Chapter 4

Grace's POV

A servant hurried toward us, almost tripping over her own feet. She stopped in front of Oliver and bowed slightly, then spoke in a breathless rush. "Sir..." she began. ''There’s an important visitor here to see you.”

Oliver’s brow furrowed. “And who might that be?” He asked.

“Ernest Montgomery,” she replied.

My heart sank, and I widened my eyes in disbelief. Ernest Montgomery, we’d met years ago, back when I was still in the orphanage home. He wasn’t a boy from the streets, he’d been visiting with a charity group, there to donate and speak with the children.

But instead of offering polite words and walking away like the others, he’d stayed. He’d listened. He’d laughed at my silly jokes. For months after, we’d exchange quick letters through the orphanage director, until the day my father found me and took me away from that place.

I hadn’t seen him since; I didn't even hear of him again, not until now. What was he doing here? Could he possibly be here for the celebration? And if he saw me now, would he even recognize me?

“Where is he?” Oliver asked, his voice snapping me back to the present.

“In the east wing parlor,” the servant replied.

Without another word, Oliver strode away, the servant hurrying after him.

I stood frozen for a moment, the rapid beat of my heart making my chest ache. Then I let out a long, shaky breath, pressing a palm over my ribs as if I could force myself to calm down. My eyes darted around the room, searching for something to focus on. That was when I saw it.

A telephone, placed on a small side table. My thoughts raced. If I could just get to it, I could call the police and report everything. In seconds, I began to imagine it all—the police arriving and handcuffing Oliver and his mother. Oliver’s smug grin wiped away from his face, and I took my rightful place in this home again, in my father’s home.

But then, Lola’s voice echoed in my head clearly, as if she were standing right beside me. ''Don’t rush and risk everything for one desperate move.''

She was right. My stepmother and Oliver weren’t just cruel; they were clever. They had connections, money, and influence, but I had nothing.

What if the police don't believe me? What if Olivia twisted the story and made me out to be unstable and delusional? What if they used the call against me, painted me as ungrateful, or even dangerous? One wrong move could destroy everything Lola has done.

I was saved at the moment, but I couldn't stop wondering what would happen in the days to come.

I swallowed hard and shook my head. I need to speak to Lola first before taking any action. Adjusting my mask over my nose, I turned and walked away, heading toward the part of the house where my assigned work waited.

The work was tedious and thankless. Lugging heavy trays to the kitchen, polishing cutlery until my arms ached, fetching and refilling drinks for tables I wasn’t allowed to go near. My body was filled with sweat, and my hair clung to my temples. I needed to bathe and change into something else before continuing.

But I couldn’t just stroll into the servants’ quarters just like that. I didn’t even know exactly where Lola’s room was, and barging into any random space would raise questions. Most of the staff didn’t know me. The few who might remember me from years ago were either long gone or just as trapped by Olivia as I was.

I walked through the corridors and began to search for Lola. A few maids glanced in my direction and whispered to each other, their eyes lingering on my masked face. I ignored them and kept moving.

It wasn’t until I reached the main hall that I spotted her.

Lola was standing between a few guests, holding a tray of drinks in her hands. I heaved a sigh of relief and quickened my steps toward her.

But just as I was about to call her name, I collided with someone. The force sent me stumbling back, my arms flailing for balance. Before I could hit the ground, strong, warm hands caught me around the waist, steadying me.

The touch jolted through me like an electric current, sending my pulse into a dizzying rhythm.

“Careful,” a deep, familiar voice murmured above me, and I held my breath as I raised my head to see who it was.

There he was. Even after all these years, I knew every line of his face. The strong jaw, the dark eyes that held an intensity most people couldn’t meet without looking away. And the faint crease at the corner of his mouth.

Ernest Montgomery. The only surviving child and heir of the Montgomery family. My friend, my first crush, and my unspoken dream. We stared at each other in silence, unable to say a word.

Ernest tightened his grip around me slightly, as though to make sure I wouldn’t slip away. My heart began to beat faster, and I wasn’t sure if it was from the way I was almost falling or from being this close to him after so long.

For a second, I didn’t want him to let go. I wanted to stay suspended in this moment, in the warmth and safety of his hold.

But then, a voice sounded behind us, shattering the moment. I quickly stood upright and lowered my head immediately, clasping my hands behind my back.