THE DEVIL'S MISTRESS

Nyx's pov.

They say everyone wakes up excited on their birthday. But not me. I hated it. Every second. Every reminder that I was born a shadow to someone else's spotlight.

In this house, birthdays weren’t for both of us. They were for her — Camila. The golden twin. Brilliant. Beautiful. She wore her excellence like a crown, effortlessly claiming what I had to bleed for. She glided, with grace carved by our parents' praise and worship. Every test score, every smile, every breath she took came with a standing ovation.

And me?

I was the forgotten daughter — the one no one remembered giving birth to. That morning, I heard them before I saw them. Laughter. Clinks of wrapping paper. My mother’s voice laced with delight. "You deserve this, sweetheart. Happy birthday, baby girl."

I stayed curled under the blanket, still as stone. But I listened. I always listened.

The gift — a delicate necklace from Paris. My father’s voice followed. “Wear it tonight. You'll look perfect with it at dinner.”

They didn’t knock on my door. Didn’t even check if I was breathing. Just called out, “Girls, be ready by 7pm!” and left for work as if I was just another piece of furniture in the house.

And so on the day I turned eighteen, the day meant to celebrate me,the comparison came like a curse.

Camila lingered, of course. “You didn’t get anything again?” Her words dripped honey and poison - the most disgusting combination.

I didn’t answer.

“You should come down more often. Maybe they’d notice you exist,” she added. I didn't need to see her to know she was smiling. I stayed still, buried under the blanket, pretending to sleep but my mind was screaming I couldn't take her chirpy voice, a constant reminder that I was a second class daughter.

"get out!" I snapped, voice cracking. She giggled and left. " hope it goes better for you this year". she added before clicking the door shut.

But I didn't hope, I needed escape.

The day dragged quickly, didn’t cry. I hadn’t in years. But I burned inside, silent flames licking at my sanity. I paced. Starved. Cleaned my already-spotless room. Stared into the mirror too long, wondering how two girls born the same hour could be seen so differently.

Around six, I pulled myself together -not for them, but for me. I wore my new black velvet dress. classic and tight. some jewelry, gloss, and painted my lips with deep crimson. getting ready for the worse.

___

Dinner was a well rehearsed show,a masquerade of love, Laughter roared. Candles flickered, The table was dressed like royalty. And there she sat-Camila glowing, giggling, being toasted by the same people who gave me silence for breakfast.

Then came the final blow.

“We saved the best for last,” Dad announced, rising to his feet with a gleam in his eyes. The housekeeper rolled in a key on a silver tray.

“A car?! You got her a car?!” I asked, stunned. “On our birthday?!”

They turned. The silence stung. “It’s her reward, Nyx. She worked hard. She deserves it,” Mum said simply, like it was common sense.

“And I don’t?” I whispered, voice trembling. “I don’t deserve anything because I’m not her? Because I’m not perfect like Camila?”

“You don’t have to make this about you,” my sister said, soft and Smugly. But I was already on fire.

“I didn’t ask to be born your twin! I didn’t ask to be second place every damn year! I’m tired of being invisible!” No one said anything, not a sorry not even a lie.

So, I took the car key. Snatched it with a wicked grin, stormed out without a word, and slammed the door behind me hard enough to shake the portraits on the wall.

I drove with trembling hands, my heart ice, no destination. Just away. But the city has a way of calling the broken. And the broken always find where the madness is.

The neon lights of BASQUE blinked at me like temptation, and I answered.

I didn’t go to a party. I went to a club known for swallowing souls. where music roared like thunder, and darkness was dressed in diamonds. Dangerous men watched from velvet corners. Women prowled like wolves in lipstick. And me? I walked in like I owned the place.

Not in my usual thrifted madness. because tonight, I looked... flawless. I was unrecognizable, even to myself. I had dressed so well for them — for my parents, hoping if they saw me like this, they’d finally see me at all.

But they didn’t. They never would. So, I danced. Like a woman unhinged. A psychopath basking in the madness. I stole every eye in the club, drowned in the strobe lights, losing myself in the chaos. I laughed. Twirled. Dropped to the floor like I was some crazy bitch. I wanted them to see me - if not at home, then here. In the darkness. Among strangers. And for the first time in years…

I felt alive.