Elena’s POV

That afternoon, the light spilled through the servant wing windows in pale ribbons, turning the dust in the air to drifting gold. The soft clink of silver against cloth was the only sound in the kitchen.

I had been polishing for an hour, working with the calm precision of someone who had learned that silence was safer than speech.

It was just another day of pretending not to feel. That was what being a maid required.

Footsteps broke the quiet, slow and deliberate. They ...