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TRIVIA'S POV.

The bucket overturned, dirty water soaking through my skirt and pooling around my knees. My hands were red and raw from the lye soap, knuckles stinging as I scrubbed at the stone floor until it gleamed because if it didn’t shine, I’d hear about it.

“Missed a spot,” a woman sneered, pressing the heel of her shoe into the clean tile I’d just finished. Laughter rippled through the hallway. Another girl, younger but already sharper with cruelty, tipped the bucket and let the rest of the filthy water splash over me.

I didn’t move. Didn’t cry. Crying would only give them what they wanted. My wolf stirred faintly in my chest, weak, silent, useless. A dormant wolf wasn’t a wolf at all, it was a curse, a reminder stamped on my back like a brand that I would never be enough.

“Pathetic little servant,” someone whispered as they passed, not even looking at me as though I were less than the dirt I scrubbed. I dug the bristles harder into the floor, gritting my teeth, willing my hands not to shake. This was all I knew. Scrubbing floors for a family that wasn’t mine. Invisible. Unwanted. Trapped in a house that would never call me daughter, only servant.

Slowly, I heard voices drifting from the parlor, the kind of voices that always carried news, gossip, dreams that never belonged to me.

“A winter wedding… the hall will be decorated with white roses.”

My head jerked up, my hands frozen on the brush, I knew that voice, it belonged to him. My lover, so why was he speaking of  White roses? A wedding. Whispers and giggles filled the air, painting the scene I could already see too clearly. Him.  standing at an altar, marking someone else. Someone worthier. Someone not me.

The brush slipped from my hand and clattered against the wet stone.

No. No, it couldn’t be. Not him. Not after everything.

“Trivia.”

The voice behind me made my stomach knot. I didn’t have to turn—I would have known that voice anywhere. Low, steady, clipped, like he was doing me the favor of saying my name at all.

I turned slowly, my knees still in the puddle of dirty water. He stood at the bottom of the staircase, golden light spilling over him. Tall, broad-shouldered, his dark hair brushed neatly back, his jaw sharp, his eyes colder than I remembered. He looked like a man who belonged to another world, one I could never touch.

I opened my mouth, but no words came.

He stepped closer, his polished shoes clicking against the stone until he stood just out of reach. His gaze swept over me, taking in the soaked clothes clinging to my skin, the raw skin of my hands, the filth staining my skirt. His lips curved, not in kindness, but in finality.

“I came to tell you myself,” he said, voice flat. “So you wouldn’t hear it from someone else.”

My chest caved, breath catching sharp and painful.

“I’m getting married.” The words crashed over me harder than the water had, knocking the air from my lungs.

“To her?” My voice cracked, weak, pathetic even to my own ears. His eyes flickered. Not with guilt. Not with regret. Just… calculation.

“She is what I need, Trivia. You… were never meant for me.” I flinched. The word “never” cut deeper than claws.

“You said…” My throat closed, choking on all the nights I’d held his hand in secret, all the stolen kisses, all the promises whispered when the world was quiet.

“I said many things,” he interrupted, cold as ice. “Don’t mistake moments for a future. You have none with me.”

Tears burned, but I forced them back. My pride was the only thing I had left. I lifted my chin, even from the floor, even drenched and broken. “And yet you came here to tell me. Why? To watch me break?”

His silence told me everything. Maybe he had come for that. Maybe he wanted to see the end with his own eyes. I wished I could hate him at that moment. I wish I could burn the sight of him from my memory. But my heart was crueler than he was. It still beat him, even as he marked me with his rejection.

Behind him, laughter rang from the parlor. The girl he would marry. The family that celebrated. The life that would never include me. I looked at him one last time, memorizing every cruel line of his face.

 “Then go,” I whispered, my voice hoarse. “Go and never look at me again.”

He didn’t answer. He only turned, walking back up the stairs, leaving me on the cold floor in the puddle of dirty water that would dry long before the ache in my chest.

I stayed there long after he left. My knees ached, my hands trembling, and the hollow ache in my chest made it hard to breathe. I almost believed I’d imagined him, but the laughter upstairs proved otherwise.

I dragged myself to the scullery, each step heavy, like chains wrapped around my legs. My mother leaned against the doorway, arms folded, cold and unfeeling.

“I  warned you Child, rumors had spread already. Did you truly believe a man like him would bind himself to a wolfless servant girl? With a poor mother like us?”

I felt Grief turned bitter. “I didn’t ask for your cruelty tonight,” I whispered.

Her lip curled. “You didn’t have to, I'm sorry this happened,but I warned you, and you lied to me, men like him don’t choose girls like you. Be grateful he gave you a moment of attention at all.”

Grateful. My stomach twisted. I said nothing, slipping past her into my small room.

I shut the door, pressed my back against it, and let the tears come. Hot, relentless. I curled up, shivering. My wolf whispered inside me, faint, dormant, mocking me with its silence.