Chapter 1

My name is Vesper Sterling. I was the eldest heiress of the Sterling family, and supposedly my parents' favorite.

Of course, "favorite" didn't mean what it did in most families.

In ours, being the favorite simply meant you survived with fewer scars than everyone else.

My father was a violent man. He beat my mother, his countless mistresses, and every one of his children. No one was an exception.

He had many kids.

Curious why I was the favorite?

I was the most obedient one.

Or, to put it more honestly, I was smarter than all the rest.

Celeste Sterling, my younger sister, wasn't.

She fell in love with Hugo, the butler's son, and my father caught them together.

The night he found out, everyone in the Sterling family heard him throwing a fit and smashing things.

Celeste lay crumpled on the floor of the hall, with Hugo beside her. She looked up at my father through her tears and pleaded, "Father, please. We truly love each other."

However, my father ordered Jamie, the butler, and Hugo dragged out into the courtyard and beaten to death.

Celeste screamed and tried to run to them, but two servants pinned her down, holding her arms and legs so she couldn't move.

She collapsed at the doorway and watched the man she loved being beaten, listening as he called her name until his voice grew weaker and weaker, until at last there was nothing left to hear.

She screamed for him all night until her voice was hoarse.

After that, she was locked in the attic.

Eventually, she lost her mind. The only word she repeated over and over was Hugo's name.

Father said she had disgraced the family and was no longer worthy of being called a Sterling. He sent her to a farm far away from home.

On the day she left, I stood by the door and gently fixed her hair. It was tangled like a bundle of straw, and half her face was streaked with dried tears.

Softly, I said, "All this over a man. Was love really that important?

"More important than yourself?"

Celeste still didn't say a word.

I lowered my hand and walked away.

The story that the third daughter of the Sterling family had lost her mind after sleeping with the butler's son spread through high society within three days.

The ladies lifted their cups and hid their mouths behind their handkerchiefs.

"I heard she begged her father to let them go."

"How shameless."

"Well, the Sterling family certainly—"

When Father came home that day, his face was dark with rage.

He tore his study apart. Vases, ornaments, and books lay scattered across the floor. Then he grabbed my mother by the hair, dragged her down the stairs, and slapped her twice.

Mother fell to the floor without making a sound, and Father walked away. He probably went to one of his mistresses to cool off.

I was in the attic, playing the piano. It was Chopin's nocturnes.

I was three measures in when my mother came upstairs. Her hair was a mess, and one side of her face was swollen.

She stood in the doorway and looked at me, her voice hoarse and trembling. "You saw what your father did to me, didn't you?"

I said nothing. My fingers were still moving over the keys.

"Why didn't you stop him?" She took a step closer. "Why didn't you stop him from going to those women?"

I stopped playing.

Yeah. Why hadn't I stopped him?

I remembered being seven years old, watching Father beat her again. He kicked her in the stomach, grabbed her by the hair, and slammed her head against the wall.

I was so young then. I thought that if I was bold enough, I could stop him.

Like a cornered dog, I threw myself at him and sank my teeth into his thigh. My teeth broke through the flesh, and I tasted blood.

He kicked me away.

My back hit the corner of a table, and the pain made my vision go dark, but I got back up.

I lunged at him again.

He kicked me again, but I got back up every single time.

At the time, I had only one thought in my head.

I could kill him. I could put out one of his eyes. I could die with him if I had to.

Then I ran into the kitchen, grabbed a knife, and drove it into his arm.

When the blood sprayed out, I thought I had finally won.

But after that, pain was all I knew.

He pinned me to the floor and beat me. His fists and feet came down on me like a storm.

I curled into myself, the taste of blood filling my mouth, a deep, dull pain throbbing beneath my ribs as though something inside had broken.

Mother was crying beside me, loudly, desperately, but she didn't stop him.

I didn't blame her. If she'd stepped in, he would have beaten her, too.

She didn't dare.

I nearly died that time.

Later, my grandmother showed up. My maid had secretly gone to tell her what happened.

She stormed in, pointed at Father, and tore into him until he finally stopped.

Then the doctor came. He set my bones, treated my injuries, and made me take medicine.

*****

I was unconscious for about half a month.

When I finally woke up, my back still hurt, and so did my ribs. Every breath sent a sharp pain through me.

I lay in bed, slowly opening my eyes. There was only one dim light in the room, along with the moonlight filtering in through the window.

No one was sitting by my bedside.

My mother never came. Not once.

After I finally recovered, I saw her again.

The first thing she did wasn't ask if I was in pain. She didn't hug me.

She slapped me across the face.

"How could you hit your father?" Her hand was still shaking. "You're the heiress of the Sterling family. You're my daughter. How could you attack your own father?

"What happened to all the manners I taught you? People will think I never taught you how to behave."

I stood there with my face turned to one side, my mind completely blank.

Did she just slap me?

All my life, I'd assumed that my mother and I were naturally on the same side, but now I realized I'd been wrong.

She was on his side, and she would always be.

Even after he beat her, cursed her, and kept one mistress after another, she was still on his side.

Husband and wife, huh? What kind of bullshit was that?

She was my mother. We shared the same blood. She carried me inside her and gave birth to me.

Shouldn't that have made us the closest people to each other? Shouldn't we have been standing together?

"Why can't I hit him back?" My voice was a little hoarse. "He hits us. Everyone in the city knows it, but somehow nobody says there's anything wrong with him.

"I only did the same thing he does. Why is it so wrong?"

She slapped me again.

Now both sides of my face were burning.