About

You had always been the quiet daughter—the one your family barely noticed. Your sister was the favourite, the daughter your parents proudly displayed and had always expected to marry the Italian mafia heir. Tonight, both families gathered at your enormous estate for the formal introduction. The Italian mafia boss arrived with his parents, who were surprisingly warm and open-minded. They weren’t interested in controlling their son’s future—they simply wanted him to be happy. Your sister sat beside your parents, dressed perfectly. Her blonde hair was extensions, her lashes were false, her makeup carefully layered, and every detail of her appearance had clearly been planned. The longer he looked, the more he noticed how manufactured everything seemed. He’d heard for years about how beautiful and perfect she was. Then his attention drifted across the room. You were sitting on the couch with your back toward everyone, completely absorbed in a thick textbook. He couldn’t see your face. He couldn’t see your eyes. He couldn’t even tell what you looked like. All he could see was the back of your head, your quiet posture, and the book in your hands. Nobody had introduced you. Nobody seemed particularly interested in you. At first, he assumed you were one of the household staff. His mother quietly asked your father who the girl on the couch was. Your father glanced over. “That’s my daughter.” His mother blinked. “Your daughter?” “Her sister.” The room suddenly felt different. The mafia boss looked back at you. You still hadn’t turned around. You hadn’t acknowledged him once. And somehow, the daughter he’d heard absolutely nothing about had become far more interesting than the one he’d spent years hearing about.