The Thirteenth Daughter

Aurea's POV

The morning began like every other morning in the Hawthorne house.

No one asked if I’d slept well.

No one knocked on my bedroom door. No one came looking for me.

Footsteps echoed through the hallway long before sunrise. The servants moved quietly from room to room while the soft clink of fine china drifted up from the dining room below.

From the outside, the Hawthorne estate was breathtaking—a grand mansion built of dark brick in one of Chicago’s wealthiest neighborhoods, surrounded by towering wrought-iron gates and perfectly trimmed hedges. People envied the Hawthorne family.

If they knew what it felt like to live here, they probably wouldn’t.

I sat in front of my vanity, slowly running a brush through my long, wheat-blonde hair.

The same freckles I’d had since childhood were still scattered across my nose and cheekbones like tiny flecks of sunlight. My mother believed a proper young lady should be born with flawless skin.

I had always loved mine.

At least there was one thing about myself I never wanted to change.

I stood, smoothed the skirt of my pale blue dress, and took a slow, steady breath.

“You’ll be fine,” I whispered to my reflection.

The girl in the mirror smiled back at me.

She always did.

By the time I reached the dining room, most of the family was already seated.

My father sat at the head of the table, reading the morning newspaper.

Alaric Hawthorne was the kind of man who commanded respect without raising his voice. His back was perfectly straight, as though even breakfast were another business meeting. Every movement radiated discipline and control.

Beside him sat my mother, Evelyne Hawthorne.

She looked effortlessly elegant despite the early hour. Her dark hair was pinned into a flawless chignon, and she appeared as though a photographer might arrive at any second.

My siblings chatted quietly among themselves.

My oldest brother was discussing a business contract with Father.

My second brother couldn’t stop talking about the new luxury car he intended to buy.

One of my sisters was debating wedding dresses with Mother.

Meanwhile, I quietly poured myself a cup of tea.

“Good morning,” I said with a smile.

A few people glanced in my direction before immediately returning to their conversations.

I smiled anyway.

Years ago, it would have hurt.

Now it was simply normal.

I took my usual seat at the far end of the table.

The table was large enough to seat fourteen people comfortably.

Funny.

Despite that, I often felt as though I were eating breakfast completely alone.

“Aurea.”

I looked up.

Father still hadn’t lowered his newspaper.

“Yes?”

“Stay home this afternoon.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

That was the entire explanation.

It always was.

I was about to ask another question when the front doorbell echoed through the house.

A few moments later, one of the butlers entered carrying a silver tray.

“An envelope for Miss Aurea.”

Every head at the table turned toward me.

Honestly, that alone was unusual.

I opened the envelope.

Inside was a single handwritten note.

Meet us tonight at eight o’clock.

Black Cat Jazz Club.

Come with us.

— Lydia, Charlotte & Edward

I blinked.

My cousins.

I read it again.

And then one more time.

“What is it?” Mother asked.

“My cousins invited me out tonight.”

One of her eyebrows lifted ever so slightly.

“They invited... you?”

“Yes.”

My oldest sister let out a quiet laugh.

“That’s unexpected.”

“Why?”

“They usually don’t.”

She didn’t say it cruelly.

She simply stated a fact.

Somehow, that hurt even more.

Father folded his newspaper and finally looked at me.

“Where?”

“The Black Cat Jazz Club.”

Silence settled over the room for several long seconds.

“I don’t like that place,” he said at last.

“I know.”

“Then you’re not going.”

For a brief moment, my heart sank.

I had barely opened my mouth when Mother spoke first.

“Alaric.”

He looked at her.

“It’s an invitation from family. Refusing it would be considered an insult.”

Father thought about it for several seconds.

“You’ll be home by midnight.”

“Yes, Father.”

“You won’t drink alcohol.”

“I won’t.”

“And you won’t cause a scandal.”

I almost laughed.

“Me?”

For the first time that morning, one of my brothers smiled.

