CHAPTER 1 THE LAST GOOD BYE
The rain didn’t stop falling. It was a soft, relentless drizzle that soaked through Lunaria’s thin black coat and plastered her hair to her cheeks. She didn’t bother wiping it away. She couldn't feel the cold. She couldn't feel much of anything.
The priest’s words faded into the background, drowned out by the sound of dirt hitting the top of her father's wooden coffin. Ashes to ashes.
Lunaria was seventeen years old, and she was completely alone.
Her father had been sick for six months. Leukemia. It had drained the life from him so quickly that Lunaria still half-expected to see him sitting in his old armchair by the window, complaining about the draft. But the chair was empty, and now, so was she. Her mother had left when Lunaria was ten, divorcing her father and moving to the city without looking back. Her father had been her whole world. Now, that world was six feet underground.
After the burial, the few relatives who had bothered to show up gathered in her father’s small, drafty farmhouse. Lunaria stood by the kitchen counter, clutching a mug of cold tea she hadn't taken a single sip of.
Her Uncle Robert approached her, flanked by her Uncle Marcus. They were her father’s brothers, but they looked like strangers right now. They shifted their weight, avoiding her eyes.
"Lunaria," Robert started, his voice gruff. He cleared his throat. "We need to talk about what happens next."
Lunaria looked up at him, her green eyes red-rimmed. "I can stay here," she said quietly. "I can get a job. I'll be eighteen soon."
Marcus sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "It’s not that simple, sweetheart. The bank is taking the house. Your dad... he had a lot of medical bills. And we just... we can't take you in. Robert's place is too small, and I've got the kids to think about. We just can't afford it."
We can't afford it.
The words hit her harder than the cold rain outside. Her uncles—her family—were turning their backs on her. She didn't beg. She didn't cry. She just nodded slowly, her grip tightening on the ceramic mug. "I understand," she whispered.
They left shortly after, leaving her alone in the echoing silence of the farmhouse. The boxes were packed. Her entire life was reduced to two cardboard suitcases by the door
Lunaria sat on the floor, staring at the wall, wondering if this was what it felt like to disappear.
Then, her phone buzzed.
The screen lit up the dark room. The caller ID read: Mom.
Lunaria’s heart stuttered. She hadn't heard from her mother in seven years. Not a birthday card, not a Christmas call. Nothing. But news travels fast in small towns. She must have heard about the funeral.
With trembling fingers, Lunaria swiped to answer. "Hello?"
There was a pause on the other end. When her mother finally spoke, her voice was exactly how Lunaria remembered it—smooth, distant, and cold as ice. There was no sympathy. No grief. Just a business-like tone.
"Lunaria. I heard about your father. I assume you have nowhere to go."
Lunaria swallowed the lump in her throat. "The uncles... they can't take me."
"Of course they can't," her mother said, a hint of irritation in her voice. "I'll text you the address to my home in the city. Since you're not eighteen yet, I suppose you'll have to stay with me and my husband. Be ready by noon tomorrow. Don't be late."
Click.
The line went dead.
Lunaria slowly lowered the phone, staring at the screen. A text message pinged a second later—an address in the wealthiest part of the city. The Volkov Mansion.
She looked around the dark, empty farmhouse one last time. Tomorrow, she would leave the countryside. Tomorrow, she would step into a world she didn't understand, to live with a mother who didn't love her, and a stepfather she had never met.
Her whole story was about to change.
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