. Her hair, dark and curling at the ends, framed her tired face. No makeup. No earrings. No attempt to fit the mold her mother had spent years crafting for her.

She didn’t belong here. She never had.

Downstairs, the grand chandelier sparkled above the dining room table—a glittering crown for a kingdom she’d never be allowed to rule. Breakfast was already laid out like a magazine shoot. Silver platters. Porcelain cups. Papaya slices carved into roses. And at the head of the table sat her mother: elegant, poised, and devastatingly detached.

“Good morning, Mother,” Eirene murmured, reaching for a slice of toast.

“Is it?” Persephone Drakos barely looked up from her tablet. “You’re late.”

“It’s 8:04.”

“I said breakfast is at eight. Not when you feel like it.”

Eirene didn’t respond. She sat quietly at the far end of the table, chewing the dry toast like cardboard. Her appetite had vanished years ago, somewhere between the first time her mother called her a mistake and the thousandth time her father looked through her like she didn’t exist.

Alek Drakos—her father—was already gone for the day. CEO of Drakos Holdings. King of their empire. Too important for small talk. Too busy to remember that he had two daughters, not one.

“You need to confirm your dress fitting for Friday,” Persephone continued. “The designer arrives at noon.”

“The lampshade dress?” Eirene asked with a raised brow.

“It’s couture from Athens.”

“It’s a crime against fabric.”

Persephone’s eyes flicked up, sharp and glacial. “Do you think this family built its name by wearing sweatpants and sarcasm?”

“I think this family built its name by stepping on anyone who didn’t fit the image,” Eirene muttered.

Persephone inhaled slowly. “You will wear that gown. You will attend the gala. You will smile. Or so help me, Eirene, you’ll wish you hadn’t embarrassed me in public.”

Eirene didn’t flinch. Not anymore. She rose from her seat wordlessly and left the room, toast still clenched in her hand.

⸻

By the time she reached the front gates of Delphina Academy, her stomach was twisted into a familiar knot. The prestigious private school looked like a palace—white pillars, domed ceilings, uniforms with embroidered crests. And yet, the walls were suffocating.

It wasn’t the grades, the lectures, or even the expectations. It was the stares. The whispers.

She’s the Drakos girl, right? But not the pretty one.

The illegitimate one.

Didn’t her mom cheat or something?

No one ever said it to her face, but she didn’t need them to. Their eyes said enough.

“EIRENE!” a voice called.

She turned—and smiled for real for the first time that morning.

Thalia Petrova. Her best friend. A cyclone of eyeliner, passion, and rebellion wrapped in plaid skirts and combat boots. Half-Greek, half-Russian, and wholly unapologetic.

“You look like hell,” Thalia said, linking arms with her.

“Thanks, I was going for ‘emotionally exiled orphan.’”

“Nailedit. Also, your sister posted a selfie at breakfast. Was that you in the background looking like a Victorian ghost?”

“I didn’t consent to being background trauma.”

They both burst out laughing as they walked through the courtyard. It felt good—briefly.

But the feeling faded the moment they stepped into Literature class.

Because he was there.

A new face, a new energy. Sitting alone near the windows, leaning back like he didn’t need anyone. Dark hair, olive skin, unreadable eyes. A black button-up shirt with sleeves rolled to the elbows, revealing silver rings on his fingers and a small inked symbol on his wrist.

Eirene slowed her steps.

“That’s him,” Thalia whispered beside her. “The transfer. Name’s Leonidas.”

“Of course it is.”

“Apparently got kicked out of St. Myron’s for fighting.”

“Is that supposed to be hot?”

“Obviously.”

Eirene slid into her seat, her back straightening. She wasn’t going to look again. She wasn’t. She—

Leonidas looked up. And caught her stare.

Their eyes locked.

He didn’t blink.

She looked away first.

⸻

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Teachers droned. Students gossiped. The world spun.

At home that night, Eirene sat in her room by the balcony, sketchbook open in her lap. Her pencils moved on their own, soft graphite lines forming shapes she couldn’t yet name. Maybe a face. Maybe wings.

A knock came at the door.

It opened without waiting.

