Elara's POV
The storm passed, but it left its mark. Not just on the sky, but on me.
All night, I tossed in bed, the memory of Lucian's nearness etched into every breath I took. His voice, his warmth, the way his gaze had burned into me — it haunted me.
By morning, I forced myself back into routine. Scrubbing, polishing, sweeping. Work was safer than thinking. Work meant I could pretend last night hadn't happened.
But pretending became impossible when Isabella appeared in the hallway, her crimson silk rustling like a warning.
"Coffee," she said, her eyes narrowing. "In the sunroom. Bring it yourself."
Something about the way she said yourself made my stomach twist.
When I arrived, the sunroom was drenched in light. Isabella lounged in a chair, her legs crossed, her lips painted the same deep red as her gown. She watched me pour the coffee with a predator's patience.
"Tell me," she began, her tone deceptively casual, "what exactly do you do here, Elara? Aside from baking sweets you're not asked for and lingering where you don't belong."
My hand trembled, but I kept my head down. "I clean. I serve. Nothing more."
"Nothing more," she repeated, as though tasting the lie. She leaned forward, her eyes sharp as glass. "You should remember your place. Men like Lucian don't notice girls like you — unless they're looking for a distraction."
Heat rushed to my cheeks, shame prickling at my skin. She knew. Somehow, she knew.
Before I could answer, the door opened.
Lucian's POV
I stepped into the sunroom, my gaze immediately catching the way Elara stiffened under Isabella's stare. The tray shook in her hands, though she tried to hide it.
"Lucian," Isabella purred, standing to greet me. "We were just talking about how fortunate it is that you've found such… loyal staff."
The sweetness in her voice didn't fool me. Her eyes flicked to Elara like knives.
I felt the storm inside me stir again.
"Leave us," I told Elara, my tone firm but not unkind. Her wide eyes met mine for a heartbeat — searching, uncertain — before she bowed and hurried out.
I watched her go, every step she took pulling at something inside me I couldn't name.
"Really, Lucian," Isabella said once we were alone, circling me like a predator, "you should be more careful. Bringing in stray girls from the streets? People will talk."
I turned to face her, my voice ice. "Let them talk."
She blinked, surprised at the edge in my tone.
But I didn't care. Because the truth was undeniable: the more Isabella pushed, the more I found myself watching Elara.
And the more I watched, the harder it became to look away.