LAYLA'S POV
The maids lead me down the eastern wing—a place I have never dared to walk before. Not because I'm not allowed to, but because this part of the house isn't for someone like me. It belongs to those with power. With purpose. With a name that matters.
Not someone like me.
We stop at a door. The door is tall and carved with swirls of gold and silver, like something out of a fairytale. One of the maids, Clara, gives me a soft smile before pushing it open."This is where you'll be getting ready," she says.
I step in slowly, my breath catching in my throat.
The room is beautiful. No—breathtaking. The walls are painted pink with gold designs on the wall. The curtains are blue and the colour matches the walls in the prettiest way. A grand bed sits in the center with soft, pillowy sheets that look untouched. A mirror taller than me stands near the corner. There are wardrobes, bookshelves, plush chairs, and even a vanity.
I swallow hard.