Elara—her sister.

Perfect Elara. Two years older. Chosen, adored, everything Eirene was not. Her golden hair was in its usual braid. She wore a silk pajama set like it was a crown.

“Mom wants you to wear the diamond earrings to the gala,” she said.

“I’m not going.”

“You are.”

Eirene met her gaze. “Why do you care?”

Elara’s smile was soft. Fake. Like always. “Because you being difficult makes the rest of us look bad.”

She left the earrings on the vanity and walked out.

Eirene stared at the door after she left, her chest aching.

She opened her phone. Only one unread message.

Thalia 🖤

U alive? Or did the lampshade dress consume u whole

Eirene 🩶

I think it’s haunting me

Thalia 🖤

I’ll sage your closet

Eirene 🩶

Deal

She put her phone down and turned back to her sketchbook.

But instead of wings, she drew eyes.

Not hers.

His.

The halls of Delphina Academy were alive with chatter by the time Eirene stepped through the gates the next morning. Sunlight streamed through arched windows, glinting off polished floors and casting long shadows on her path. A fresh wind tugged at the hem of her skirt as if trying to pull her back.

But she kept walking.

Every corner of the school felt like it watched her.

“Did you hear?”

“Apparently, he used to be in juvie…”

“I think he’s older. Maybe like, twenty?”

“Eirene looked at him all class yesterday.”

She heard it. All of it. Every whisper.

It wasn’t new. She’d always been the shadow in the corner, the misfit in designer clothes. But today, there was a new buzz in the air—and it wasn’t just about her.

Leonidas Kyrkos.

He walked through the halls like he didn’t owe anyone anything. Like he wasn’t phased by judgment. Like he was built from fire and secrets.

And unfortunately, Eirene was starting to hate how often her thoughts drifted to him.

She pushed the door open to Literature class, eyes low, hoping to make it to her seat without—

“You’re in my spot.”

She looked up.

Leonidas stood beside her desk, that same unreadable expression on his face. His voice wasn’t sharp or loud—it was calm, disarming in its indifference.

“This is literally my seat,” she said.

He tilted his head slightly. “I like the light here.”

Eirene blinked at him. “Then sit on the windowsill.”

“Not very comfortable.”

“Neither is your attitude.”

A couple of students snorted nearby. Someone whispered, “Iconic,” under their breath. Leonidas didn’t react. His lips curved slightly.

“I like you.”

“What?”

He pulled out the chair next to her. “You’re the only one here who doesn’t lie with their eyes.”

“I’m not flattered,” she muttered, glaring forward as the teacher began to speak.

But her heart was suddenly racing. Fast. Loud.

Why was it always like this? Every time something tried to make her feel alive, she shoved it back down. She couldn’t afford feelings. Not in this house. Not in this school. Not in this life.

⸻

After class, Thalia cornered her at her locker.

“You didn’t tell me you and Leonidas had banter energy.”

“I wouldn’t call it banter.”

“I would. There was tension.”

“There was irritation.”

“Same thing,” Thalia grinned.

Eirene rolled her eyes. “Don’t start.”

“I’m just saying, if he suddenly shows up next to you at lunch, I will not be surprised.”

As if summoned by some twisted spell, Leonidas appeared down the hall.

He wasn’t walking toward them—but his eyes, those strange storm-dark eyes, landed on Eirene like he already knew her heart was in her throat.

“Is it just me,” Thalia whispered, “or does he look like the type who keeps a motorcycle, a dagger, and three childhood traumas in his backpack?”

“He does,” Eirene agreed.

“And you’re attracted.”

“I am not.”

“Girl.”

Eirene groaned, shutting her locker. “I have enough problems.”

⸻

At home, the mansion was unusually quiet. The moment Eirene stepped through the front doors, she knew something was wrong.

The air was too still. Too heavy.

She heard voices—low, urgent. Her mother’s. A man’s. She tiptoed closer.

“…she’s not part of the succession,” Persephone snapped.

“She’s still your daughter,” the man replied. He didn’t sound angry. Just tired.

“She was never supposed to exist. You made sure of that.”

Eirene froze.

