Elara's POV
The villa glittered like something out of a dream, but to me it felt more like a labyrinth of shadows. Every corner whispered wealth, every hallway echoed with my own uncertainty.
I carried the silver tray carefully, my heart thudding with each step. Dinner had just ended, and Mr. Veyra had requested coffee be sent to his study. My palms sweated against the polished handle — one wrong move and I'd stain carpets worth more than my life.
As I reached the door, I pushed it open with my shoulder. And then I froze.
She was there.
A woman stood by Lucian's desk, her back to me. Silk clung to her frame in a shade of crimson that bled against the lamplight. Her hair was dark and glossy, twisted into perfection, and when she turned, her eyes landed on me like knives.
"You must be the new maid," she said, her lips curving into something that wasn't quite a smile. "The one Lucian insisted on hiring."
Her voice was velvet wrapped around steel. I nodded quickly, lowering my eyes. "Yes, miss. I—I only came to deliver—"
Before I could finish, she reached out and tipped the tray.
Hot coffee splashed down the front of my apron, searing my skin. The cup shattered on the carpet with a sharp crack.
My breath caught, but I bit it back. The sting wasn't just from the burn — it was from her gaze, satisfied and cruel.
"Clumsy," she murmured, brushing an invisible speck from her silk sleeve. "You don't belong here. Not in his home. Not in his world."
Her words lodged deep, heavier than the tray I still clutched. I bowed quickly, blinking against the tears that threatened.
"I… I'm sorry," I whispered, and fled before either of them could see me break.
Lucian's POV
The sound of the door slamming echoed in the silence she left behind. My jaw tightened. I could still smell the faint sweetness of pastries she had brought days ago lingering in my office — a reminder of the girl whose eyes carried more honesty than anyone in this house.
And now I had watched Isabella — my fiancée — humiliate her.
I should have stopped it. Should have spoken.
But the words caught in my throat, tangled in the chains of expectations, family, and the engagement I could not so easily sever.
Still, the image of her running, shoulders trembling, would not leave me.
For the first time in years, something stirred in me — something dangerous.
I wanted to protect her.