365-Days Burning Vengeance

Morana's Point of View

The light blinded me as the basement door creaked open. My legs felt like lead as the guards hauled me to my feet. My throat was parched, my stomach hollow, but I refused to show weakness.

I straightened my spine and followed their lead, stepping back into the world above.

As we entered the living room, my heart hardened. Isabella stood with Sophia perched on the couch like the queen she thought she was, her smug smile already grating on my nerves.

And then, there he was—my father. The man who was once my hero, now reduced to a spineless puppet of his mistress and her brat.

"Bring her here," he barked, his voice devoid of warmth.

The guards shoved me forward until I was forced to my knees before Sophia. My jaw clenched, but I kept my head bowed. I wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing the fire in my eyes.

"Apologize to your sister," my father commanded.

I froze, the words sinking in like ice water. Sister? She's not my sister. She's a parasite, a leech feeding off what my mother built.

"Did you hear me, Morana?" His tone was sharper now, but I refused to look up.

"Yes, Father," I murmured, keeping my voice soft, trembling just enough to sell my role.

I raised my head slightly, meeting Sophia's gloating gaze. She leaned back, arms crossed, a self-satisfied smirk playing on her lips.

"I'm sorry," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

Sophia tilted her head, her eyes glittering with mock pity. "You didn't mean to humiliate me in front of everyone? Really, Morana? I find that hard to believe."

I bit my lip, my nails digging into my palms. "It won't happen again. I promise."

Sophia laughed, the sound grating in its falseness. "We'll see about that."

"Enough," my father said, waving a dismissive hand. "Go back to your room, Morana. Reflect on yourself."

I rose slowly, keeping my head bowed as I turned and walked away. The moment I was out of their sight, my expression changed, the mask of submission dropping to reveal the simmering anger beneath.

When I reached my room, I slammed the door shut and leaned against it, my heart pounding with resentment.

Ever since my mother's death, this house had become a prison. My father had wasted no time bringing Isabella into our lives, his mistress, now his wife. It was as if he'd been waiting for my mother to die, eager to replace her and everything she stood for.

I moved to the window, staring out at the sprawling estate that had once felt like home. My mother's legacy. Her money. All squandered by a man too weak to honor her memory.

The image of her funeral flashed in my mind, the fresh grave barely covered when Isabella moved in, parading around in silk dresses bought with my mother's wealth. My father had been so quick to forget, so quick to replace us with his new family.

My fists clenched as the anger bubbled over. "I need to get out of this house," I muttered to myself. "Or I'll end up poisoning all of them."

The thought was tempting, deliciously so. I could see it now—Isabella writhing in agony, Sophia begging for mercy. My lips curled into a smirk.

"Wouldn't that be better?" I mused aloud, the thought dancing through my mind. "Just a little poison, quick and clean."

But then I shook my head, chuckling darkly. "No, no, that's too easy. Too kind."

They didn't deserve kindness. They deserved to suffer, to feel the pain they'd inflicted on me a hundredfold. They needed to beg for death, only to have it denied.

"I'll torture their bodies and their souls," I whispered, my voice low and resolute. "And only when they've truly understood despair will I grant them the gift of death."

The plan was already forming in my mind, the pieces falling into place. But first, I needed to leave. I couldn't stay here, not when every corner of this house reeked of betrayal.

I sat on the edge of my bed, my mind racing with possibilities. If I simply walked up to them and declared my intention to leave, they'd never let me go. Who would willingly part with their favorite toy? The thought brought a bitter scoff to my lips. They didn't love me; they only loved controlling me.

I needed someone who could bypass their authority, someone who cared about me, even if our relationship had suffered in the past. My thoughts turned to my grandfather.

He was the only one who might help me, and if I was going to rebuild my life, I needed to start by rebuilding my relationship with him.

Taking a deep breath, I picked up my phone and scrolled to his number. It had been so long since I had called him, and I wasn't sure how he'd react. But there was no turning back now.

The phone rang twice before his familiar voice came through, gruff but tinged with surprise.

"Morana?"

I smiled faintly, though he couldn't see it. "Hi, Grandpa."

There was a pause, then a chuckle. "Well, this is unexpected. I didn't think I'd ever hear from you again, Angel."

His use of my old nickname tugged at something deep within me. "I know, Grandpa. I'm sorry for not calling you sooner."

He sighed, and I could picture him rubbing the bridge of his nose. "You don't have to apologize, sweetheart. I just assumed… well, never mind that. What's going on? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I lied, my voice steady. "I was just… I was thinking, and I realized how much I miss you. I'd like to come stay with you for a while, if that's okay."

Another pause. I could almost hear the wheels turning in his mind. "Why now, Morana? Are they maltreating you again?"

My lips curved into a small, knowing smile. "No, Grandpa, nothing like that. I just… I would really like to spend some time with you. I feel like we've been distant for too long."

"Distant? More like strangers," he muttered, his tone softening. "I've missed you too, Angel. But let me ask you something—if I say yes, will they let you go? Your father and that harpy of a wife of his?"

I almost laughed at his description of Isabella but kept my composure. "No, they won't. That's why I need your help."

"Help?"

"Yes," I said, leaning forward, my voice low but firm. "I need you to come here and pick me up yourself. If I try to leave on my own, they'll never let me go."

The line went silent for a moment before he muttered, "That idiot."

I bit back a grin. "Grandpa…"

"I knew your father was a fool, but he's outdone himself this time. What do you want me to do, Angel?"

"Come to the house," I said, my tone resolute. "Tell them you're taking me with you. They won't argue with you."

He chuckled darkly. "They wouldn't dare. Alright, sweetheart, I'll be there tomorrow morning. But Morana… are you sure you're okay? You'd tell me if something was wrong, wouldn't you?"

I hesitated, then nodded to myself. "I'm okay, Grandpa. I just need to get out of here. Being in this house… it's suffocating."

"Say no more," he replied, his voice filled with determination. "I'll handle everything. Just be ready when I get there."

"Thank you, Grandpa." My voice wavered slightly, the gratitude genuine.

"You don't have to thank me, Angel. I should've done this a long time ago."

After we hung up, I stared at my phone, a flicker of hope sparking in my chest.

Tomorrow, I'd walk out of this house and leave behind the chains they'd wrapped around me. And when I did, it would mark the beginning of their end.