Elina stretched her arms towards the sky, letting the morning sun bathe her face with its gentle warmth. She stood in the middle of a bustling orphanage, her heart swelling at the laughter and commotion surrounding her. Children ran about with boundless energy, their carefree joy infectious.
"Miss Elina! Look! I drew this for you!" A tiny hand thrust a sheet of paper towards her, its crayon scribbles depicting a wobbly version of herself holding hands with a group of children.
"It's beautiful, Sophie. You're getting better every day," Elina praised, her smile genuine. Moments like these were what kept her going, even when everything else felt impossible.
From a young age, she had been drawn to those left behind by the world's cruelty. Children without homes, without families, without hope. It had become her purpose—her dream—to build a place where they could feel safe, cherished, and loved. To provide them with education, care, and the tools to forge a brighter future.
But dreams were fragile things when built in the shadow of a family like hers.
Elina's smile dimmed as the thought of her parents seeped into her mind. Their expectations were iron-clad, their desires forced upon her with the weight of duty. To them, her passion was nothing more than a foolish distraction, something to be crushed before it grew roots.
They couldn't see what she saw. They couldn't understand the joy of giving without expecting anything in return. To them, power and loyalty were all that mattered.
"Elina!" a voice called from the orphanage's entrance. It was Rachel, her friend and the woman who managed the day-to-day operations of the orphanage. "You're going to be late, and if you don't reach home in time, your parents might find out you were here again. You remember how they scolded you last time."
The warning tightened something in her chest, a knot of anxiety threading through her resolve. Rachel was right. She had pushed her luck by coming here again, but this place was her sanctuary. The one place where she could breathe freely, surrounded by laughter and innocence, where the weight of her family's expectations couldn't reach her.
"I'll go home right away," Elina replied, her voice strained, trying to sound steady. But her gaze lingered on the children's bright faces, their small hands clutching hers as if she were their entire world. Leaving them always felt like abandoning a part of herself.
As she hugged the children goodbye, promising to return soon, her mind buzzed with frustration. Her dream was all she had, and she would protect it, even if it meant waging war against her own family.
With a final glance back at the only place that felt like home, Elina stepped into the car, the weight of reality already settling on her shoulders.
____________________________✖____________________________
Elina's world was gilded with luxury, yet it felt more like a cage with velvet bars. As the only daughter of the Castellanos—one of the most powerful mafia families in the region—her life had been one of privilege and suffocation.
She lived in a sprawling estate where security was tighter than any prison. Guards patrolled the grounds, their eyes always watchful, their presence a constant reminder of the dangers lurking outside. But it was not the threats from the outside that frightened her—it was the iron grip of her own family.
Her parents, Antonio and Isabella Castellano, ruled their empire with an iron fist. Antonio was a man of power, his name alone enough to make enemies tremble. Isabella was sharp, cunning, and elegant, her words often more lethal than any weapon.
They loved her in their own way, but their love came with conditions. They sought to mould her into their perfect image, a dutiful daughter who would marry well, further strengthening their hold on the underworld. To them, her dreams were merely childish whims, distractions that needed to be snuffed out before they grew dangerous.
"Elina, you must understand," her mother would say, her voice cold but deceptively gentle. "Your life is not your own. You have a duty to this family."
Duty. A word she had grown to despise.
Despite the luxurious life her family provided, Elina felt stifled. Controlled. Everything about her existence was planned, monitored, scrutinized. Even her rare moments of freedom—her visits to the orphanage—were done in secret.
It was never enough. The donations she managed to sneak out of her own allowance, the few hours she could spend playing with the children and listening to their laughter. It was like trying to hold water in her hands—no matter how tightly she held on, it always slipped through her fingers.
But she refused to give up. Not on the children. Not on her dream.
A knock on her bedroom door snapped her from her thoughts.
"Miss Castellano," a familiar voice called. It was her father's trusted right-hand man, Marco. Loyal, efficient, and utterly obedient to her parents' commands.
"Yes?"
"Your parents are expecting you in the study. There are matters to discuss."
She sighed, already knowing what that meant. "I'll be there soon," she replied, forcing her voice to sound calm even when frustration simmered beneath her words.
She straightened her posture, preparing herself for another battle she was already tired of fighting.
____________________________✖____________________________
Elina entered the grand study, her footsteps echoing softly against the polished marble floor. Her father, Antonio Castellano sat behind his massive mahogany desk, his expression stern, while her mother, Isabella stood by the window, her gaze fixed on the immaculate gardens below.
"Elina," Antonio's voice was sharp, leaving no room for argument. "Sit."
She obeyed, her back straight, hands folded tightly in her lap.
"I hear you've been sneaking out again," he continued, his eyes narrowing. "Playing the saint, giving away money to worthless causes."
"It's not worthless," Elina replied, her voice low but firm. "Those children need help. They need hope."
"Our family doesn't do charity," Antonio snapped. "We control."
Isabella's lips tightened, her tone dripping with disapproval. "What will people think if they learn the Castellano heir is wasting her time on street rats and beggars?"
"It's not a waste. It's—"
"It's over," her father cut her off. "You are to stop this nonsense immediately. Your duty is to this family, and you will do what is necessary to strengthen our position. Which means marrying someone suitable."
Elina's jaw clenched. "So you can control me?"
"To protect you," Isabella corrected, her voice icy. "And to ensure you do not ruin everything we've built."
Elina met their stares with burning defiance. But deep down, fear twisted her stomach. They would never understand her dreams. And they would never let her live them.
But she would not give up. Not yet.
____________________________✖____________________________
Elina's pleas fell on deaf ears. Her parents were unyielding, their disapproval of her dreams manifesting in a plan she had never anticipated.
"You are to be married, Elina," her father declares one evening, his voice cold and resolute. "To a man who will take responsibility for you and put an end to this childish obsession of yours."
"Marriage?" The word felt foreign and sharp on her tongue. "You're using me as a bargaining chip."
"Enough!" Her mother's voice is a lash. "You are a daughter of the Castellano. Your duty is to protect our legacy, not to waste your life chasing fantasies."
Their words cut her, but what terrifies her more is their determination. Her opinions, her dreams, her entire future—they are nothing but inconveniences to be stamped out.
Her father's warning echoes, "You will marry, Elina. Make peace with it. Your dreams are nothing but childish fantasies. The sooner you accept your place, the better."
His words struck her like a blow, the finality of his tone making her stomach twist. But even as despair threatened to consume her, a spark of defiance remained. It wasn't over. Not yet.
____________________________✖____________________________