Miracle
Instead of heading straight back to Theron, my feet instinctively carried me towards the stairs leading to the attic. The after-party was hosted within the packhouse, where I had lived for eighteen years—not as the Luna's cherished and respected daughter, but as a slave.
The interior hadn't changed much; the walls, the ceiling, and the hung paintings remained the same as they were the last time I was there. The only noticeable change was the paint, transitioning from the beige interior to a stark black-and-white motif.
My gaze lingered for a moment on the largest painting, a highlight of the packhouse. It depicted my mother, Alpha Maximo, and my two half-brothers, all smiling radiantly—a happy family portrait, missing just one member: me. I wasn't resentful; I knew I didn't bel
