The morning did not forgive me.
By noon, the house was alive with laughter that was never kind, voices that hushed when I entered a room, and stares that stripped me bare. I could feel it in the air — Clara's hand, weaving her poison like silk into every ear that would listen.
The whispers followed me everywhere.
"She thinks she's something now."
"A maid with a master's touch."
"Pathetic."
The words dug claws into my skin, but it was Clara's presence that made me tremble most. She didn't yell, didn't rage — she smiled. That was worse. Every smile was a promise that she would destroy me.
By evening, her trap was set.
I was called to the dining hall. My pulse raced as I entered, every eye lifting toward me. The long table gleamed under the chandelier, crowded with guests I'd never seen before — socialites, noblemen, women dressed like queens of glass.
And at the head sat Adrian.
Cold, unreadable.
Beside him, Clara leaned close, her fingers brushing his sleeve, her lips tilted in triumph.
"Lyra," she said sweetly, her voice carrying over the room. "Come, tell us. What is it like to serve the master so… personally?"
The laughter that followed was merciless, crashing against me like waves. My knees locked, my throat closing around air I couldn't swallow.
Adrian's jaw tightened. His knuckles whitened around his glass. For a moment, I thought he would rise. Speak. Deny her. Protect me.
But he didn't.
He let the silence grow.
He let Clara's poison take root.
And in that silence, I broke.
The glass in my hand slipped, shattering across the marble. My breath came in ragged gasps as heat burned my cheeks. I turned blindly, stumbling toward the doors, desperate to escape the cage of whispers tightening around me.
Behind me, Clara's laugh was the loudest sound of all
The room swam. The laughter grew sharper, twisting around me like knives. My fingers trembled as I clutched the table's edge, desperate not to crumble in front of them.
"Careful, Lyra," Clara cooed, rising gracefully from her seat. Her hand brushed Adrian's arm before she stepped toward me, her heels clicking like a death toll. "Don't cut yourself. Wouldn't want anyone thinking you can't handle the simplest of tasks."
More laughter.
Her perfume wrapped around me as she leaned close, her words a whisper meant only for my ears — though I knew half the room strained to hear.
"You don't belong here. Not beside him. Not in his world. You're nothing but a stain on his reputation."
The words struck harder than any slap.
My throat tightened as I glanced at Adrian, silently begging him to contradict her — to say anything, anything that could pull me out of this pit she was burying me in.
But he sat frozen. His eyes locked on me, hard as glass, his lips a straight line that held no rescue.
The silence roared louder than the laughter.
Clara's smile spread wider. She reached down, her fingers catching my chin, tilting my face up toward the crowd. "Look at her," she said sweetly. "Do you see the tears in her eyes? Poor thing doesn't even know what she is."
I jerked away, my chest heaving.
"I—" My voice cracked, too soft, too broken. "I am—"
Clara cut me off with a laugh like shattered glass. "You are no one."
The room erupted again, every sneer, every whisper clawing at my skin. My vision blurred as heat and shame drowned me. My knees buckled.
The last thing I saw before the darkness pulled me under was Adrian's face — still, unmoving, a man carved of stone.
And Clara's victorious smile.