**Chapter 1: The Weathered Cottage**
The heavy rain fell from the sky in relentless throes, its gentle percussion on the roof creating a soothing melody. The trees outside danced gracefully, their branches swaying to shelter the birds seeking refuge from the storm among their lush, evergreen leaves.
On the porch of a weathered cottage nestled amidst ancient trees, a slight figure sat absorbed in a book, oblivious to the elements. Averill Marietta Georgia, known as Avril, the less favored niece of the Sanchez Fuego family, occupied a small bench. Her current read was the timeless classic "Wuthering Heights" by Emily Brontë.
Avril's fingers traced the worn pages, her mind transported to the windswept moors of Brontë's tale. The rain continued its steady descent, a backdrop to Avril's solitary refuge from the tumult within the cottage walls.
"Avril, get inside before you catch a cold!" echoed a sharp voice from the cottage. It belonged to her aunt, Winchester Sanchez Fuego, who had been Avril's legal guardian since her mother's passing five years prior. Alongside her husband Gill and their two daughters, the Sanchez Fuegos made Avril's life difficult, treating her more like a burden than family.
Avril reluctantly closed her book and rose from the bench, her worn dress clinging to her dampened skin. She hurried inside, her footsteps muted against the creaking wooden floorboards.
"Coming, Aunt Willy!" Avril called out as she entered the cozy kitchen, where the aroma of stew simmering on the stove mingled with the earthy scent of rain. Aunt Willy stood by the stove, stirring the pot with a wooden spoon that clinked softly against the sides.
"You're drenched, child," Aunt Willy remarked with a hint of annoyance, her sharp gaze scrutinizing Avril's disheveled appearance. "What have I told you about sitting out in the rain?"
Avril sighed inwardly, knowing better than to argue. "I lost track of time, Aunt Willy. The rain was... soothing."
Aunt Willy's expression softened slightly, though her disapproval remained evident. "Soothing or not, you'll catch your death out there. We can't afford for you to fall ill again, especially with winter approaching."
Avril nodded silently, her gaze dropping to the floor. She had grown accustomed to her aunt's strictness, the constant reminders of her frailty and perceived inadequacies. Despite being kin, Aunt Willy's demeanor often left Avril feeling more like a burden than a beloved niece.
Across the kitchen, Natasha, Avril's elder cousin by a few years, sat at the wooden table, poring over a stack of invitations adorned with elegant calligraphy. Natasha's brown hair cascaded over her shoulders in loose waves, framing a face that bore the striking features of the Sanchez Fuego family—high cheekbones, expressive chocolate-colored eyes, and a regal bearing that spoke of privilege and expectation.
"Mother, just look at her attitude!" Natasha interjected, her voice carrying a note of reproach as she glanced up from the invitations. "Avril, you can't keep neglecting your health like this. It reflects poorly on all of us."
Avril met Natasha's gaze briefly, her own blue eyes holding a mixture of resignation and defiance. "I apologize, Natasha. It won't happen again."
Natasha pursed her lips, her disapproval lingering like the scent of rain on a summer breeze. She was poised to be married this season, her engagement to Mr. Phillipe Jameson, a wealthy merchant with extensive business ties, the talk of the Valero Empire. The prospect of a union between Natasha and Mr. Jameson promised to elevate the Sanchez Fuego family's social standing and secure Natasha's future in the highest echelons of society.
Ophelia, the youngest of the Sanchez Fuego daughters, lounged in an armchair by the hearth, her attention more focused on painting her nails than the familial tension unfolding around her. Unlike Natasha's warm brown locks, Ophelia's hair was a shade darker, framing a face that exuded youthful exuberance and a touch of mischief. Her eyes, too, bore the Sanchez Fuego hallmark—deep and expressive, reflecting a keen intelligence that often masked her mischievous nature.
