Chapter 1
Prologue
My name is Mira Favour, and if there’s one thing life has taught me, it’s that pain doesn’t always win.
People see the fame, the sold-out shows, the flashing cameras, and think Layla and I were lucky.
They don’t see the orphanage.They don’t see the nights we went hungry.They don’t see what we survived to get here.
This is our story.
Story Starts
“I don't want any of you miscreants to return without something valuable, you hear me, children?” Madame Buche snarled.
“Yes, Madame,” the orphans said in fearful unison, not wanting to be struck again.
“Mira, Layla, stay back. I want to have a word with you two. The rest of you rugrats can get out,” Madame said in a condescending tone.
“Yes, Madame, you called for us?” Mira asked, terrified of the woman who was supposed to be their caretaker.
“Don’t you think I know that, you bastard?” Madame snapped back at Mira.
Layla was about to say something in return, but Mira stopped her.
“I’m sorry for the indiscipline I exhibited,” Mira said apologetically.
“Keep that useless, non-profit-making apology to yourself,” Madame scoffed before sighing. “Anyway, I came to tell you that you girls have not been making much profit, and you do remember what happens when you don’t bring dear Madame Buche valuable things.”
She stared at them, expecting an answer.
“Yes, Madame, we do remember,” Mira and Layla said in unison, though there was a hint of ridicule in Layla’s tone.
“I’m not convinced, so tell me—what happens if you come here empty-handed?” Madame asked.
“We’ll go back to the streets,” the two girls said in unison.
“For goodness’ sake, speak louder, you worthless cockroaches!” she snarled.
“We’LL GO BACK TO THE STREETS!” they shouted.
“Good. Thank heavens you still remember. And maybe you don’t remember what happens to children who live on the streets.”
She paused dramatically.
“Well, let me tell you, because Madame is a very nice person.”
She cleared her throat before shouting—
“They die!”
Layla flinched while Mira remained stiff.
“Yes, they get left alone again and die. See, it’s not that I’m wicked, but the money you bring sponsors dear Madame’s wigs, nails, creams, and butt enlargement—and that’s what makes Madame happy.”
She smiled proudly.
“Now get out.”
The two girls turned around and were about to leave when Madame stopped them.
“Wait... am I wicked?”
“No, Madame,” Mira immediately replied, as if programmed.
“Layla, you aren’t saying anything,” Madame noticed.
“Oh, you want me to tell you the truth? No problem. You are very wi—”
Mira pinched her sharply.
Madame narrowed her eyes. “Go on.”
“You are wise... and definitely not wicked,” Layla quickly corrected herself.
“Hmmm,” Madame hummed proudly. “Just as I thought. Not only am I pretty, I’m such a sweetheart.”
She waved them off dismissively.
“Now you pests may go.”
“Yes, Madame,” they both said.
“And don’t forget—no money brings punishment,” she reminded them with a wicked grin.
“Yes, Madame.”
They quickly exited.
(Outside the orphanage...)
“What were you thinking?” Mira scolded Layla as soon as they stepped outside. “If you had said what was on your mind, she would have stopped all of us orphans from eating for a month, and you would have gotten the whipping of your life.”
She calmed down slightly.
“Layla, you know how that mad dog’s temper gets.”
“Her stopping us from eating?” Layla repeated as though asking a rhetorical question. “Is what we eat even considered food?”
“But it’s something...” Mira said, trying to defend what she knew Layla was right about.
“Mira,” Layla cut in, “a morsel of bread and water is what we have for a whole day. Is that supposed to be called food? Even rats would refuse to eat that forsaken thing we call food.”
She groaned in frustration.
“Aaargh! Mira, are you even listening to yourself?”
Layla’s expression turned serious.
“And about me being whipped—Madame is someone who never misses a chance to hit me. Shout? You get whipped. Munch too loudly? You get beaten. Snore? You get flogged. That woman is crazy.”
Mira stayed silent.
“See, Mira... she killed Ryan by leaving him outside in the snow, then lied to the police that he sneaked out by himself, and we were all forced to agree with her.”
Layla’s voice dropped.
“Now tell me, Mira... what could be worse than death? What else could she possibly do to me?”
She folded her arms.
“And trust me, before you came to the orphanage, she had already killed two other orphans... and maybe even more before I arrived.”
“At least don’t let others suffer for your mistakes,” Mira pleaded. “Please don’t think about rebelling and getting yourself killed. That would be a stupid mistake.”
“Excuse me,” Layla scoffed. “It’s not called a mistake—it’s called fighting for our rights.”
