Elara's POV
I balanced the tray carefully as I climbed the marble stairs, my hands trembling under the weight of more than just porcelain. Lucian's dinner — a simple dish, one I had cooked myself — was covered with silver lids.
Eleanor had encouraged me earlier, her words still circling in my mind. But courage was fragile. And all it took was Isabella's voice, sharp as broken glass, to shatter it.
"Well, if it isn't the little maid," Isabella sneered as she stepped into the hallway, her silk gown whispering against the marble. Her lips curved into a smile that wasn't a smile at all. "What are you doing here?"
"I-I was told to deliver Mr. D'Amore's meal," I said softly, clutching the tray tighter.
Her eyes flicked to the covered dishes, then back to me. Slowly, deliberately, she stepped forward until the sweet, expensive perfume of her presence nearly suffocated me.
"Do you think you impress him with this?" she whispered. "Your little home-style meals? Your plain face? Your… pathetic hope that he even notices you?"
My throat tightened, but I kept my gaze low. Silence was my only shield.
She leaned closer, her breath hot against my ear. "You're nothing, Elara. Nothing but a charity case. Remember that."
And then — before I could move — her hand shot forward, shoving the edge of the tray.
The tray tilted. The plates slid.
Hot food spilled down the front of my dress, the crash of porcelain echoing through the hall. I gasped, stumbling back, pain and humiliation burning across my skin.
Isabella stepped away with feigned shock. "Oh dear, how clumsy of you."
I bit my lip, refusing to let the tears fall, but they blurred my vision anyway. I bent quickly to clean the mess, my hands shaking.
Her laugh was soft but cruel as she walked away, her heels clicking against the floor. "Run along, maid. And don't think for a second that you belong here."
For a moment, I stayed crouched on the floor, surrounded by shards of porcelain, my chest aching as if her words had cut deeper than glass ever could.
Lucian's POV
I saw everything.
From the shadow of the doorway, I had watched Isabella push her, watched Elara fall to her knees in shame.
My fists clenched so hard my knuckles turned white. Rage boiled through me, cold and lethal. Isabella's cruelty wasn't new — but seeing Elara break beneath it…
That was something I could not forgive.
When Elara finally looked up, her tear-filled eyes catching the light, something in me snapped.
This was no longer about pity.
This was about possession.
And I wasn't sure how much longer I could pretend I didn't want her.