Beneath the Velvet Mask

Episode 1

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