Little Miss Revenge Chapter 01

Little Miss Revenge Chapter 01

*Thud.*

A dull, heavy sound of a small body hitting the carpet. Then came Sofia’s cry.

Lights flicked on across the entire villa. Footsteps pounded down the hallway. In rushed Alexander.Wendt, Isabella.Wendt, and the butler, Margaret.

They froze at the sight before them.

Me—Ella Austen, the child they believed to be the butler’s dirty little secret—lying comfortably in the heiress’s gilded bed. And Sofia, the girl they adored like royalty, sprawled on the cold floor, crying like her world had just ended.

“Sofia!” Isabella shrieked, scooping her up.

Alexander’s face went dark. His eyes shot daggers at me.

Margaret turned pale as a ghost. She knew better than anyone what this meant.

“My baby, where does it hurt?” Isabella cradled Sofia, tears streaming.

Sofia pointed a shaky finger at me. “She pushed me! She pushed me!”

Every eye in the room landed on me again.

Alexander’s gaze turned to ice. “What’s going on here?” His voice was a low rumble, barely containing his fury.

Margaret trembled like a leaf in a storm. She rushed over and yanked me off the plush bed by the arm—hard enough to bruise.

“I’m so sorry, sir. So sorry, madam. My fault entirely. This wretched child must’ve been sleepwalking.” She tightened her grip on me, her eyes screaming a warning.

I said nothing. Just stared up at the couple with wide, baby-blue eyes—full of fear, like a cornered fawn.

But I was faking it. In my past life, I’d learned how to wear a mask just to survive.

Isabella didn’t even glance my way. Alexander, though, was studying me. His brow furrowed.

What was a three-year-old doing sneaking from the servants’ quarters to the master bedroom?

“Sleepwalking?” he repeated, skeptical.

Margaret’s sweat was practically dripping. “Y-yes, sir. She’s had this problem since she was little. I’ll lock her up right away—won’t bother Miss Sofia again.”

She moved to drag me out.

*Lock me up? Not a chance.*

My goal tonight wasn’t just to kick Sofia out of bed. It was to stay. Right here. With them.

So I started shaking. Trembling like I was having a seizure. My teeth chattered. I looked at Alexander with eyes full of pure terror—like I’d seen a ghost.

Then I burst into tears. Louder than Sofia. Louder than any three-year-old had a right to cry.

“Not me… not me…” I sobbed, gasping between breaths. “It was… Mama… I saw Mama come to this room… I wanted a hug… but she was gone…”

My words were a jumbled mess, but the message was clear: Margaret had been sneaking into the Princess Bedroom.

Alexander’s face hardened. “What did you say?”

I flinched at his tone and cried even harder.

Margaret was dumbfounded. “The girl’s lying through her teeth, sir! I’d never—”

Alexander ignored her. His gaze stayed on me—sharp, calculating. Then, with visible irritation, he said, “Enough. Stop crying.”

Isabella had finally calmed Sofia down. She looked at me with disgust. “Margaret, get her out of here. This child is insufferable.”

Margaret practically sighed with relief. She grabbed me again, ready to haul me off.

This was my last chance.

I wrenched myself free—threw all my tiny body weight into it—and stumbled forward. Not toward Margaret. Not toward Isabella. I fell at Alexander’s feet.

I wrapped my arms around his leg, looked up with tear-soaked cheeks, and let my face show something new: not just fear, but longing. Dependence.

“Dad… Ella’s scared,” I whimpered.

The room went dead silent.

I hadn’t meant to say “Dad.” I’d meant “Sir.” But this three-year-old body had instincts of its own. In that moment of terror and desperate need, it called out for what it truly wanted.

Alexander went stiff as a board. He looked down at my gaunt little face, my sapphire eyes—so like Isabella’s. And for just a second, something flickered in his cold gaze. Shock. Confusion. And something else. Something he didn’t even recognize himself.

Margaret’s face turned white as printer paper.