chapter 1

AVA'S POV

“You’re too slow, Ava,” Beatrice said, her eyes still on her phone. “Father will lose his appetite waiting for you.”

“I—” I started, but before I could finish, she stretched out her leg.

The tray shook in my hands. Hot tea slid toward the edge. I caught it just in time, my fingers burning from the heat.

Lorraine looked up from her seat and sighed. “Ava, must you always be so clumsy? A young lady in this house should have some grace.”

I lowered my eyes. “I’m sorry, Stepmother.”

My father sat at the head of the table, the newspaper open in his hands. He didn’t look up. He never did.

The apology sat in my throat like a stone. It wasn’t fair, but I swallowed it. It was easier that way.

When I placed the tray down, I felt something small rise inside me. A quiet thought, almost hidden. One day, I would live somewhere I didn’t have to keep saying sorry. One day, I would belong.

Lorraine Walker—my stepmother—spoke softly when others were around, but her tone could cut without warning. To outsiders, she looked kind, always smiling, always graceful. But at home, her eyes followed me like I was something out of place.

Beatrice, her daughter, was a year younger than me. She liked to play at kindness. Her cruelty came in small ways—a flick of her hair against my cheek, a whisper as she passed, a laugh when I dropped something.

Father never stopped her. Sometimes I thought he didn’t see. Sometimes I thought he didn’t want to. I told myself he was just tired. Busy. I told myself his silence wasn’t coldness. Still, I wished he would look at me and say he was proud. Just once.

That afternoon, Beatrice came into my room. Her perfume filled the air, sweet and heavy. Her lips were red, too bright for daytime.

“Father needs this delivered,” she said, holding out a sealed envelope. “His client’s at Silver Crest Hotel. Room 406. Be quick. Don’t embarrass the family.”

Her tone made my face heat. I took the envelope with both hands and nodded. Maybe if I did this right, Father would notice. Maybe he’d see I could help.

The Silver Crest Hotel looked even grander up close. The glass doors were so clean they almost disappeared. Inside, the air smelled of polish and flowers. My plain shoes made small sounds on the marble floor. My dress felt wrong among all the fine clothes.

I repeated the number to myself. “Room 406. 406.”

On the fourth floor, the corridor was empty and quiet. I tightened my grip on the envelope. My hands were damp. My heart beat too fast.

I stopped at a door and checked the plate. My eyes brushed past it—409—but I didn’t notice.

I knocked softly. No answer. The door wasn’t fully closed, so I pushed it open.

A low sound came from inside, rough and strained. My breath caught.

“Hello?” I whispered. “Sir…?”

The curtains were drawn. The air smelled of medicine and sweat. On the bed lay a tall man. His shirt was half open, his chest rising unevenly. Sweat rolled down the side of his face. His jaw tightened as he let out another groan

The room was dim, the curtains drawn tight. I could hardly see anything at first, only the outline of a man on the bed.

“Sir?” I said softly, not sure if anyone could hear me.

He didn’t answer right away. Then came a low sound, rough and strained. “Water…”

I hesitated, my eyes slowly adjusting to the dark. I couldn’t see his face clearly, only his shape—the rise and fall of his chest, the way his hand twitched weakly at his side.

I looked around and spotted a jug and a glass on the table. My fingers shook as I poured the water. The silence in the room made every small sound louder—the clink of glass, the creak of the floor under my feet.

When I reached his bedside, I bent slightly and lifted the glass toward his lips. He drank a little, slow and unsteady. I could hear his breathing, heavy and hot against the still air.

I tried to look at him again, but the shadows covered his face. I only saw the line of his jaw, damp with sweat, and the way his lashes trembled.

“Please, hold on, sir,” I whispered. “Don’t close your eyes.”

He didn’t answer. His body relaxed, and I wasn’t sure if he was sleeping or fainting.

I stood there, the glass still in my hand, unsure what to do. My heart pounded so loud it filled the quiet room. The envelope I came to deliver had slipped to the floor, but I couldn’t move to pick it up