CHAPTER 23: SILK AND VENOM

Eva’s POV

​"Eva," Mrs. Gable had instructed as I finished polishing the hallway banisters, "Lady Genevieve requires assistance in her chambers. Her personal maid has taken ill with a migraine. Go up and help her style her hair for the evening."

​"Yes, Mrs. Gable," I replied, smoothing down my apron.

​Stepping into Genevieve's suite was like walking into an opulent, velvet-draped storehouse. Wardrobes stood wide open, overflowing with dozens of sweeping gowns in rich silks and heavy damasks. Trays of solid gold hairpins, pearl combs, and crystal perfume bottles lined the marble vanity, catching the warm candlelight.

​All bought with my father's stolen properties, I thought bitterly, keeping my face entirely blank as I bowed softly. All paid for by the destruction of my family.

​"Good evening, My Lady," I said, my voice quiet and measured. "Mrs. Gable sent me to assist with your hair."

​Genevieve sat before the tall oval mirror, wearing a loose silk dressing robe. She glanced at me through the glass, waving a hand toward the silver brush on the table. "Yes, come in. Just do something elegant. Keep it off my neck."

​I stepped behind her, taking the heavy boar-bristle brush and running it through her thick blonde locks. My movements were practiced and smooth as I began weaving the sections into a soft, intricate braided crown.

​Genevieve watched me through the mirror's reflection, her brow furrowing slightly. "You're remarkably quiet for a maid."

​I didn't pause my hands. "I am simply focusing on my work, My Lady."

​"Most maids are practically falling over themselves to chatter," Genevieve noted, gesturing vaguely toward the vanity counter. "They ask endlessly about capital fashions, or gush over the gowns, or practically beg to compliment the jewelry. You haven't looked at a single thing in this room twice."

​"I am a woman of few words, My Lady," I replied smoothly, tucking a fine pearl pin into the side of her braided updos.

​Genevieve leaned back, searching my face in the glass with genuine curiosity. "Hmm. That's strange."

​I simply looked down, keeping my eyes fixed on my hands as I finished securing the final braid. "All done, My Lady."

​Genevieve turned her head from side to side, inspecting her reflection. A genuine, startled look of delight washed over her face. "Wow. This is... breathtaking. Where on earth did you learn to do this?"

​"Experience from other ladies I have served, My Lady," I lied seamlessly.

​Genevieve looked at me directly, her usual sharp demeanor softening into something surprisingly vulnerable. "Can I ask you a question?"

​"Of course, My Lady."

​"How do you please a man?"

​I froze for a split second, my fingers resting on the wooden brush. I blinked, looking at her in genuine disbelief. "I... I beg your pardon, My Lady?"

​"How do you please a man?" Genevieve repeated, her tone dropping into an anxious, hurried whisper. She turned around entirely on her chair to face me. "You seem old enough to be married, or at least to have someone you're seeing. So tell me... how do you get a man to want you?"

​"I am not the right person to ask, My Lady," I said cautiously, stepping back half a pace. "I do not know how to please a man, and I certainly do not have one."

​"Oh, come now, there must be rules to this!" Genevieve pressed, her hands knotting together in her lap as weeks of hidden desperation bled out. "I am trying so hard to get his attention, but I don't know what else to do! Am I supposed to wear lower necklines? Wear dresses encrusted with more jewels? Should I wear stronger perfumes? How do I get him to need to touch me?"

​I looked at her, stunned. Beneath the loud jewels and the arrogant capital title, she was just a desperate girl trying to force a man to love her.

​"Are you speaking of Lord Lucian, My Lady?" I asked quietly.

​Genevieve rolled her eyes, though her voice carried a nervous tremor. "Of course! Who else would I be talking about?"

​A tiny, involuntary spark of humor touched my chest. "Well, My Lady... if you want his attention, why don't you simply ask for it?"

​Genevieve stared at me for a beat, her lips parting in shock before a sudden, bright laugh escaped her chest. "Oh, good Lord. You're a funny maid, aren't you?"

​A genuine, airy laugh slipped past my own lips before I could catch it, breaking the heavy tension in the room completely.

​Genevieve smiled at me through the glass, her posture relaxing as she gestured toward the door. "You are dismissed."

​"Thank you, My Lady," I said, bowing politely and turning to leave.

​"Hold on," Genevieve called out just as my hand touched the brass doorknob. She looked at me over her shoulder. "What is your name?"

​"Eva, My Lady."

​"Eva," she repeated, giving me a soft, genuine nod. "Thank you, Eva."

​I closed the door behind me, stepping out into the quiet stone corridor. My pulse was drumming against my ribs as I stood alone in the dim light.

​Why did I actually enjoy talking to her?

​A heavy, bitter ache settled in my chest. Genevieve was sitting in a room built on stolen wealth, wearing gowns purchased with my family's blood, without even realizing it. She was just an innocent pawn in her mother's political game, utterly clueless about the ruined lives beneath her feet.

​I looked back at her closed door, my jaw tightening into a hard, unyielding line.

​It's tragic, I thought, my heart hardening once again as I turned toward the servant's stairs. She doesn't know the evil her family did to get that money. But sadly... I cannot afford to spare her. They enjoy the wealth together, so they will all go down together.

​I spent the next two hours mopping the polished marble floor of the east corridor, pushing the bitter thoughts of the Sterling family to the back of my mind.

​By the time I finished, my apron was soaked and my hands were raw. I slipped into the servants' quarters, took a quick, scalding bath, and changed into a fresh, clean maid's uniform. Fastening my silver apron ties behind my back, I headed down the narrow back stairwell toward the kitchens, hoping to grab a late bowl of stew before the night watch took over.

​I reached the dark, wood-paneled passageway near the main wing when a hand suddenly shot out from the shadows.

​A firm, iron grip wrapped around my wrist. Before a scream could escape my throat, I was pulled violently into a dark room. The heavy oak door slammed shut with a muffled thud, and the metallic click of a key turning in the lock echoed in the pitch-black space.

​My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped wild animal. I backed against the wall, my breath coming in short, jagged gasps. "My Lord—what—"

​A match struck, flared bright orange, and caught the wick of a small brass lamp on the desk.

​Warm light spilled across the shadowy study, illuminating the tall, towering silhouette in front of me. Lucian stood barely two feet away, his storm-gray eyes sharp, unblinking, and darker than the night outside. He hadn't even taken off his riding coat.

​I pressed my back harder into the wood molding, forced to look up into his cold, intense face. "Lord Lucian... what is the meaning of this? Why did you lock the door?"

​Lucian didn't answer right away. He stepped closer, eliminating the remaining distance between us until his broad shadow completely engulfed me. His gaze dropped to my lips for a fraction of a second before locking back onto my eyes, raw with a desperate, mounting friction.

​"Did we share a dance at the ball?" he asked, his deep voice barely above a whisper, vibrating with an eerie, quiet power.

​My eyes widened in pure, paralyzed shock.

​The air vanished from my lungs. A cold wave of terror rushed from the crown of my head to the tips of my toes. My fingers twitched, clutching the fabric of my apron as my mind scrambled in absolute panic.

​Did he put the pieces together? Does he know?