“At least we don’t have to worry about that.”

The conversation around the table resumed as though nothing had happened.

I barely managed to finish my breakfast.

They had invited me.

Me.

Not one of my brothers.

Not my perfect sisters.

Me.

As I hurried back upstairs, excitement bubbled inside me in a way I hadn’t felt in years.

Maybe something was finally changing.

Maybe they’d realized I wasn’t a little girl anymore.

Maybe they wanted me to be part of their lives.

Maybe they simply hadn’t had the chance before.

I knew I was hoping too easily.

But I couldn’t stop myself.

That afternoon, I spent hours going through my wardrobe.

I didn’t own many dresses.

The Hawthorne family was wealthy, but no one had ever cared much about what I wanted to wear. Most of my clothes had been chosen by someone else.

In the end, I picked a deep emerald-green dress.

Simple.

Elegant.

The color brought out my eyes.

I left my hair loose over my shoulders.

Nothing too extravagant.

I’d never cared much for jewelry either. The only thing I wore was a delicate silver bracelet my grandmother had given me when I was a child.

She was the only person in the family who had ever told me,

“Aurea, never try to become your siblings. The world already has plenty of them. There’s only one of you.”

I thought about those words often.

Especially on the difficult days.

At exactly half past seven, a car horn sounded outside.

I walked to the window.

A sleek black luxury car had stopped in front of the house.

Lydia leaned out of the passenger window, waving enthusiastically.

“Aurea! Hurry!”

I couldn’t help smiling.

My heart immediately began beating faster.

I grabbed my coat, hurried downstairs, and wished the butler a pleasant evening.

No one else in the family came to see me off.

No one asked if I was happy.

No one told me to be careful.

Yet as I stepped into the cool evening air, I felt as though I were leaving every lonely memory behind.

Lydia threw her arms around me the moment I reached the car.

“You look beautiful!”

“Thank you.”

“It’s about time you finally joined us.”

Edward opened the rear door with a grin.

“Tonight’s going to be fun.”

I climbed into the car between them, smiling.

As we pulled away toward the glittering lights of nighttime Chicago, I had no idea that this single evening was about to change my life forever.

As soon as our car left the quiet, tree-lined streets of the Hawthorne district, Chicago revealed an entirely different face.

The city came alive after dark.

Streetcars rattled past with their familiar bells, automobiles honked impatiently, and people laughed as they wandered along the crowded sidewalks. The afternoon rain had stopped hours earlier, but the pavement still shimmered beneath the glow of streetlamps. Warm golden light spilled from shop windows, while the scent of roasted meat, fresh bread, and strong coffee drifted from open restaurants, mingling with cigarette smoke in the cool evening air.

I closed my eyes for a moment and smiled.

“I love this city.”

Edward, sitting beside me, smiled back.

“Chicago’s like a mischievous kid.”

I laughed.

“What does that mean?”

“It means it’s always getting itself into trouble... but somehow you can’t help loving it anyway.”

Charlotte rested her elbow against the window.

“My father says it’s only a matter of time before the gangs take over the entire city.”

Edward shrugged.

“They already have.”

He grinned.

“The only difference is that some of them wear tailored suits.”

We all laughed.

Me included.

For the first time in a long while, it felt as though I truly belonged.

Maybe things really were changing.

Maybe I’d imagined the distance between us all these years.

Our car turned onto a wide boulevard.

That’s when I saw it.

Towering above the entrance, glowing crimson against the night sky, was a neon sign.

BLACK CAT JAZZ CLUB

Beneath the black cat emblem, elegantly dressed guests streamed through the entrance. Gentlemen in long overcoats escorted women wearing feathered headpieces and sparkling evening gowns. Expensive automobiles lined the curb while music and laughter spilled out into the street.

I could already hear the trumpet.

The piano.

The drums.

Whoever was performing inside played with such infectious energy that even the people waiting outside unconsciously tapped their feet to the rhythm.

