Chapter 1. Twisted

Seraphina

When my alarm went off, I jumped out of bed quickly. I feared my mother's wrath if I were even a minute late. It was six in the morning, which meant I had to move swiftly to prepare breakfast for the family. I grabbed my towel and headed to the bathroom to complete my morning routine.

I'm Seraphina, Seraphina Mayaree Carter, 23 years old. I finished high school and spent two years in college at a Canadian university. Not because they wanted me to give up on my dreams, but to not hinder my parents. What I've learned so far isn't what I had hoped for. I wanted to become a doctor to help people. However, my parents insisted I was a bad omen and should be a maid.

They pulled me out of school during my sophomore year after two late nights due to a project. No matter how hard I tried to explain, they accused me of wrongdoing and beat me. Since that day, I've abandoned my dream of becoming a doctor, along with any other hopes I once had.

You're probably wondering why my parents treat me so cruelly. Well, I have no idea. They criticize me for every little mistake. My little brother, on the other hand, receives plenty of attention and material possessions. All I want is a bit of love, but I never receive any, yet hope still lingers in my heart. Every morning, I wake up hoping today will bring change, but by day's end, that hope always shatters.

I finished getting ready for the day with a shower, moisturizer, chapstick, and my hair down. I'm not a fan of makeup or looking too fancy.

I prayed for everyone's day to go well, as I always do, and then I noticed the time and rushed downstairs to the kitchen.

I started making chai and kneading dough for parathas. "WHY ARE YOU STILL COOKING?" My mother, Isabella Carter, the woman who despises me and would do anything to get rid of me, yelled into the kitchen.

Fear filled my face as I stared up at her.

"I'm asking you, brat!" She shouted.

"L...." I stuttered, unsure how to tell her she was early today. "Yo..u got u..earli...er then...." She didn't let me finish before slapping me across the face, which hurt, but I've grown used to it.

"How dare you talk back to me!" she yelled.

I held my tongue because I knew if I spoke up, I'd get smacked again. "I'm sorry, I'll wrap it up as soon as I can."

"You bet—" She got cut off by my little brother Lucas Carter. "Mom, is breakfast ready? I have to go to college," Lucas said.

"Good morning, sweetie. This brat is almost done. Just wait a second, okay? And you!" She said, pointing her finger at me. "Get your ass to work and finish that already! My baby needs to leave."

I went straight to the kitchen and started cooking. You might be wondering why the wealthy Carters don't have maids. Well, we do, but they clean everyone's room except mine because my parents don't want me touching their things. I can't talk to the maids or anyone else when I go shopping for groceries.

But I have to clean everything else in this house and cook everything. I love cooking, so I don't mind cooking for them, but it hurts when they never appreciate my hard work and just think of me as one of the maids. The maids show sympathy, but I can't do anything about it.

After I had finished preparing the meal and set the table for my family, I noticed that my father had come down and was taking a seat. My father is Benjamin Carter! He isn't as bad as my mother, but he hates me just the same.

Everyone took their seats, and I promptly began serving them.

"Serve my baby Lucas first," my mom ordered, her tone filled with disdain. "He's going to be late because of you, you brat!" she added. I nodded quickly and began serving him, trying to decipher any trace of sympathy in his eyes. But my brother and I had no normal sibling relationship.

Like a well-rehearsed routine, I served everyone and retreated to the kitchen to clean up while they indulged in family conversations. I was accustomed to being excluded, but it still stung.

When I heard them rising from the table, I collected their plates and placed them in the kitchen. As I returned for the remaining dishes, I spotted Lucas's forgotten bag by his chair, signaling that he was about to leave. I snatched it up and made a dash for the door, but my mother intercepted me.

"Where are you going, brat? And why are you holding Lucas's bag?" she demanded.

"He f...forgot it, so...I was going to... hand it over to him..."

"Then why are you still here? Go!" she yelled, and I nodded and rushed out the door.

I heard the car door closing, so I called out, "Lucas!" and sprinted up to him before he could drive away. "You...forgot your...bag," I panted. He looked at me and opened his car door. At first, I was perplexed, but then I noticed he had retrieved a water bottle and offered it to me.

