Chapter 1: From Ashes to Marble
Mara’s POV
They can’t do this to me. Please, just give me a little more time...
I begged, my voice barely more than a whisper as I faced the landlord in the dingy hallway of the building where I’d lived for the last years.
“No, Ms. James,” he replied flatly, without even a hint of sympathy.
“You’re three months behind on rent. By the end of this month, you have to be out.”
He turned his back to me and walked away, leaving me standing there with nothing but my desperate hopes shattered.
I trudged back into my tiny, cramped two-room apartment—the only place I’d ever called home. The cracked walls and faded wallpaper felt like they were closing in on me. I sank onto the threadbare couch and felt the weight of everything pressing down.
My life was a nightmare from which I could not wake.
But before despair consumes me, let me tell you who I am.
My name is Mara. I’m 23 years old. Until two weeks ago, I lived here with my grandmother—the only family I ever had.
But cancer took her from me. Now, I am completely alone.
My father died when I was six years old, in a car accident. I remember little about him, only fragments: his laughter, the warmth of his arms, the feeling that he loved me deeply.
You probably wonder about my mother.
I don’t know who she is. The only story I’ve ever heard is that my father was her chauffeur and they had an affair. She is married to some rich and powerful businessman, and supposedly they had a child together. So maybe I have a brother or sister somewhere out there.
But she left me to my father immediately after I was born—and she never came back.
I guess it’s a small miracle she didn’t terminate the pregnancy.
After my father’s death, my grandmother took me in. She was already a widow who had lost her only child, yet she sacrificed everything to care for me. She worked two jobs just to put food on the table.
I was a lonely child. No friends. No one wanted to associate with the poor girl—“trash,” they called me behind my back. The only attention I ever got was bullying.
Even now, I’m alone. No friends, no family. Just memories of my grandmother—and now even she is gone.
The last few weeks, I balanced caring for her while working as a waitress. But when she passed, I lost the strength to keep the job. No income, no rent. Now, I’m homeless.
I have to find a new job. Fast.
I opened my old laptop, its worn keys clicking under my trembling fingers. I searched endlessly through countless job ads. Hours slipped by.
Finally, I found something promising: a live-in maid position. The pay was good, and I’d have a place to stay.
I didn’t care about the work—cleaning, cooking, whatever. I just needed to escape my life.
I called the number listed. A man answered, his voice curt and businesslike.
I told him I wanted to apply.
He gave me an address and said the lady of the house would decide if I was suitable.
The next morning, I woke at six. My heart pounded with nerves and hope.
I stared at my worn clothes. Old jeans, threadbare sweater with holes at the sleeves, scuffed sneakers—nothing fit for a mansion, but it was all I had.
I tried to smooth my tangled hair in the cracked bathroom mirror, but it only made me feel more out of place.
Two buses, a long walk, and finally I arrived.
I stopped dead in my tracks.
Before me rose a mansion so breathtaking, it stole my breath away.
The house was enormous—an endless expanse of white marble, gleaming in the golden morning light.
Tall columns framed the entrance, carved with intricate patterns that told stories of wealth and power.
Countless windows, each framed by delicate wrought-iron balconies, reflected the clear blue sky like polished gems.
The front gates were massive, made of black iron twisted into elaborate curls and spikes. They stood tall like a fortress, guarding the secrets hidden behind.
A long driveway stretched before me, lined on both sides with perfectly trimmed rose bushes bursting with crimson blossoms, their intoxicating scent mingling with the fresh morning air.
Gentle fountains whispered to each other nearby, water sparkling as it cascaded over sculpted stone basins.
The gardens stretched wide and lush—immaculate green lawns dotted with vibrant flowers in every color imaginable.
Stone statues of angels and fierce lions guarded the path, standing silent and proud.
I glanced down at my own ragged clothes and then around nervously.
This world was completely foreign to me.
I felt out of place—like a shadow that didn’t belong.
Shame curled like a cold serpent in my chest.
But I had no choice.
With a shaky breath, I gathered all the courage I had left.
I took a step forward, then another, until I stood directly in front of the massive oak door.
Its surface was carved with deep reliefs of roses and vines, polished to a soft sheen.
My hand trembled as I reached out.
I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to steady my racing heart.
Then, I knocked.
