Chapter 7 - The Day Before before his Arrival

Aria's POV 

The day before Julian’s return, the entire house felt like it was holding its breath.

Evelyn’s mood had sharpened into something brittle and dangerous. Every small mistake, real or imagined, was treated as a personal insult. That morning she decided the guest towels in the third-floor bathroom had been folded incorrectly. The edges, she claimed, were not aligned to the precise standard she required. It was the kind of microscopic fault that would have been invisible to anyone else, but in this house it was more than enough.

She called me into the formal dining room. Sienna was already waiting, leaning against the long polished table with a glass of red wine in her hand and an expression of eager anticipation on her face.

“You’ve grown careless,” Evelyn said, her voice calm and cold. “I will not have carelessness in my house the day before my son returns.”

I kept my eyes lowered. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Vance.”

“Sorry is not enough.” She walked slowly around the table, her heels clicking against the hardwood. “You will re-fold every towel in this house. Every single one. Then you will polish the silver again. After that, you will clean the crystal until it is perfect. You will not stop until I am satisfied. And you will do it in silence.”

Sienna smiled into her wine glass. “She’s been getting comfortable, Mother. I told you.”

Evelyn ignored her. “Start now.”

I spent the next six hours moving from room to room with stacks of towels and polishing cloths. My hands ached. My back burned from bending and reaching. Every time I finished one task, Evelyn found another. The silver wasn’t bright enough. The crystal still had water spots. The towels on the second floor needed to be redone because the corners weren’t sharp enough. Sienna followed me for part of the afternoon, making soft, mocking comments under her breath whenever Evelyn was out of earshot.

“You look tired, Aria.”  

“Maybe you’re not cut out for this kind of work.”  

“Julian won’t even notice you exist, you know. You’re furniture to people like us.”

I didn’t answer. Answering only gave her more material.

By late afternoon my fingers were raw and my shoulders felt like they had been filled with sand. I was in the butler’s pantry polishing the last of the crystal when Lila slipped in, closing the door quietly behind her.

“She’s pushing you harder than usual,” Lila said, keeping her voice low. “She wants you looking broken when he arrives. Makes it easier to control the story.”

I kept polishing. “I know.”

Lila leaned against the counter, watching me. “Julian’s different from them. I’ve only seen him a few times, but the difference is obvious if you know what to look for. Cold, yes. Those blue eyes can look completely ruthless. But he doesn’t get the same look Sienna gets when someone is hurting. He doesn’t enjoy it. That has to count for something.”

I finally set the glass down. “Doesn’t mean he’ll care what happens to me.”

“Maybe not,” Lila admitted. “Rich men protect their own blood first. Just… don’t expect miracles when he walks through that door tomorrow. Expect survival. That’s the best any of us get here.”

She left as quietly as she had come.

That evening the house was unusually quiet. Evelyn and Sienna ate dinner in the formal dining room while I served. Vivian had not yet arrived, but her name was already being spoken like a promise of more pressure. Every time I entered the room, I felt their eyes on me, measuring, waiting for another mistake.

After the last plate had been cleared, Evelyn stopped me at the door.

“Julian arrives tomorrow afternoon,” she said. “I will not have him see any evidence of your carelessness. You will be perfect. Invisible. Silent. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Mrs. Vance.”

Sienna walked past me on her way out and deliberately bumped my shoulder hard enough to make me step back. She didn’t even glance at me.

That night I sat on the edge of my narrow bed, staring at my raw hands. The house around me felt heavier than usual, as if the walls themselves were waiting. Tomorrow the man whose mother’s life I had helped save would walk through the front door. He would bring with him the cold blue eyes I still remembered from the hospital, the same eyes that had looked at me like I was something unexpected.

I wondered if he would even recognize the girl from the hospital ward.

I wondered, with a fear that sat heavy in my stomach, if I wanted him to.

Outside, the Chicago wind pressed against the window. Inside, the silence stretched long and thin.

I lay down carefully, closed my eyes, and tried to prepare myself for whatever the next day would bring.

Sleep did not come easily.