Chapter 1The Bronze Mirror That Changed My Fate

My mother, Aileen Stuart, leaves me a bronze mirror upon her death.

One day, I suddenly hear its thoughts.

It says exasperatedly, "My naive child, Zara hid her brooch and blamed you for stealing it. And your stepmother? Her tricks are so banal. She rubbed pollen on your clothes, hoping you'd have an allergic reaction and become disfigured. They really are the perfect pair in household scheming.

"Dead mother, philandering father, vicious stepmother, wicked idiot of a sister… What an unfortunate deck of cards you have been dealt with."

With the mirror's guidance, I manage to carve out a place for myself in this household.

One midnight, it wakes me from my sleep.

"Jemima, your chance to change your fate has arrived! The assassin who just entered the study next door is the crown prince. Save him, and you will secure a bright future!"

Summoning my courage, I push open the study door.

* * *

Inside the dimly lit chapel, I knelt on the floor. My elder half-sister, Zara Johnson, stood before me.

She said haughtily, "This is what you get for going against me. Do you think you're a legitimate heiress like me? Don't make me laugh. You're nothing but a bastard daughter born to an insignificant concubine. How dare you even think of competing with me?"

I lowered my head and answered in a cordial tone, keeping my composure. "I never wanted to compete with you, and I never stole anything from you."

Zara snorted. "So what? Go tell Father. Let's see whether he believes you or me."

With that, she turned and walked away.

Silence once again settled over the chapel. I felt the pain in my knees and let out a quiet sigh.

"Foolish child, you're going to drive me to my grave. It is obvious she hid that brooch! And she had the nerve to accuse you of stealing it! Your father is no better. He just blindly believes everything she says."

I jumped in fright and looked around. There was no one else in the chapel, but the voice had been so clear that it couldn't have been my imagination.

I gathered my courage and called out, "Who's there?"

"It's me. Why are you looking around? I'm in your pocket."

I instinctively reached inside my pocket. The only thing in there was a small bronze mirror. It was the sole keepsake Mother had left me.

"I'm finally out. Can you not keep me in your pocket all day from now on? It's so suffocating in there."

I gently stroked the surface of the mirror and asked in disbelief, "Were you the one talking?"

"Of course, it's me. Who else would it be, a ghost? Have you been listening to me at all? Are you really going to let her trample all over you as she pleases?"

I sighed and lowered my hand. "What else can I do? Father has never believed me. After all these years, I've gotten used to it."

I was the illegitimate daughter of the Johnson family. Mother had died not long after giving birth to me. My stepmother, Ophelia Palmer, and Zara had constantly belittled and punished me over the years.

Father had never once believed anything I said. It was as though both Mother and I were completely dispensable in his eyes.

The mirror's voice grew irritated. "That's a terrible habit! Your father is a worthless womanizer, but he's not stupid. He doesn't care much about you, but it's not as if he cares much about your sister either. If you can put the evidence right in front of him, he'll definitely believe you."

I shook my head. "Where would I even get evidence? Besides, what difference would it make if he believed me? Even if I stand up for myself this time, there'll only be a next time. They'll never leave me alone."

The mirror grew increasingly agitated. "Why are you so stubborn? I'm a bronze mirror. I can perceive the workings of Heaven and Earth and see through all things. I can help you. Your mother must be frantic watching you from Heaven.

"She went through all that suffering to bring you into this world. Think of your mother! How can you just let yourself, her daughter, be branded a thief?"

I felt a jolt in my heart, and my eyes immediately reddened.

Mother.

Was Mother worried about me?

The memories of my childhood had long since grown hazy.

Before Mother died, she had clutched my hand with tears streaming down her face.

She had said, "Stay alive. Jemima, you have to live. No matter what, live."

I pushed myself to my feet and knocked on the tightly shut door. "Guards, I want to see Father!"