Collisions

{Vanessa’s POV}

The morning had barely settled when the storm began.

Lisa was in the mansion again, strutting through the halls as if she owned the entire estate. Her designer heels clicked sharply against the polished marble floors, a steady rhythm of arrogance that made the servants scatter like frightened birds. Even before she appeared, her heavy perfume filled the air, cloying and impossible to ignore.

I balanced a silver tray in my hands, careful with each step. The tray carried a neat arrangement of freshly baked pastries and a glass jug filled with bright red juice. Lady Sinclair had ordered it for the sitting room, and I had been warned—do not spill, do not stumble, do not falter.

But fate, as always, had its own cruel plan.

Just as I reached the sitting room, Lisa appeared from the opposite hallway and deliberately stepped right in front of me. She tilted her chin, pretending it was accidental, but the glint in her eyes told another story.

My breath hitched. The tray wobbled.

The jug slipped.

I tried to steady it, but I was too late. The juice spilled in a crimson arc, splashing across her pristine white dress. The liquid ran down the silky fabric in thin rivers before dripping onto the polished marble floor.

Her shriek pierced the air, sharp enough to make my knees tremble.

“OMG! You—maid!” Her voice cracked like broken glass. “Are you blind?!”

She clutched at the ruined gown, her perfectly manicured nails digging into the expensive fabric as if she could undo the damage. Her

The tray in my hands rattled, suddenly heavier than iron. My mouth went dry, and I felt the blood drain from my face. I fumbled for the nearest towel on the serving table, my fingers trembling as I whispered, breathless, “I—I’m so sorry, miss. It was an accident—”

Heart pounding, I bent to dab at her gown, desperate to clean the stain, but Lisa recoiled violently, jerking back as if my hands were covered in filth.

“Don’t you dare touch me!” she spat, her voice shrill with disgust. “Your filthy hands don’t belong anywhere near couture!”

The venom in her words stung worse than a slap. My chest tightened, shame heating my cheeks, but I forced myself to stand still, clutching the towel against my chest.

Her voice carried down the hall, sharp and cruel, echoing so loudly that the entire household could hear. Servants froze mid-step. A few peeked from doorways. I caught sight of Jade and Diane in the corner, their eyes wide, whispering to each other as tension thickened in the room.

And then—heels clicked against the marble, slower but far more commanding. Lady Sinclair entered.

Her presence alone silenced the air. Dressed in a fitted gown that shimmered under the light, she carried herself like royalty, her gaze hard enough to cut glass. One look at the scene, and her face hardened instantly.

“Vanessa,” she said, her tone sharp and unforgiving. “How dare you embarrass us in front of our guest? Kneel and beg Lisa. Now.”

My heart plummeted. My lips parted to protest, but the words tangled in my throat.

“Aunt—please,” Diane’s voice cut in, trembling but brave. She stepped forward, placing herself slightly between Lisa and me. “It wasn’t her fault. I saw it—Lisa was the one who—”

“Silence, Diane!” Lady Sinclair’s voice cracked like a whip, slicing the air with authority. “Don’t meddle in what doesn’t concern you. This is about respect.”

Diane flinched, her courage fading under the weight of Lady Sinclair’s glare.

Lisa smirked, her lips curving in satisfaction. She raised her chin, feeding on the power she held. Slowly, with exaggerated elegance, she lifted her hand high, her palm poised and ready to strike me across the face.

My knees weakened. I bit my lip hard, bracing myself for the sting, humiliation burning my chest. I squeezed my eyes shut, telling myself to endure it—for my family, for the roof over my head, for survival.

But the slap never landed.

A strong hand shot forward, stopping Lisa’s wrist mid-air.

The room froze.

“Enough.”

The voice was low, firm, laced with danger.

My eyes flew open. My breath caught.

Vincent.

He stood tall, his expression thunderous, his grip on Lisa’s wrist unyielding. The fury in his dark eyes sent shivers down my spine. The entire atmosphere shifted; even the servants who had been peeking hurriedly bowed their heads.

Lisa’s painted lips parted, shock flickering across her face. “Vincent—” she stammered, her tone softer now, desperate to recover. “I was just—”

“Don’t.” His voice cut her off, sharp and final. His grip tightened just enough to make her flinch before he released her. “No one raises a hand against my staff. Do you understand me?”

Lisa’s face twisted, a mix of humiliation and anger. She snatched her wrist back, glaring at me with venomous hatred. Her eyes promised war.

“You’ll regret this,” she hissed, before storming out, her heels striking the marble like gunshots.

Lady Sinclair’s face flushed red, rage trembling in her every movement. She turned her fury on me, her voice cold and sharp.

“Look at what you’ve done!” she snapped, her words like daggers. Then, leaning toward Vincent, her voice dropped to a sharp whisper. “Do you know what’s at stake if Lisa is offended?”

Her eyes cut back to me, filled with scorn. “You fool.”

Her hand lifted, palm poised to strike.

But before the blow could fall, Vincent stepped between us, shielding me completely. His voice thundered through the room.

“Don’t. Touch. Her.”

His words hit the room like a whip, and everyone went still.