Her chest tightened. Something burned in her stomach. She pressed her back against the wall, breath caught in her throat.

“Then why not tell her the truth?” the man asked.

“She’d ruin everything.”

“She deserves to know.”

“I’m protecting the family.”

“She is the family.”

A beat of silence.

Then Persephone hissed, “Not in my eyes.”

Eirene turned and fled before her legs gave out.

⸻

That night, she sat by the balcony again, but the sketchbook in her lap remained untouched. The pencil hung between her fingers like a weight. The voices from earlier haunted her. Echoed through her skull.

Not in my eyes.

Was that all she was to them? An error? A stain?

Her phone buzzed.

Thalia 🖤

U alive?

Also… did u notice Leo was staring at you during Chemistry too?

Eirene 🩶

Did not notice. Too busy planning my emotional funeral.

Thalia 🖤

Mood

But like… he was staring. Hard.

U should totally stare back next time. Make it weird.

Eirene 🩶

I’d rather drink acid

Thalia 🖤

Kinky. I support you either way

She smiled a little. It didn’t fix the ache in her chest, but it softened the edges.

Her fingers moved to her sketchbook at last.

And without meaning to, she began to draw again.

Not eyes this time.

A boy sitting by a window. A crown of smoke around his head.

Leonidas.

⸻

The next morning brought chaos.

The gala was two nights away, and the house was filled with tailors, stylists, decorators, and noise. Eirene tried to sneak out early, but her sister caught her in the hallway.

“You’re not skipping your fitting.”

Eirene stopped. “Why do you care so much about me showing up?”

“Because it’s not about you,” Elara said, eyes sharp. “It’s about appearances. About loyalty. The press will be there. Don’t embarrass us.”

Eirene stepped closer, her voice a low whisper. “Is that all I am to you? A PR risk?”

Elara hesitated.

And in that hesitation, Eirene saw her answer.

She walked away without another word.

⸻

That night, she couldn’t sleep.

She wandered into the garden past midnight, barefoot, the night air cold against her skin. The roses were blooming, silent witnesses to her loneliness. She sat by the fountain, her sweater pulled over her knees.

She didn’t hear him at first.

“Couldn’t sleep either?”

She turned.

Leonidas stood behind her, jacket slung over one shoulder, his usual cool detachment a little softened by the moonlight.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Following the stars. They said you’d be here.”

She raised a brow.

He shrugged. “Okay, fine. I saw you walk out from the library window.”

“You stalker.”

“You looked sad.”

She looked away. “Maybe I am.”

He walked over and sat beside her, not too close. Not touching.

“People like us,” he said quietly, “we carry things no one sees.”

“I’m not like you.”

“Maybe not. But I see you anyway.”

She didn’t know what to say.

So she said nothing.

They sat in silence, the kind that said more than words ever could.

And for the first time in years, Eirene felt… seen.

Not as a burden.

Not as a mistake.

Just… seen.

The morning after the garden, Eirene barely spoke a word.

Not to Thalia, who met her with loud theories and even louder gasps.

Not to her father, who left a card on the breakfast table, pretending she didn’t hear him leave at 5 a.m. as always.

And not to her mother, who walked past her like they were strangers passing on the street.

But her thoughts… they wouldn’t shut up.

“You looked sad.”

“People like us carry things no one sees.”

“I see you anyway.”

Leonidas.

He wasn’t like the others. She had known that from the first moment he walked into the classroom like the world owed him nothing. He didn’t pretend. He didn’t flatter or manipulate. He simply existed, like a storm waiting for someone to notice the sky turning.

And now… he’d seen her in a moment no one was ever supposed to witness.

It scared her how comforting it felt.

⸻

By second period, Eirene was emotionally exhausted—and it wasn’t even lunchtime.

“Why do you look like someone ran over your favorite book?” Thalia whispered, nudging her as they sat in History.

“Because someone did,” she muttered.

“Was his name Leonidas?”

Eirene turned slowly. “Why are you obsessed with him?”

“Because you clearly are.”

“I am not.”

“You doodled him in your notebook yesterday.”

“That was not him.”

“He was literally wearing the same jacket.”

“Coincidence.”

