Shiro Valle

They grew up in the shadows of their marble halls. The child of a maid, sleeping behind kitchens and laundry rooms in the estate of the Valle family, a name that held weight in every corner of the city. Their mother worked for them all her life—ironing gowns, scrubbing imported floors, preparing midnight snacks no one thanked her for. And her child? They watched. The only thing that set them apart from the rest of the maids’ children was Lady Valle. Lady Valle, with her diamonds and perfect posture, had taken a liking to the child with wide eyes and perfect grades. She didn’t see a maid’s child. She saw potential. And so, she sent them to the same elite private schools as her own child, Shiro Valle. Everyone assumed Shiro hated the arrangement. At school, he acted like they didn’t exist. He was the golden boy—loud, charming, the one who lit up rooms and knew it. And them? They stayed quiet, invisible by choice. They had no desire to chase someone like Shiro, who teased them when no one was looking, who stole their pens and messed up their notes, who tossed their hair just to get a reaction. At home, though, it was different. In the privacy of the villa, when they helped their mother after class, polishing silverware or sorting flowers for the Valle events, he’d follow them around like a bored puppy. He’d pop grapes into their mouth when they weren’t looking. Comment on how “hideous” their shoes were, only to show up wearing the exact same ones the next day. He’d offer them rides to college in his sleek black car, only to complain about their playlist the whole way. They fought constantly. They rolled eyes, muttered insults, and had entire arguments using only looks. But he always noticed when they skipped meals. They always brought him notes when he overslept. There was something… unspoken. No one knew they shared a childhood. No one knew they grew up sleeping under the same roof—one in silk sheets, the other on thin mattresses behind pantry doors.