Chapter 1 — Prologue: The Shattered Mirror

Third Person

The screams reverberated through the cavernous halls of the Diaz family estate, ricocheting off cold marble floors and heavy antique furniture. They threaded through the air like a poison, soaking into the very walls that seemed to hold their echoes prisoner. The faint hum of rain outside mingled with the distant ticking of a grandfather clock, a cruel counterpoint to the chaos unfolding below.

Mia crouched in the corner of her room, her frail arms wrapped tightly around her knees. The faint scent of her mother’s perfume—gardenias undercut by a bright note of citrus—lingered like an unspoken apology, a fragile thread of warmth in a house that had long since forgotten tenderness.

Downstairs, the shouting escalated, sharp and venomous. A crash followed—a vase, perhaps, or one of the decorative plates that adorned the dining room walls. Then came the sound Mia dreaded most: the crack of flesh striking flesh. It split the air like a whip, slicing through her chest and leaving her breathless. Her mother’s muffled cries trailed after it, but they were quickly swallowed by Eduardo Diaz’s roaring fury.

“You think you can talk back to me?” Eduardo’s voice thundered, thick with rage and the slur of too much whiskey. “In my house, you will learn your place! Always your place!”

Mia’s breath hitched, shallow and uneven. Her nails dug into her knees, crescent moons biting through the fabric of her pajamas and into her skin. She wanted to cover her ears, to block out the nightmare unraveling below, but she couldn’t. Silence was her only warning: when the shouting stopped, the worst was yet to come.

The door stood ajar, its hinges framing a narrow sliver of the dimly lit hallway. She stared at it, unmoving, her gaze darting between the keyhole and the gap of space. Her hand itched to push the door closed, but she didn’t dare risk the sound of creaking hinges.

The heavy stomp of Eduardo’s leather shoes on the stairs sent a jolt of terror through her. Each step was deliberate, resounding like gunfire in the suffocating quiet. Mia’s muscles tensed as she held her breath, the instinct to flee battling the paralysis of fear. Her small frame quivered, but she didn’t move.

From below came her mother’s voice, weak but unmistakable: “Mia!” she called, her tone soft yet insistent, laced with urgency but underpinned by something else: love.

Mia’s gaze snapped toward the door, her heart hammering so violently against her ribs that she thought it might shatter. Her mother’s second call came moments later, this time more urgent. “Mia, mi amor!”

The sound of Eduardo’s boots halted abruptly at the top of the staircase. His voice dropped to a venomous growl. “Don’t think I’m finished with you,” he spat down the stairs, the words dripping with menace.

Mia’s stomach churned, bile rising in her throat. She scrambled toward her dresser, her trembling hands fumbling with the bottom drawer. Buried beneath a heap of worn clothes was her secret: a shard of glass carefully wrapped in a strip of old fabric. She had found it weeks ago, glinting ominously in the garden after Eduardo shattered a bottle during one of his drunken rages. She hadn’t known why she’d hidden it then—only that something inside her had screamed that she might need it.

With shaking hands, she unwrapped the shard. Its edges glinted under the pale glow of her bedside lamp, jagged and sharp, its surface warped and uneven. The distorted reflection caught her eye, and for a moment, she saw herself as something fractured and broken, a collection of pieces barely holding together. Her lip quivered, but she forced herself to inhale deeply, steadying her breath.

If she cried now, she wouldn’t stop. And there was no time to cry.

“Mía de mi alma,” her mother’s voice floated up again, softer now, almost a whisper. “Go, my love. You must go.”

The words wrapped around her, heavy and warm, like a shield against the storm. Her mother’s voice was not pleading—it was commanding. It filled her with a resolve that blossomed in her chest like fire. She gripped the shard tightly, its edge pressing into her palm, a quiet reminder of the stakes. The faint sting of it anchored her.

The hallway remained silent, save for Eduardo’s labored breathing. He hadn’t moved, his presence coiled and waiting like a predator. Mia didn’t hesitate any longer. She turned toward the window, cracking it open with painstaking care. The hinges groaned softly, and she froze, her breath catching. When no sound came from the hallway, she pushed it open further, the cool night air rushing in to meet her flushed skin. It smelled faintly of damp earth and the acrid tang of the industrial district below.

The drop wasn’t far, but the hedges beneath the window looked dense and unyielding. Her hands trembled as she climbed onto the windowsill. The shard of glass was clutched in one hand, its sharp edge glinting like a sliver of stolen courage.

Behind her, Eduardo’s voice rose again, a storm of curses and threats directed at her mother. Mia hesitated for the briefest of moments, glancing back at the half-open door. She prayed she’d remember her mother’s voice—not the cries of pain, but the love beneath them. The whispered command. “Go.”

Another crash echoed up the stairs, followed by the most terrifying sound of all: silence.

Mia dropped from the windowsill into the darkness below.

The impact jarred her, sending pain shooting up her legs, but she didn’t stop. She pushed through the tangled hedges, the coarse branches scraping her skin and snagging at her hair. The cold air stung her cheeks, and the city lights in the distance blurred as tears filled her eyes. She didn’t let them fall.

Behind her, the estate loomed, its grandeur undermined by creeping ivy and the faint flicker of lights in the windows. Its towering walls no longer felt impenetrable. For the first time, Mia considered the possibility that it could crumble.

She ran with everything she had, her lungs burning and her legs trembling. By the time she stopped, she had reached a small clearing on the outskirts of the estate grounds. The city lights shimmered faintly on the horizon, a distant promise of anonymity. Mia’s knees buckled, and she fell forward, the shard slipping from her grasp and landing softly in the dirt.

Her hands shook as she stared at it, her breathing ragged. Moonlight caught on its surface, distorted and broken, yet gleaming with quiet defiance. In that moment, Mia’s reflection stared back at her, wild-eyed and unrecognizable. But the terror she saw in her gaze had begun to shift. Beneath it, something harder, sharper, had taken root.

Determination.

Mia seized the shard again, gripping it tightly despite the sting of its edges biting into her skin. She pulled at the hem of her dress, the fabric resisting beneath the jagged blade. With trembling but steady hands, she carved the letters into the fraying material. Each stroke of the shard echoed with her heartbeat, uneven but deliberate. The letters scratched into the fabric were crude but unmistakable:

“Nunca más.”

Never again.

The words etched themselves into her soul as surely as they had the fabric. They weren’t just a vow. They were a promise written in blood and resolve.

Mia rose to her feet, the shard a fragile yet unyielding weight in her hand. She turned toward the city lights. Her arms stung, her legs wavered, and her chest still heaved with the echoes of her father’s voice. But she would not stop.

The scars would fade, eventually. But she would not forget. And she would not forgive.

Survival wasn’t enough. She was going to fight.

And this time, she was going to win.