Episode 5

The days that followed the Winter Gala moved like molasses — thick, slow, and suffocating.

Eirene awoke each morning to a world that looked pristine on the outside but cracked just beneath the surface. Like a vase glued together after shattering. It still held flowers, still sat on display… but one gust of wind would destroy it all.

And Eirene was tired of being made of porcelain.

She stared at her reflection in the ornate mirror above her vanity, tugging at the collar of her school uniform. Her skin bore the faintest bruise beneath her clavicle — a clumsy mistake from when she’d slipped on the marble stairs last night.

Her mother hadn’t noticed.

Or maybe she had, and simply didn’t care.

“You’ll be late,” Elara said from the doorway, dressed in an immaculate white blouse and designer slacks, her presence as poised as always.

Eirene didn’t turn. “I’m not in the mood.”

“You’re never in the mood,” Elara said flatly. “But you go anyway. That’s what being a Deimos means.”

Eirene turned then, her voice quiet. “You say that like it’s a badge of honor. But all it feels like is a curse.”

Elara’s lips twitched — a reaction so rare it was almost human. “Curses can become crowns. If you learn how to wear them.”

The ride to school was, as always, tense.

Their driver, Sebastian, remained silent as ever. Eirene often wondered how he tolerated the Deimos household. Maybe he had his own ghosts. Maybe he liked pretending he was deaf to everything cruel.

Elara sat beside her, scrolling on her phone. Eirene leaned her head against the cool window, watching the world blur by.

“I heard Mother is arranging another meeting for you,” Elara said suddenly.

Eirene stiffened. “With who?”

“Athens shipping family. The Kalderis boy. Twenty-four. Tall. Handsome. No scandals. Yet.”

Eirene’s stomach knotted. “I’m not a pawn.”

“No. You’re a piece. And every piece has value — especially when the game gets dirty.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you deserve to know when your freedom is being auctioned.”

Silence settled between them like dust.

Then — softer, almost reluctant — Elara added, “Don’t make the mistake of thinking I hate you.”

Eirene turned toward her. “You don’t?”

“I envy you.” A whisper. “You still believe in escape.”

And with that, the car pulled to a stop.

School was a blur of corridors and whispers, familiar halls that felt foreign every time someone turned to stare at her.

The Deimos name meant fear. Respect. Mystery. But Eirene? She was the one who didn't quite fit the mold.

Too quiet. Too odd. Too soft.

Even her teachers handled her like she might shatter if spoken to too harshly.

She liked it better that way. She could disappear in plain sight.

Until someone disrupted the rhythm.

“Still brooding in corners?” came a teasing voice behind her as she leaned against the library shelves during free period.

She turned, already smiling before her eyes found him.

Leonidas.

Of course.

“I’m not brooding,” she replied.

“You’re sulking artistically. It’s very moody. Very tragic heroine.”

She rolled her eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“Got transferred.” He leaned against the shelf beside her, brushing imaginary dust from his shirt. “Turns out I’m someone’s scholarship charity case. Your mother will be thrilled.”

“Is this a joke?”

“Nope.” He pulled out a schedule from his pocket. “Looks like I’m your lab partner in chemistry. Try not to light me on fire.”

She laughed — and hated how easy it felt.

“What did you do?” she asked. “Who did you blackmail?”

He shrugged. “Let’s just say… I know things about powerful people. And sometimes, knowing is enough to make doors open.”

“Even at our school?”

“Especially at your school.” His eyes twinkled. “Besides, I missed your scowls.”

“I don’t scowl.”

“Of course not. You smolder like a Victorian heroine on the brink of rebellion.”

She shook her head, but the smile didn’t leave her lips.

Their first chemistry class together was chaos.

The teacher, Mrs. Antonis, was a stern, square-shouldered woman who clearly believed in the power of fear over friendliness.

“I expect precision,” she said, handing out lab coats. “And no distractions.”

Leonidas grinned at Eirene as they took their shared lab bench.

“Precision,” he repeated. “That’s your cue to take over. I nearly burned down my old school.”

She blinked. “You’re joking.”

“I wish.”

She bit back a laugh as they began mixing solutions, the smell of chemicals thick in the air.

For a moment, it was easy.

Easy to forget the weight of her name.

Easy to forget the way her mother’s words lingered like bruises beneath her skin.

Easy to exist beside someone who saw her as more than a tool.

But nothing easy ever lasted long in Eirene’s world.

After school, she was called to her mother’s study.

As always, the air in that room felt suffocating — like the very walls whispered warnings.

Her mother sat behind the carved mahogany desk, a crystal glass of dark liquor in hand despite the early hour.

“I hear you’ve been laughing,” she said without looking up.

Eirene frowned. “Is that… forbidden?”

“Laughter is for girls with nothing to lose.”

Eirene stepped forward. “Then maybe I want to be one of them.”

Her mother looked up sharply. “You’re not allowed to want.”

The words hit like iron.

“You belong to this family. Every breath, every glance, every smile — it’s a performance.”

“I’m not a puppet.”

“No. You’re a product. And I’ve worked too hard on your packaging for you to start cracking at the seams.”

Eirene clenched her fists. “Maybe I’m done being wrapped in ribbons.”

Her mother rose from her chair slowly, walking around the desk until they stood face to face.

Her eyes — sharp, cold, cruel — didn’t blink.

“If you break,” she said quietly, “I’ll sweep you under the rug like all the other messes I’ve made disappear.”

That night, Eirene didn’t sleep.

She sat on the balcony outside her room, wrapped in a blanket, the wind pulling at her curls.

She thought of the party. Of laughter. Of Leonidas.

Of what it might feel like to burn it all down and walk away.

But she couldn’t.

Not yet.

Because there were rules. Games. Masks.

And she hadn’t learned how to win.

Yet.

She closed her eyes and imagined a different world.

One where she wasn’t a Deimos.

One where she wasn’t a product or pawn.

One where her voice wasn’t soft from fear, but strong from survival.

She didn’t know how to get there.

But she knew this:

She would.

Even if she had to walk through fire.

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