The stolen Heiress

Chapter 1: The City’s Lost Daughter The city glittered like a jewel at night, but Mira knew the truth—jewels were always sharp enough to cut you. She pulled Nyra’s hood up to protect her from the cold. They walked fast, avoiding the crowds, blending into the shadows like they had done their entire lives. “Do you think we’ll eat tonight?” Nyra asked. “If we’re lucky,” Mira said softly. “If not, we’ll survive. We always do.” She didn’t know where she came from. Only that she had been found lying behind a market stall at age three, half-conscious and wrapped in a hospital blanket no one recognized. No name. No family. No answers. Just a stray. A sudden scream tore through the night. Mira grabbed Nyra and pulled her against a wall. Something crashed in the alley ahead—heavy, violent, wrong. A man stumbled into view, clutching his chest. His eyes went wide when he saw Mira. “You—” he gasped. “They weren’t lying. You’re alive.” Before she could respond, a dark-clad figure appeared behind him. With one swift move, the stranger plunged a blade forward. The man collapsed. Mira froze. The killer turned slowly toward her. Not shocked. Not surprised. Prepared. He took a step closer and whispered: “The Vescarri want you back, little heiress.” Mira felt the world tilt. “Heiress? I’m no one.” He smiled under his mask. “Not to them. Not to the Vanderholts. You were stolen from the hospital seventeen years ago. And now…” He raised his blade. “…your real family wants their lost daughter.”