“This is incredible...” I whispered.

Lydia smiled.

“Isn’t it?”

A uniformed doorman opened the grand double doors with a courteous nod.

The moment I stepped inside, it felt as though I’d crossed into another world.

Crystal chandeliers glittered overhead.

Dark walnut paneling covered the walls, accented with elegant gold detailing. Heavy velvet curtains divided intimate seating areas, while the rich aroma of cigars, expensive perfume, and freshly brewed coffee lingered in the air.

An eight-piece jazz orchestra performed on the stage.

The trumpet player had his eyes closed, completely lost in the music. The saxophonist swayed as though breathing in perfect harmony with every note. Across the stage, the pianist’s fingers flew effortlessly over the keys.

People applauded.

They laughed.

They talked.

Couples filled the dance floor, spinning gracefully beneath the lights. Sequins flashed with every movement of the women’s dresses while impeccably dressed gentlemen guided their partners with practiced confidence.

No one seemed to be in a hurry.

No one looked at a clock.

Inside the Black Cat, time itself appeared to have stopped.

I slowly turned in a circle, taking it all in.

“It’s beautiful.”

Charlotte smiled.

“First time in a jazz club?”

“Yes.”

“Then tonight is going to be full of firsts.”

Edward extended his hand toward me.

“May I?”

I blinked.

“You mean... dance?”

“That’s exactly what I had in mind.”

I laughed again.

“I should warn you—I have no idea what I’m doing.”

He smiled.

“Neither does half the room.”

His confidence was so effortless that I placed my hand in his without another thought.

Moments later, we were on the dance floor.

The orchestra launched into a faster number.

At first, my steps were clumsy.

Then, little by little, I found the rhythm.

Edward never laughed at me.

He never tried to correct me.

He simply let me enjoy myself.

For the first time in months...

I laughed.

Really laughed.

When the song finally ended, I stood there slightly out of breath.

“So?” Lydia asked as we returned.

“I think...”

I smiled.

“I’d like to do that again.”

“‘Again?’” Charlotte burst out laughing.

“We’ve only just arrived!”

Only then did I realize she was right.

The night was only beginning.

Several blocks away, a long black Packard rolled to a smooth stop in front of the club.

The chauffeur stepped out first and opened the rear door.

Two broad-shouldered men emerged before anyone else. Both wore immaculate black suits, their fedoras pulled low over their eyes.

They didn’t glance around nervously.

Professionals never did.

Their eyes calmly swept the street, checking every entrance, every parked car, every shadow.

Only after they were satisfied did the third passenger step out.

Dante Romano.

The nearly six-foot-six Italian adjusted the lapels of his long black overcoat with a single smooth movement.

The lights above the entrance cast a warm golden glow across his olive skin, while his striking ice-blue eyes slowly surveyed the street.

He wasn’t looking for anyone in particular.

He simply noticed everything.

“Everything clear?” he asked quietly.

“Yes, Alpha,” one of his men replied.

“The guests have already arrived.”

“The meeting room is ready.”

Dante gave a brief nod.

“How long?”

“An hour. Maybe ninety minutes.”

“Let’s make it one.”

“Understood.”

He disliked unnecessary conversation.

He disliked unnecessary waiting even more.

The club owner was already standing at the entrance.

“Mr. Romano. It’s a pleasure to welcome you back.”

“Good evening.”

“Your private room is ready.”

“Thank you.”

The owner personally escorted him through the rear corridors of the club.

Several guests noticed him.

Some offered polite nods.

Others quietly looked away.

Not because they were afraid.

Because they knew exactly who had just walked in.

Dante Romano rarely appeared in public.

And whenever he did...

There was always a reason.

On the opposite side of the club, I applauded with everyone else as the orchestra finished another song.

I never noticed the tall man in the black overcoat disappearing through a private doorway only a few corridors away.

The evening was still peaceful.

But fate had already taken its seat inside the Black Cat Jazz Club.