Between Love and Ruin

Maria POV:

The days after my father's death passed in a blur. The funeral was brief, a rushed affair that felt more like a formality than a goodbye. Ophelia cried, her tears loud and exaggerated, while I stood silently by the coffin, my face blank.

I couldn't cry. Not there, not with her hand clutching mine like she needed to sell the performance.

The house changed after he was gone. The silence was thick, oppressive, like the walls themselves were mourning. Or maybe it was just me.

Ophelia, of course, didn't miss a beat.

Barely three weeks had passed before Victor began showing up regularly, his broad frame filling doorways, his booming voice echoing through the halls. He didn't even pretend to be subtle.

One night, I came downstairs to find them in the dining room, leaning over a stack of papers that looked suspiciously like financial documents. Ophelia's laugh carried through the room, while Victor leaned closer murmuring something I couldn't hear.

I stayed beside the doorway, watching.

She didn't look like a widow. She looked like someone who had just won.

They were married a week later.

Victor moved into the house, bringing with him an air of dominance that suffocated everything it touched.

"Maria," he said to me one morning, his voice smooth as I poured myself a cup of coffee. "You'll start addressing me as your father now."

I froze, the mug hovering halfway to my lips. "I have a father," I said, quietly, my voice steady.

Victor's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Not anymore."

The words hit harder than I expected, but I refused to let see it. I set the mug down carefully, meeting his gaze. "You're not him and you will never be." I said simply.

His expression darkened, but before he could respond, Ophelia entered the room, her heels clicking against the tile. She placed a hand on his arm, a warning disguised as a gentle touch.

"Victor, darling," she said sweetly. "Maria's still adjusting. Give her time."

Her eyes met mine briefly, and the message was clear. Don't push it.

I picked my mug and turned to leave the kitchen, my chest tight with effort it took to keep my composure.

"You should be grateful," he said with a mocking tone. "Not everyone would keep you around after what your father left behind."

I stopped, my fingers tightening around the mug.

"I'm here because this is my home," I said quietly.

He laughed, a low, bitter sound. "Your home? No, Maria. This is my house now. And you're only in it because it's convenient for me."

I didn't look back as I walked away, but his words clung to me, heavy and suffocating.

Later that evening, I was summoned to the study.

Victor sat behind the desk, his hands folded neatly in front of him. Ophelia stood beside him, her expression was neutral, though her eyes gleamed with something like delight.

"Maria," Victor said, gesturing for me to sit.

I didn't move.

"This isn't a request," Victor commanded, bringing out a pistol and laid it on the desk.

I glared at him before reluctantly stepping forward. The chair before the desk felt more like a trap than a seat, but I sat anyway, folding my hands tightly in my lap to keep them from shaking.

Ophelia leaned against the desk, her smile thin and placating. "Maria, we've been thinking about your future."

Her words immediately set me on edge.

"What about my future?" I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.

Victor smirked, leaning back in his chair. "You're an Everlight. And with that name comes responsibility."

I clenched my fists tighter, my nails digging into my palms.

"Responsibilities?" I repeated, my voice cold. "Like being shoved into the background while you parade around with everything my father built?"

Victor's smirk vanished, his expression hardening. "Careful," he said, his voice low, his hand reaching for the pistol.

Ophelia placed a hand on his arm, stopping him, her smile widening slightly. "What Victor means, darling, is that it's time for you to take step forward. To be part of something bigger."

I swallowed the retort building in my throat, forcing my voice to stay even. "What are you talking about?"

Victor leaned forward, his hands steepled in front of him. "You've been engaged