But then my mother's words echoed in my mind. "You don't deserve anything from me, Benjamin, especially my son Lucas. Keep your distance from us and our property!" I shook my head disapprovingly and saw regret flash in Lucas's eyes, but he quickly averted his gaze, nodded, and returned the water bottle. He accepted the bag from me, mumbled a quiet "Thank you," and got back into his car.

I returned inside to carry out my chores, enduring a few slaps but fewer than usual. I was thankful for no new bruises today, as the old ones hadn't yet healed.

As night fell, I completed my tasks. Everyone had retreated to their rooms, so I entered mine—a plain, unadorned space. It housed an old bed and mattress, a side table with a lamp, a small attached bathroom, a modest wardrobe, a simple dressing table, and a bookshelf stocked with books I had purchased with my hard-earned money.

I had earned that money during my college years, working part-time at a café to buy books for a year until my father discovered it and forced me to quit. After that, my mother subjected me to various forms of torture—belt lashings, slaps, three-day food deprivation, and more.

I switched on the lamp on my side table and reached for a book. I had read each of these books countless times, but I cherished them nonetheless.

For me, this was the daily routine—an unending nightmare. I held onto the hope that one day I would wake up from this torment. And when that day came, I vowed never to look back.

…

Cassian

The alarm rang, and I leaped out of bed. A quick round of teeth brushing and a change into my workout gear ensured I'd never be late. After an hour in my home gym, I returned to my room to prepare for the day. I dressed in the navy blue Armani suit and watched what Ayesha had gifted me the previous year.

By the time I was ready, it was already 8 o'clock. I left the basement and met our family's driver, Rey, waiting outside. Rey had been with us since I was a child.

"Good morning," he said.

"Good morning, Rey," I replied, settling into the backseat as he started the car, driving me to work. Without fail, I pulled out my phone and read Ayesha's latest text message.

SMS Messages:

Ayesha: Good morning, baby! What're you doing?

Me: Hey, baby!

Ayesha: What exactly are you doing?

Me: I'm on my way to the office, and you?

Ayesha: I have to be on a set today. Sweetie, I wrap at 3, would you like to go to my favorite restaurant with me?

Me: I'll see what I can do. It would depend on my schedule. I'll try to wrap up my meetings by 6 so I can pick you up promptly at 6:30.

Ayesha: Ok, baby, see you later, I'm running late. I will be here at 4:30! Bye! I love you so much!

As I finished my conversation with Ayesha, we arrived at 'Sinclair Industries,' a towering monument to my dad's hard work, and now my own path to follow. Upon entering, all activity halted, and everyone stood to greet me. Some women cast appreciative glances my way. Ignoring them as usual, I made my way to my office with my personal assistant, Vince.

"Good morning, Sir," Vince greeted. I nodded and asked, "What's on the agenda for today?"

"Sir, you have a meeting with 'Goenka Inc.' at 11 a.m. Your appointment with Gupta Corp. is at 1:00. At 2:30, you'll have a conference call with the 'Shahs.' Everything will be wrapped up by 5:30."

I nodded again and said, "All right, bring me my black coffee and the files for today's meetings." Vince left, and I dived into my work.

The spotlight perpetually followed me because of my identity – Sinclair Cassian. I was the only child of my wonderful parents and the sole heir to Sinclair Industries' fortune. Despite my often icy and superior demeanor in professional and social settings, my heart softened around my loved ones. While I appreciated time with my family at the 'Sinclair Mansion,' I preferred solitude in my penthouse.

Moments later, the door slammed open, and I knew only one person would barge in without knocking – Noah Anderson, my best friend.

"Hey buddy, what's up?" he greeted.

I shot him a stern look. "Can't you see I'm busy? Also, you should knock before entering my office, Noah."

"Okay, fine, whatever. I am your brother from another mother, man," he retorted, his usual dramatic self.

With an eye roll, I said, "Whatever you say."

"Dude, I know how much love you have for me."

"When exactly did I say that?"

"So you're trying to tell me you hate me? I knew it. I should have left you the first day," he exclaimed dramatically.

Ignoring his theatrics, I asked, "So, what do you want now?"

"It's the office of my best friend. I'm welcome to drop in like this whenever I like."

"You know, unlike you, people do work. I'm curious how you've managed to build a successful business without a hint of failure," I remarked.

He smirked. "I can juggle a lot of balls, man. I can do anything," he said, brushing imaginary dust off his shirt with a flourish.