"Shadows of Glass:The Bloom Beneath"

The conference room of Quinn Global Enterprises was cold—not in temperature, but in spirit. The polished marble table gleamed under the bright lights, a symbol of power and wealth. Around it sat the heirs of the Quinn fortune, flawless in their designer suits and expensive watches. And at the end of that table sat Mila Quinn, the adopted daughter they never truly saw. Mila kept her head down, pretending to study the papers before her. She could feel the weight of their glances—or rather, their deliberate avoidance. She didn’t belong. She never had. “Mila, dear, do you have anything to contribute?” Camille’s voice was sweet poison. Mila glanced up and caught the glint of amusement in her sister’s eyes. “No, thank you,” Mila said softly. Her voice barely carried to the other end of the table. Camille smirked and leaned back in her chair, satisfied. Jasper, their older brother, let out a snort of laughter. “Didn’t think so.” The meeting droned on. Figures, contracts, projections—Mila absorbed it all quietly, though no one cared. When the meeting ended, she gathered her things in silence. “Wait up, Mila.” The voice was warm, kind—a rare sound in her world. Lucian Kane. He stood beside her, tall and confident, his dark eyes gentle as they met hers. “You always listen so closely. You should speak more.” Mila’s cheeks flushed. “There’s no point. No one wants to hear me.” “I do.” His words were soft but firm. Then, before she could answer, he was gone—called away by Jasper for some urgent matter. Mila stood alone in the empty boardroom, heart pounding. She touched the edge of the table, wishing, for once, she could be seen. --- At home, things were no different. The Quinn mansion was grand and cold, filled with marble, glass, and emptiness. Dinner was formal. Camille and Jasper laughed about some upcoming gala. Their mother, graceful and distant, barely glanced at Mila. Their father, stern and proud, discussed business as if she weren’t at the table. “Mila, do try to dress properly for the gala,” Camille said sweetly. “You don’t want to embarrass the family again, do you?” Mila swallowed hard. She nodded. “Of course.” They laughed, and the conversation moved on, leaving her in the shadows. --- Later that night, Mila sat on the edge of her bed. She stared at her reflection: round cheeks, soft chin, wide eyes that always seemed too sad. She touched her face, wishing she could change it—change herself. But all she saw was the girl no one wanted. A knock on the door startled her. A maid entered, placing a dress on the bed. “Miss Camille asked me to bring this. She said it’s what you should wear to the gala.” Mila smiled faintly. “Thank you.” When the maid left, Mila lifted the dress. It was too small. Much too small. Her fingers trembled, but she said nothing. She never did.