(Elena's POV)
The Blackwood estate loomed against the night sky, its gigantic silhouette framed by the glow of chandeliers spilling from tall windows.
Elena Moreno stood at the gates, her maid's uniform plain, her hair pinned into a severe knot that flattened her features. She had worn masks before, but never one that scraped so hard against the bone of who she was.
Her hands clenched at her sides, nails pressing crescents into her palms. The last time she had stood here, she had been ten years old, barefoot in the rain, her small fists beating helplessly against guards who dragged her mother into the mud.
That memory pressed against her chest as if it were happening again.
She drew a breath. Not that girl anymore.
The iron gates creaked open. She forced her shoulders back, lowering her gaze, and stepped inside.
The marble floors of the grand hall gleamed under the chandelier's light, polished to perfection.
They hadn't changed. Neither had the towering portraits of the Blackwood ancestors staring down from the walls; men with hard eyes, women with cold smiles, all painted to look like royalty. The weight of history pressed down, suffocating, but Elena refused to falter.
A sharp voice snapped through the air. "You there. Don't dawdle."
Mrs. Aldridge appeared from a side corridor, her starched uniform severe, her mouth pinched as though years of bitterness had hardened into one expression.
Elena remembered her well, her mother's shadow, the woman who had smirked when Edward Blackwood branded her mother a thief.
Now Mrs. Aldridge's eyes narrowed on Elena as if measuring her.
She didn't recognize her, of course. To the housekeeper, Elena was just another girl in a maid's uniform. Another nobody.
"Name?" the woman barked.
"Elena, ma'am."
"Age?"
"Twenty."
"Experience?"
Elena bowed her head, her voice steady. "I've worked in households before. I know how to serve properly."
Mrs. Aldridge sniffed, unimpressed. "We'll see about that." She circled Elena like a hawk, her eyes catching on the neat braid tucked into the bun, the steady set of her shoulders. "You're too stiff. Too proud. That won't last long here."
Elena's chest burned, but she forced her voice soft. "I'll do whatever is required."
Mrs. Aldridge stopped in front of her, lips curling. "Remember this, you are nothing here.
You will be spoken to when needed, and the rest of the time you'll be invisible. Do you understand?"
"Yes, ma'am."
Inside, Elena's rage seethed. Invisible. That was what they had made her mother, stripped her of dignity, silenced her pleas, cast her into the mud. Invisible. Elena swallowed the fury, keeping her head lowered.
"Good." Mrs. Aldridge thrust a bundle of linens into her arms. "Follow me."
Elena trailed her through the corridors, each step echoing like a drumbeat of memory.
She passed the staircase where Marcus had leaned all those years ago, smirking as her mother wept.
She caught sight of the gallery where Clara had giggled while Elena's cries were drowned out. The memories clawed at her, sharp and raw.
Her foot caught on a crack in the floor, and for a moment she wasn't twenty, but ten again; her small body dragged toward the door, her fists pounding against indifferent arms, her voice shrieking into silence.
They lied, and no one believed us.
The words returned, her mother's voice shredded by rain. Elena blinked hard, forcing herself back to the present.
Not a child. Not powerless.
Mrs. Aldridge's steps halted before a narrow service door. "You'll keep to the servants' quarters when you're not working.
Meals are taken separately. No lingering in the family wings unless ordered. And tonight"—she opened a cabinet and pulled out a silver tray—"you'll serve at the dining table. A test."
Elena's stomach tightened.
To face them so soon, to be inches away from Edward, Victoria, Marcus, her mother's destroyers was more than she had prepared for.
But she dipped her head. "Yes, ma'am."
The housekeeper shoved the tray into her hands. "Do not drop it. Do not speak unless spoken to. And keep your eyes down. The family does not tolerate insolence."
Elena nodded once, the weight of the tray steady in her hands. Inside, her pulse raced. Eyes down, lips shut. That's what they want. But I will not bow forever.
Mrs. Aldridge turned on her heel. "Follow me."
Elena walked behind her, the tray biting into her palms.
The corridors opened into wider halls now, the walls lined with gold-framed mirrors and vases worth more than her childhood home. Opulence everywhere, designed to remind servants of their place.
