Chapter 1 Unwanted

The sun hadn't risen, yet Amara Blackwell was already on her knees, scrubbing the kitchen floor until her hands stung.

Dirt and cold stone scraped her palms. Hunger clawed at her stomach, but that was nothing new. She was used to it.

Morwen sometimes threw food out just to watch Amara stare at it, helpless.

A sharp ache pulsed through her back. Old scars tugged beneath her dress with every bend, every breath.

At twenty, she already felt older than her bones.

She eased onto a low stool, bracing her shaking hands on her lap. Her chest heaved as she tried to steady herself.

This would be another long day. Another day of waiting, fearing, surviving.

The door burst open.

"Amara! Off that stool this instant! Do you plan to waste the whole day sitting?" Morwen's voice cracked like a whip.

Amara jerked to her feet, heart thudding painfully.

"I... I only rested a moment," she whispered.

"Resting? You rest more than you work. Do you think this manor runs on air?" Morwen asked scoffing.

Amara looked down, fingers twisting at her apron. The wrong word, the bad look any of it could end badly. She had learned that the hard way.

Morwen stepped closer, breath cold enough to make Amara stiffen.

"Today, you're going to Master Hargrove's estate."

Amara's head snapped up. A sharp panic stabbed through her chest.

"No... Mother, please. Not there. I'll do anything else." she begged.

Morwen's hand struck her before the sentence even ended.

The slap echoed through the kitchen, burning Amara's cheek.

"Do not call me that, I am not your mother. You're a burden I never asked for." Morwen hissed.

Amara swallowed hard, tears blurring her vision.

Morwen had never called her a daughter.

Amara had lived in the Blackwell manor since she was ten the year her father brought Morwen home as his new wife, before she'd even learned how to mourn her mother.

Morwen never claimed her.

Never tried. Love had never come with Morwen's name.

"You eat my food, sleep under my roof, and what do I get from you? Nothing. It's time you earned your keep." Morwen's voice dropped to a cruel whisper.

Amara swallowed hard.

"I can clean more... cook more... I'll work twice as hard. Please. Don't send me there."

"No," Morwen snapped. "Master Hargrove needs another girl in his service. I already told him you're coming tonight. You will obey."

Amara shook her head, stepping back until her spine brushed the counter.

Everyone in Briar Village knew the whispers that the girls worked at that estate until they broke. Some never returned.

Morwen moved closer, her shadow stretching over Amara's trembling form.

"If you defy me, I'll use the iron again. You remember how it feels, don't you?"

Amara's breath hitched. She shook her head quickly, trying to push away the memory of hot metal against her skin.

"I'll do as you say, please... just don't hurt me," she whispered.

Morwen lips curled into a slow, satisfied smile.

"Good girl. I knew you'd bend. Hurry up."

She turned and slammed the door behind her.

Silence fell again heavy and suffocating.

Amara sank to the floor, pulling her knees to her chest as tears slid silently down her face. Her whole body trembled.

"I don't want to go.... But I don't have a choice." she breathed.

****

The stairs to the servant cellar were narrow and cold, the stones damp beneath Amara's bare feet.

Her cheek still burned from Morwen's slap. She kept one hand on the wall to steady herself, breathing through the sting in her ribs.

Her small chamber sat at the very bottom a cramped room with a straw pallet, a cracked basin, and a single candle that had burned almost to the end.

Her whole life reduced to this corner of the manor.

She wiped her face with trembling fingers, trying to quiet her tears before anyone heard.

But as she stepped toward her door, voices drifted from the hall above.

Morwen and Sabrina.

Sabrina Blackwell, Morwen's cherished daughter, always reminding Amara of her place.

The voices were faint but sharp in the cold hall.

Amara froze in the shadow of the stairwell.

Sabrina brushed her dark hair, admiring her reflection in a bronze mirror with lazy grace.

Even from below, Amara felt the coldness in her gaze.

"Did she cry?" Sabrina asked, almost amused.

Morwen let out a breath, still irritated from shouting at Amara.

"Of course, she cried. She clings to hope like a fool," she scoffed.

Sabrina hummed, pleased.

"So she's going tonight?" Sabrina asked.

"Yes," Morwen said. "Master Hargrove expects her by sundown. He needed another servant. I thought it best she be the one."

There was a pause... then Sabrina's tone sharpened.

"Good. She's twenty already too old to be lounging in this house eating our food. I want her gone."

Amara's stomach twisted.

"All my life," Sabrina continued, "people whispered that she's pretty. Some even dared compare us." She scoffed softly. "I won't have that. I am the rightful daughter."

"You are, and you always will be." Morwen assured her.

Their footsteps shifted, closer to the stairway.

Amara silently stepped back into the shadows.

"When she's at Hargrove's estate, she'll learn her place, and if she fails... well, that will be his problem, not ours." Morwen said coldly.

Sabrina laughed softly, the sound sending a chill down Amara's spine.

"She won't last a week," she murmured.

Amara pressed a hand over her mouth, fighting a sob.

Twenty years in this house.

Twenty years of bruises, beatings, loneliness.

But hearing them discuss her like a discarded property hurt deeper than anything else.

Morwen's voice softened in the way she never used with Amara.

"Come along, my dear. You're the true heir to this home. Not her."

"I know, Mother," Sabrina murmured. "And I'll see that Amara finishes every chore before sunset. If she delays, I'll correct her myself."

Morwen gave a thin, pleased smile.

"See that you do."

She turned and walked to her room, her footsteps fading behind her.

Left alone, Sabrina let out a quiet laugh one that held no warmth.

She walked to the narrow window, watching the sunlight creep into Briar Village.

"Enjoy your last day here, Amara," she murmured. "Tonight... everything changes."

Her steps retreated up the hall... the front door opened... then closed.

Silence flooded the cellar.

Finally, Amara let out a shaking breath.

Her knees gave out, and she slid down the cold stone wall, trembling violently.

She hugged herself, arms tight, as if she could stop the shaking.

"I don't want to go," she whispered again.

No matter how tightly she held herself...

No matter how much she begged...

No one was coming. No one ever had.

And by sundown she'll belong to someone else.