“What rights?” Mira snapped. “Tell me, Layla. I lost my rights the day I stepped into this orphanage.”
Layla went quiet for a moment before speaking again.
“Well, I still have hope.”
She smirked.
“And whatever nice thing I was forced to say about her back there was the exact opposite. I actually meant to say she’s dumb and wicked.”
Mira smiled slightly at her best friend’s childishness, silently hoping Layla wouldn’t actually act on her rebellious thoughts.
“Well... let’s just go beg for money before we end up on the streets.”
(Almost nighttime...)
“It’s almost dinner time and we’ve only made fifty pounds and ten cents.”
Mira’s voice shook.
“I’m scared, Layla. I really don’t want to go back to the orphanage.”
Layla sighed.
“Why? It’s not like we can steal like the other orphans. I still feel like that isn’t fair.”
“No. I’d rather die than steal,” Mira said firmly. “What if the money was meant to be used to treat a dying person? I don’t have the heart to do something like that.”
Layla looked at her best friend for a moment before speaking.
“Let’s just explain to Madame that some of the money was used to transport a sick child to the hospital.”
Mira gave her a look.
“And she’ll believe that?”
Even Mira didn’t sound convinced.
“She has to, because it’s the truth. And there’s no way I can change the truth,” Layla said confidently.
“I’m scared, Layla,” Mira whispered.
Layla softened.
“Don’t worry, Mira. I’m here for you. Everything will be alright.”
She forced a smile, even though she wasn’t sure what awaited them.
(At the orphanage...)
Madame Buche was already waiting for them with a whip in her hand.
Fresh scars formed over old ones as she struck them mercilessly.
“I told you useless beings to go out there and get me money!” she screamed.
The whip cracked again.
“And you came back here with change? It was such a simple task!”
Another strike landed.
“How do you expect me to buy new wigs, fix my nails, and provide for you parentless scums?”
She stopped briefly to catch her breath.
“Answer me!”
The children watched in terror.
“We...” Mira managed to whisper.
The whip landed on her again.
“You did what?” Madame shouted.
“I forced Layla to use the money to send a dying child to the hospital,” Mira cried, trying to take the blame.
“Mira, no! That’s not true!” Layla shouted.
“You did WHAT with my money?” Madame roared.
She grabbed Mira’s frail body and dragged her toward the window.
Layla’s fear instantly turned into rage.
“You bloody Dalmatian—”
Before she could finish, a loud slap landed across her cheek, instantly swelling it.
“What did you call me?” Madame hissed.
She threw Mira aside as some of the orphans rushed to help her.
Layla, already knowing she was doomed, spat in Madame’s face.
“You’re a bitch!”
The room fell silent.
Even the guards looked uncomfortable.
Madame slowly wiped the spit from her face.
“Well then... since you can’t appreciate being here...”
She turned to the guards.
“Lock her in the room with the dogs.”
The guards quickly grabbed Layla as she struggled violently.
“Let me go!”
Mira fell to her knees in tears.
“Please, Madame! I’ll do anything! I’ll sell my body, I’ll die—just let Layla go! She wasn’t thinking straight!”
Madame kicked Mira in the stomach, sending her tumbling down the stairs.
“You’re in my way.”
She turned to the guards.
“Lock all the children in their rooms.”
Meanwhile...
The guards threw Layla into a dark room lit only by torches hanging on the walls.
They gave her pitying looks before locking the door.
“Please! Please let me out!”
Layla banged on the door repeatedly.
But her weak body stood no chance.
Then she heard it.
Heavy breathing.
Growling.
Her hands shook as she grabbed a torch—
but it suddenly went out.
That night, the cries of a child echoed through the orphanage.
Then... silence.
The next morning, Madame Buche went to retrieve Layla’s body.
Instead, she froze.
Her dogs were dead.
And Layla—badly injured—was still alive, leaning weakly against the wall, fighting to stay awake.
Madame’s eyes widened with rage.
“You had the audacity to hurt my puppies?”
She called for a guard.
He returned carrying a scalding hot metal rod.
The orphan children were finally let out of their rooms.
Mira rushed toward the room, but the door was locked.
“Please, Madame! Open the door!”
Then she heard Layla scream.
“LAYLA!”
Mira broke down crying as she desperately tried to break the door open.
“Your friend is in serious trouble,” one orphan whispered.
“The one thing I hate about Layla is that she acts like the world revolves around her,” another child muttered while trying not to cry.
“She could’ve just accepted that life isn’t fair.”
But despite their words—
they all loved Layla.
“She’s... she’s no longer screaming,” another orphan whispered fearfully.