But Elena was not here to admire wealth. She was here to burn it to ashes.
They reached the threshold of the dining room. From beyond the heavy oak doors came the sound of clinking glasses and laughter; voices she remembered too well.
Her throat tightened.
This was it. Her first step back into their world, her first humiliation to swallow, her first test.
She adjusted her grip on the tray, lowered her gaze, and steadied her breath.
Mrs. Aldridge glanced at her one last time. "Remember, one mistake, and you're out."
Elena dipped her head. "I won't make one."
But when the housekeeper pushed the doors open, the glow of the chandeliers hit her, the laughter spilled into the hall, and Elena stepped forward into the lion's den with her hatred burning steady and cold.
Tonight, they'll see me as a servant. One day, they'll kneel as my enemies.
***
The dining room doors opened, spilling warmth, light, and laughter into the hall. Elena stepped in behind Mrs. Aldridge, her head lowered, the tray steady in her hands though her palms were slick with sweat.
The Blackwoods were gathered. Edward at the head of the long mahogany table, posture straight, and his silver hair gleaming like a crown forged of arrogance.
Victoria beside him, elegant in silk, her jewels catching the chandelier's light with every calculated tilt of her head.
Marcus lounged two seats down, smirk already in place, glass raised like a challenge. Clara sat further along, young, pretty, her laugh ringing like glass.
They looked exactly as Elena remembered. Untouched by time, untouched by guilt.
Her chest burned as she swallowed the memory of her mother kneeling in this very room, begging Edward to believe her.
Keep your head down. Don't let them see.
She moved to the sideboard, setting the tray down with care. Mrs. Aldridge's voice hissed at her ear. "Serve the wine. Quickly."
Elena lifted the bottle, her hand steady despite the storm raging inside her. She started at Edward's end of the table.
"Finally," Victoria murmured, her eyes sliding toward Elena as though she were dirt tracked in from the rain. "Do they train the staff at all these days?"
Edward grunted, dismissive, not sparing Elena a glance.
Elena poured, silent. Her pulse pounded, but her face remained calm, obedient.
She moved to Victoria's glass. The woman arched a brow. "Careful. That dress looks cheap enough without Bordeaux stains."
Laughter trickled from Clara's end. "Mother…" she chided lightly, though amusement glittered in her eyes.
Elena poured, lips pressed tight, each word a dagger she could not throw.
Marcus leaned forward as she reached him.
"Ah, the new girl. Pretty little thing."
His gaze slid over her in a way that made her skin crawl. "Careful with the wine, sweetheart. Unless you'd rather end up in my lap."
Edward's booming voice cut across the table. "Enough, Marcus."
But Marcus only smirked, raising his glass for Elena to fill. "Just trying to make her feel welcome."
Her hand trembled slightly, but she refused to look away. She poured. Not a drop spilled.
When she dared lift her eyes, Marcus's smirk widened. "Feisty."
Elena dropped her gaze quickly, her heart pounding.
She turned, retreating to the sideboard to refill her tray. But even with her back turned, she felt it; another gaze, different from Marcus's leer or Victoria's disdain. Heavy, steady, piercing.
She forced herself to ignore it, to keep her hands moving. But when she stepped forward again, the pull was too strong. She looked up.
And collided with Damian Blackwood's eyes.
He sat across from Marcus, silent until now, his dark hair falling across his brow, his suit sharp even in the comfort of his own home. His gaze held hers, unblinking, curious. Not mocking. Not dismissive. Studying.
Elena's breath caught.
For a moment, the room fell away; the clink of glasses, the murmur of voices, the brittle laughter of the Blackwoods.
There was only the weight of his stare, the flicker of something in her chest she couldn't name and didn't want.
She dropped her gaze at once, fury flooding her veins. No. Not him. Not now.
Her mission was clear. Infiltrate. Destroy. Nothing else.
"Wine," Edward barked, pulling her back.
Elena moved swiftly, grateful for the distraction, grateful to put distance between herself and Damian's eyes. But even as she finished her task, even as she slipped back toward the shadows of the room, she felt it again; that gaze, steady and searching.
He had noticed her.
Not as a maid. Not as invisible.
As something else.
And that was dangerous.