CHAPTER TEN:

The heavy gates of Aurelius Preparatory School creaked open that bright Monday morning, ushering in students clad in neat uniforms, their faces buzzing with excitement and curiosity. Catalina Montemayor stepped out of the family car first, the chauffeur quickly coming around to open the door. Her polished black shoes gleamed in the sunlight, and her hair was swept into a flawless braid woven with pale blue ribbon to match her school blazer.

But Catalina's confident stride faltered as Mira stepped out after her, wearing the same crisp navy uniform—though slightly looser and obviously second-hand. Mira's hair was neatly brushed and pinned back, her posture straight but cautious. Her eyes scanned the sprawling campus in awe.

Catalina's mouth curled with distaste. It was one thing to tolerate Mira in the house, another entirely to share the same sacred halls of prestige and status. She muttered under her breath, "This is a nightmare."

Her friends were already waving from the entrance.

"Cathy!"

Three girls rushed over—Imelda, Biana, and Maris. They immediately noticed Mira, their expressions shifting from interest to polite surprise.

"Who's this?" Imelda asked, tilting her head.

Before Mira could introduce herself, Catalina plastered on a smile and said sweetly, "Oh, that's just Mira. She lives with us—kind of like the help."

Mira's cheeks flushed, and she looked down. Biana's eyes lingered on her.

"But she looks so familiar. Didn't someone from your house win the essay competition?"

Catalina forced a laugh. "She just got lucky. Some old story she scribbled. It wasn't that good."

"But the essay was beautiful," Maris said. "The judges said it made people cry. Honestly, I thought it was yours, Cathy."

Catalina stiffened. "Well, it wasn't. She probably copied it from a book."

Mira bit her lip. The warmth and pride she had felt just hours ago when the letter from Aurelius had arrived were starting to wilt.

Earlier That Week

The announcement had come in a sealed cream envelope from the Montemayor's butler, delivered to Don Alfonso as he sat in his study. He had opened it with mild curiosity, only for his eyes to widen as he read the golden-lettered invitation and sponsorship letter from Aurelius School's Board of Scholars.

"This girl... Mira," he had muttered. "She's being offered a full scholarship. They want to meet her in person."

His jaw tightened.

Isabela had stood silently by the door, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. She didn't speak, but her eyes were quietly pleading.

Catalina's mother stood as still as a porcelain statue nearby. "Surely, Alfonso, we can politely decline. It would be... scandalous to have her enrolled there."

Don Alfonso exhaled, folding the paper tightly. "No. They want her, and it's under our name now. The judges already announced she was from this household. Declining will raise more questions. I'll sign the sponsorship form."

Isabela's eyes shimmered briefly with relief.

Catalina, who had been eavesdropping just outside the room, stormed off.

Back at School

Over the next few days, Mira walked the halls of Aurelius with quiet grace, mostly alone. She carried her worn books carefully, her eyes lighting up when she passed the library or the art studio. Every subject fascinated her, and her passion drew attention.

By the second week, whispers had started.

"Is that the girl who wrote the winning essay?"

"She got in through sponsorship. I heard she's not even from the city."

"She's so calm and kind. Did you hear her answer in literature class?"

Catalina heard every word—and it stung. Mira, the girl who used to sweep floors and listen to her lessons in secret, was suddenly being called "gifted" and "lovely" by her own friends and teachers.

During recess one day, a boy from the senior class—Arturo—approached Catalina's group.

"Hey, is Mira Montemayor your cousin or something? She's in my sister's class. Said some really wise things in a class debate. And her drawing of the orphaned bird was incredible."

Catalina smiled thinly. "She's not my cousin. She's just our... house girl. My parents felt sorry for her. She's not really from our world, you know?"

Arturo blinked. "Oh."

Later that day, Mira overheard Imelda asking Catalina at lunch, "Why are you being so mean about her? She's always nice. And honestly, Cathy, some of the teachers praise her more than you now."

Catalina stood up sharply. "Are you choosing her over me?"

Imelda flinched. "No! Of course not. I was just saying—"

"Then stop saying anything. She's a fake. A charity case. She'll be gone the moment my father changes his mind."

Mira's Struggles and Triumphs

Despite the cold glares and whispers, Mira excelled. She scored highest in their literature quiz. Her essay on "What Freedom Means" was published in the school paper. Her art teacher showed her drawings during an open house.

Yet Catalina's torment didn't stop.

She "accidentally" spilled ink on Mira's uniform one morning. She hid her books before class. She even convinced a group of girls to leave Mira out of group projects.

Still, Mira endured. Her mother had taught her that kindness and perseverance were stronger than cruelty.

One evening, Mira cried silently into her pillow, the sting of Catalina's words echoing: "No matter how hard you try, you'll never be one of us."

But the next morning, she rose, combed her hair, and walked into school with her chin up.

A Turning Point

One day, in the middle of a science class, the headmistress entered. "Miss Mira," she said. "You're wanted in the main office."

Mira followed nervously. Inside the office sat a woman in a tailored lavender suit with sharp eyes and a kind smile.

"Hello, Mira. I'm Mrs. Valentina Dupré. I'm the director of the Aurelius Scholars Foundation."

Mira bowed slightly.

"I read your essays. And I saw your art in the hallway. You are a remarkable girl."

Mira's hands trembled. "Thank you, ma'am."

Mrs. Dupré leaned forward. "I've seen how some students treat you. But I want you to know: you belong here. And we're expanding your scholarship—to include mentorship, travel, and all future academic support."

Mira blinked. "You really mean that?"

"Absolutely. But you must promise me something: Never dim your light just because others feel threatened by it."

Mira nodded, her eyes brimming with tears.

Back in Class

When Mira returned, she was different. She held her head higher. Her confidence was quiet but fierce.

Catalina saw the change—and it unnerved her.

"She thinks she's better than us now," she whispered to Maris.

"No," Maris said quietly. "I think she just believes in herself. Maybe we should too."

Catalina's eyes narrowed.

But deep inside her, an uncomfortable truth began to twist: Mira wasn't just the maid's daughter anymore.

She was becoming someone important.

Someone unforgettable.