Thalia raised a perfectly plucked brow. “You even shaded his scar.”

Eirene groaned. “Shut up.”

But she couldn’t stop her fingers from tracing the edge of her desk, remembering his voice in the garden. The way his eyes softened when he looked at her—not with pity, but understanding.

The way he didn’t try to fix her sadness.

Just sat with it.

Like he knew what it meant to be alone in a house filled with people.

⸻

After school, she found herself walking slower than usual.

As if her body was resisting the pull of the mansion she called home.

As if part of her was waiting… for something. Someone.

She paused by the gate, pretending to scroll her phone.

Just then, a shadow passed her.

“Waiting for a ride, rich girl?”

She looked up. Leonidas.

He had his backpack slung over one shoulder, headphones around his neck, and a half-smirk playing on his lips like he knew exactly what he was doing to her heart.

“Maybe,” she said. “Maybe I’m waiting for the wind to carry me away.”

“Dramatic.”

“Says the guy who shows up in gardens under moonlight.”

He shrugged. “Fair.”

She hesitated. Then— “Do you always hang out in gardens?”

“Only when I think someone might need a witness to their breakdown.”

She blinked.

“That’s not a joke,” he added. “Sometimes the most dangerous place to fall apart is alone.”

Eirene stared at him. “Who are you?”

“I ask myself that every day.”

There it was again—that subtle sadness in his voice. The way he wore mystery like armor. She wanted to ask more. About his past. His family. Why he transferred here mid-semester. But something told her he wouldn’t answer.

Not yet.

So instead, she asked, “Do you want a ride?”

He blinked.

“I mean—” she gestured to the car idling at the curb, the one her driver had been waiting in for the past ten minutes. “I’m heading home anyway.”

He looked at the car. Then at her. Then smirked. “Afraid I’ll run off with your driver?”

“Honestly, I’d pay you to.”

He laughed, a soft, rare sound that made something flutter in her chest.

“Sure,” he said. “I’ll take the ride. But only if you promise not to fall in love with me before we hit the highway.”

She rolled her eyes, opening the door. “I’d rather fall out of a moving vehicle.”

“Your loss.”

⸻

The drive was… quiet.

Not awkward. Not uncomfortable.

Just… calm.

Eirene stared out the window, watching trees blur past. Leonidas leaned back, legs stretched out, arms crossed, eyes closed.

As if he trusted her.

That was the strangest part.

When they arrived, he glanced out the window at the estate gates, raised an eyebrow, and muttered, “Damn.”

“What?”

“You live in a museum.”

“It’s a mausoleum.”

His lips twitched. “You’re funnier than you look.”

“And you’re moodier than you act.”

He tilted his head. “Keep digging, Eirene. You might hit something real.”

She froze. The way he said her name—soft, serious. Like it meant something.

Before she could answer, he was already out the door, walking off with a lazy wave.

She watched him until he turned the corner.

⸻

Inside, she found the dining hall empty.

A note sat at the edge of the table:

“Don’t forget your gown fitting for the gala tomorrow. Do not embarrass us. —Mother.”

Of course.

No warmth. No greeting. Just expectations.

She crumpled the note in her fist.

Then walked upstairs, slammed her door shut, and buried her face in her pillow.

⸻

Later that night, her sister knocked once before barging in.

“I picked out your gown,” Elara said. “Black. Simple. Won’t draw attention.”

“Thanks for the honor of dressing myself,” Eirene muttered.

Elara didn’t flinch. “Don’t start.”

“Don’t barge into my room, then.”

“You think I want to be here? I’m trying to help you survive this family.”

“I don’t want to survive. I want to matter.”

Elara hesitated.

Then said, quieter, “You don’t get to matter until you play the game right.”

Eirene looked away.

⸻

Midnight came like a thief, stealing the last of her energy.

Eirene opened her sketchbook again.

She drew the garden.

The fountain.

And him.

Leonidas, sitting beside her in silence.

She didn’t know why.

But something about that moment had branded itself inside her.

Maybe it was the way he didn’t ask her to explain her pain.

Or maybe it was how, when he walked away… she wished he hadn’t.