. CHAPTER 1 — The Girl on the Marble Floor
Emma Reed had been on her knees for so long that the cold white marble no longer felt like stone. It felt like judgment. Her palms burned from the cleaner. Her black-and-white maid uniform was damp at the cuffs. A thin red mark near her temple throbbed every time she lowered her head, but she kept rubbing the same place on the floor because Mrs. Victoria Vale was watching from the sofa with a glass of pale wine in her hand.
“Not clean enough,” Victoria said lazily.
The mansion around them was bright enough to hurt. Crystal chandeliers poured light over the double staircase. Silver-framed mirrors reflected every humiliating angle of Emma’s bowed body. At the far end of the foyer, another maid stood frozen beside the main doors, eyes down, too frightened to move.
Emma swallowed the lump in her throat. “Mrs. Vale, I already cleaned it three times.”
Victoria smiled without warmth. She was elegant in black lace, pearls at her throat, hair pinned perfectly, a woman who could ruin someone without raising her voice. “Then perhaps the fourth time will teach you not to touch what does not belong to you.”
Emma’s fingers tightened around the black cleaning cloth. She had not stolen the bracelet. She had not even entered Victoria’s bedroom. But the accusation had been made in front of the entire household, and in this mansion, Victoria’s words became facts the moment they left her mouth.
A drop of cleaner slid from Emma’s sleeve onto the floor. She blinked hard, refusing to let the tears fall again.
Victoria lifted her glass. “Look at you. A servant crying over soap. You should be grateful I did not call the police.”
Emma looked toward the massive front door. For one foolish second, she imagined it opening. She imagined someone walking in who would see the truth before Victoria could twist it. Then she hated herself for hoping.
The door did open.
Both wooden panels swung inward with a deep, echoing sound. Cold daylight spilled across the marble. A tall man in a black coat stepped inside, carrying a leather briefcase. His face was hard, pale with travel, and his eyes moved from the glittering foyer to Victoria’s wine glass, then down to Emma on the floor.
The room seemed to stop breathing.
Victoria rose too quickly. “Alexander?”
May you like
The man did not answer her. He stared at Emma’s tear-streaked face as if he had walked into a nightmare wearing his family’s name.
“What,” he said quietly, “is happening in my house?”
