She took another sip of her drink.

"But you know what’s funny, my lady?" Heena set down the cup and looked directly into the woman’s eyes. "It’s that when we truly want NO connection with someone, we normally don’t maintain detailed information about them for years afterward. We don’t care about who comes into their life or who leaves it. We don’t track their activities or relationships."

The woman’s expression remained neutral, but Heena could see increased attention in her eyes.

"It CAN be," the woman said carefully, "that people simply want to keep track of potential threats. After all, many people do exactly that—they keep their enemies within sight rather than lose track of them entirely."

Heena nodded as if conceding the point and said, "Indeed, my lady. That’s very true. But what DOESN’T make sense is that for an ’enemy’ who is supposedly useless to you, completely cut off and powerless—why would you take such detailed notice of every person around her? From the lowest servant in her household to minor family members, even tracking who becomes her daughter-in-law?"

She leaned forward slightly.

"And even MORE interesting—after knowing all this information, after tracking me specifically, you came here today to this specific coffee shop, sat at your usual table at your usual time, making yourself available for this exact conversation. Doesn’t that seem strange to you, my lady?"

The woman looked at Heena for a long moment, then a genuine smile—not the polite social smile, but real appreciation—crossed her face.

"You’re quite interesting, young lady," she said. She swirled her cup thoughtfully and continued, "Please, go ahead. Ask what you need to ask. And also explain to me why exactly I should tell you anything at all."

Heena looked at her and said seriously, "First, what I need to know is something that only YOU can tell me, my lady. Information that exists nowhere else."

She paused for emphasis.

"And secondly, the reason you SHOULD tell me is quite clear: because you also want to be free of Maya. You want to be rid of the burden she represents."

Hearing that direct accusation, the woman’s face turned serious, and fury flashed in her eyes.

"Why the HELL would you think I would want to ’get rid of’ my own daughter?!" she said, her voice low but intense.

Heena looked at her calmly and said, "I apologize if I’m wrong, my lady. But the way you look when you speak about Maya—that’s not how a mother looks when discussing her beloved child. And I don’t think the so-called ’love’ you supposedly have for her is so profound that you would refuse to even TRY to reconnect with her for all these years."

The woman stared at Heena, her expression unreadable.

Then, slowly, she sighed deeply—a sound of exhaustion and old pain.

"Sit," she said finally. "This is going to be a long story. And if I’m going to tell it, I’ll need more tea."

She signaled the waiter.

Heena settled into her chair, knowing she was about to hear the truth that would explain everything about Maya’s twisted personality and motivations.

The secret that had driven a mother to abandon her own daughter.

And possibly, the key to finally defeating the "heroine" of this world’s story.

A steaming cup of tea was placed in front of Heena by the attentive waiter. Maya’s mother looked at her seriously and said, "Do you really think that I am the type of person who just shares family secrets with random strangers for no reason?"

She paused, her expression becoming grave.

"This is my family matter—deeply personal and painful. But the only reason I am telling you anything at all is because I believe you are likely the next target of my ’dear daughter.’ And unlike her previous victims, you seem capable of defending yourself."

Hearing that assessment, Heena sat calmly, listening intently without interrupting.

The woman looked at her for another long moment, as if weighing whether to continue. Then she turned to look out the window, her gaze distant as she began speaking about the past.

"Before Maya was born," she said quietly, "I used to have another daughter. She was really lovely, truly beautiful in spirit and temperament. She was older than Maya by just one year, but she was like a world apart from her in every conceivable way."

The woman’s voice took on a quality of deep fondness mixed with profound grief.

"She was such a sensible child, a quiet type of girl, but genuinely lovely to be around. People say that daughters are the ’cotton-padded jackets’ of their parents—warm, protective, comforting. But my Second daughter really, truly WAS that. She was everything we could have wanted in a child."

She smiled sadly at the memory.

"When she was born, my husband and I were beyond happy. We felt so blessed. And to tell you the complete truth—we weren’t even planning to have Maya. We were perfectly content with just our Second daughter. Our family felt fulfilled. Everything we wanted, everything we worked toward, just seemed to flow naturally in the right direction."

The smile faded.

"But soon after, I became pregnant again with Maya. And because no matter what, she was also my child growing inside me, I didn’t reject the pregnancy. I tried to prepare myself to love her the same way I loved my first daughter. And my Second daughter—she was THE most happy about having a little sister coming. She was so excited, already planning how she would help take care of the baby, what games they would play together."

The woman’s hands tightened around her tea cup.

"Soon Maya was born. And just as she’d promised, my Second daughter became Maya’s primary caretaker. She doted on her baby sister constantly, always wanting to help feed her, play with her, watch over her while she slept."

She paused, and her expression darkened considerably.

"But then I started seeing something that we hadn’t been able to notice before. Mostly because my husband and I stayed busy with business matters, out of the house frequently. The one who spent the most time actually caring for Maya day-to-day was my beloved Second daughter."

She took a shaky breath.

"One day, when Maya was about one year old, my Second daughter was playing with her in the nursery. By complete accident, my daughter stepped on one of Maya’s toys—just a small wooden rattle that had rolled under her foot. She immediately apologized to baby Maya, picked up the toy, checked it for damage, everything you’d expect from a caring older sister."

The woman’s voice dropped to barely above a whisper.

"But at that moment, I happened to be passing by the nursery door. And I saw something in Maya’s eyes as she looked at her older sister. Pure, concentrated anger. Hatred, even. And then—from the mouth of a ONE-YEAR-OLD child who could barely speak a few simple words—I heard her say clearly: ’I wish you were dead.’"

Heena’s eyebrows rose slightly, but she remained silent, letting the woman continue.

"No one could believe that a one-year-old child would be capable of saying something like that with such... venom. Of course, I immediately picked Maya up and I was angry—I won’t lie about that. But I tried to rationalize it. I thought maybe she had heard those words from somewhere, from some servant or visitor, and was just repeating them without understanding."

The woman’s eyes glistened with unshed tears.