CHAPTER 001

Violet POV

The porcelain vase slipped from my fingers before I could catch it.

It struck the marble floor with a sharp crack that echoed through the silent dining room, exploding into glittering shards around my bare feet.

For one heartbeat, everything was still. Then came the sound I dreaded most.

High heels. Slow. Measured. Getting closer.

I dropped to my knees and reached for the broken pieces, my fingers trembling as I gathered them into a neat pile.

"I'm sorry," I whispered before she even stepped into the room. "It slipped."

A hand seized my hair. My scalp burned as Helena yanked me upright.

"You useless girl."

Her palm struck my cheek. The force sent me stumbling sideways into the edge of the dining table. Another vase wobbled dangerously before settling back into place.

"You can't even clean properly." Her perfectly painted lips twisted with disgust. "Do you know how much that vase cost?"

My cheek throbbed. "I'll replace it."

A laugh floated from the doorway.

Ivy folded her arms, leaning against the frame while Jade stood beside her with the lazy smile of someone watching a play she'd seen a hundred times.

"With what money?" Ivy asked. "The money you don't have?"

Jade clicked her tongue. "Maybe she'll sell one of her old dresses."

"Assuming she still has any worth."

Their laughter filled the room.

I lowered my eyes and knelt again. There was no point arguing. There never was.

I picked up another jagged piece. It sliced deep into my palm. A sharp sting spread through my hand. A bright bead of blood rolled across my skin before dripping onto the polished floor.

"Hurry up," Helena snapped. "You're wasting my morning."

"Yes ma."

She turned and walked away with my stepsisters following behind her.

Only after their voices disappeared did I allow myself to breathe.

Blood still trickled from the cut. I reached for the cleaning cloth, then stopped. The bleeding had already slowed. Before my eyes, the torn flesh pulled itself together until only a faint pink line remained. Another few seconds passed. The mark vanished completely.

I stared at my hand. It happened again.

Ever since I was little, cuts never stayed for long. Bruises faded overnight. Even fevers disappeared as quickly as they came.

Dad used to smile whenever I worried. "You've always been stronger than you think, Violet."

His voice drifted through my memory with painful clarity.

I swallowed the ache rising in my throat. Dad had been gone for three years. Three years since the accident. Three years since this house stopped feeling like home.

I grabbed the dustpan before anyone returned and swept away the shattered porcelain. By the time the grandfather clock chimed ten, the dining room looked untouched. Just the way Helena liked it. Invisible work. Invisible girl.

The kitchen smelled of fresh bread and herbs. Mrs. Ellis, the elderly cook who had worked here longer than I had been alive, smiled softly when she saw me.

"Oh, child." Her weathered fingers brushed my reddened cheek. "Again?"

I forced a smile. "I'm fine."

"You always say that."

"I always survive."

She sighed and handed me a warm bread roll before anyone else noticed. "Eat."

"I'll get into trouble if they catch me eating when I'm not done working."

"You'll get sick if you don't eat."

I accepted it with quiet gratitude. The bread was still warm enough to soften the knot in my stomach.

Mrs. Ellis lowered her voice. "Only four more days."

I looked at her. "You remembered?"

"Of course I did."

My twentieth birthday was four days away. Four more days until the lawyer released the inheritance my father had placed in trust. Four more days until I could leave this house forever.

The thought settled inside me like a tiny flame refusing to die. I would rent a small apartment. Find a job. Maybe return to university. Nothing extravagant. Just peaceful. Just mine.

Footsteps approached. Mrs. Ellis hurried back to the stove. I slipped the last bite of bread into my mouth before Helena entered.

Her sharp eyes swept across the kitchen. "Why are you standing there?"

"I've finished cleaning."

"Then polish the silver."

"Okay ma."

"And don't touch the dining set this time around, I don't want your poverty hands staining them."

The words landed exactly where she intended. I lowered my head and walked toward the pantry. Behind me, Ivy laughed.

"I almost feel sorry for her."

"You?" Jade replied. "Never."

Their voices faded as I carried the silver tray into the sitting room. Sunlight spilled through tall windows, catching dust that floated lazily through the air.

This house had once been full of warmth. Dad would read beside the fireplace while I curled up on the rug with a book balanced across my knees.

Sometimes he'd stop reading just to watch me. Whenever I looked up, he'd grin as though seeing me was the best part of his day.

I missed him most in quiet moments. Because silence was where memories lived.

A framed photograph rested on the mantel. Dad stood beside me with one arm around my shoulders. I couldn't have been older than fifteen.

Before Helena rearranged the house, that photograph had stood in the entrance hall. Now it hid among forgotten ornaments where almost no one looked.

I dusted the frame carefully. "I'm almost there," I whispered. "I kept my promise."

The promise to stay strong. To wait. To believe life would become better.

A sudden chill brushed across my skin. I frowned. The windows were closed. Yet the room felt colder than before.

I turned. No one. Still, the strange feeling lingered. As though someone had been watching me.

It wasn't the first time. Lately I often caught myself glancing over my shoulder for reasons I couldn't explain. Sometimes I thought I heard someone whisper my name.

Other nights I dreamed of endless stone corridors lit by silver flames. I always woke before reaching the enormous black gates waiting at the end. The dreams felt too real. Almost like memories.

A loud knock shattered the silence. Then another. And another. Not polite. Demanding.

Voices rose outside the front entrance. Helena hurried across the hall. "What is all this noise?"

A man's angry voice answered from beyond the doors. "We've waited long enough!"

Another voice joined him. "You owe us three months' wages!"

My grip tightened on the silver tray. More shouting followed. There were so many voices. Too many.

Helena pulled the curtains closed with jerky movements before disappearing toward her study. I had never heard employees raise their voices at my father. Not once. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

By evening the mansion felt heavier. The servants whispered behind closed doors. Several rooms remained dark because Helena insisted on saving electricity. Even dinner was smaller than usual. No expensive wine. No lavish desserts. Only soup and bread.

No one mentioned the shouting. No one mentioned the unpaid workers. But everyone felt it. Cracks had begun spreading beneath the polished surface of the Ashworth estate.

After washing the last dish, I slipped upstairs to my room. It wasn't really mine anymore. Years ago Helena had moved me into one of the old servant bedrooms overlooking the gardens.

The wallpaper peeled near the ceiling. Rain leaked through one corner whenever storms arrived. Still, it had a window. That was enough.

I opened it. Cool evening air drifted inside carrying the scent of roses. I closed my eyes. Just four more days. I repeated the words until they became a prayer. Four more days.

A movement below caught my attention. Someone stood beyond the iron gates. A tall man dressed in black. He remained perfectly still beneath the dying light. I couldn't make out his face. Only the feeling that he wasn't looking at the mansion. He was looking at me.

A shiver crept down my spine. The stranger slowly smiled. Then, without a word, he turned and disappeared into the gathering darkness.