It was the morning after Alistair's funeral. The underground kitchen was boiling hot. Steam rose from massive metal pots. It felt like an industrial boiler room.

Emmett was assigned to help carry heavy food deliveries. He took off his gray jacket. He wore only a white button-down shirt. He rolled the sleeves up past his elbows, exposing his forearms.

In the corner of the kitchen, a skinny girl with freckles was struggling. It was Agnes, the old stable master's niece. She was trying to lift a massive heavy wooden bucket of raw potatoes onto the steel counter. Her face was bright red.

Her hands slipped on the wet plastic. The heavy bucket tipped backward, falling toward the hard tile floor.

Emmett moved fast. He stepped forward and shoved his hand under the bucket. His bicep flexed tight against his shirt. He caught the full weight of the potatoes with one hand.

Agnes gasped and jumped back. She looked up at Emmett's face. Her cheeks turned dark red.

"Th-thank you," she stuttered.

Emmett didn't smile. He didn't flex to show off. He just lifted the bucket easily and pushed it onto the steel counter.

"Split it into two trips next time," Emmett said. His voice was calm and flat.

"Agnes! Peel those potatoes now!" Chef Fabre screamed from across the kitchen.

Agnes flinched. She pulled her shoulders up to her ears like a scared rabbit.

Emmett picked up a small paring knife. He stood next to her. He grabbed a potato and started peeling. The knife moved in fast, sharp circles. The skin fell away perfectly. He didn't say a word, he just helped her work.

Agnes looked at him with wide, grateful eyes. "Are you Emmett?" she whispered. "The one who knows about the inheritance laws?"

Emmett's knife stopped for a fraction of a second. The rumor had reached the kitchen. Perfect.

He turned his head. He looked at Agnes with a soft, self-deprecating smile.

"Don't listen to Rory," Emmett said gently. "I don't have much formal schooling. I don't understand half those complicated legal words."

Agnes looked at his clear, honest eyes. She instantly believed him. She smiled back, thinking he was just a nice, simple man.

Emmett looked at her innocent smile. A dark memory flashed in his brain.

In his past life, he used his good looks to flirt with every maid in the kitchen. He thought he was charming. He thought his handsome face made him special. That stupid arrogance made him the perfect target for Clara. She played him like a toy and threw him away.

Emmett's eyes turned pitch black. A wave of self-hatred hit him so hard his stomach rolled. He gripped the handle of the knife. His knuckles turned white.

He took a sharp breath. He tossed the peeled potato into the sink. It hit the water with a loud splash. The sound cut off the memory.

Moira walked into the kitchen. She swayed her hips as she walked toward Emmett. She stopped right next to him. She leaned in, trying to press her shoulder against his arm.

"You're pretty strong, Emmett," Moira purred.

Emmett didn't look at her. He shifted his weight and took a half-step to the left. Moira's shoulder hit empty air.

"Do you need me to carry something for you?" Emmett asked. His voice was polite, but it was freezing cold.

Moira frowned. She crossed her arms. "No," she muttered. She turned around and grabbed a breakfast tray. "You're as boring as a brick wall," she complained as she walked away.

Emmett went back to peeling potatoes. He needed to be a brick wall. Until Kearney arrived, Emmett had to be completely invisible. He had to hide every sharp edge.

Elias walked into the kitchen. The room went quiet. Elias looked around. He saw Emmett quietly peeling potatoes, ignoring the girls, just working hard. Elias nodded slightly. He liked obedient workers.

Elias cleared his throat. "Prepare the grand menu. Lady Philippa is returning to the manor this afternoon with her husband, Baron Pembroke."

The kitchen exploded into chaos. Pans clattered. People yelled.

Emmett put the knife down. He wiped his wet hands on a towel. He stared down into the dirty water in the sink.

Philippa was coming back. The venomous older sister. The war for the money was about to begin. Emmett stared at the water, ready to watch them drown.

It was three o'clock in the afternoon. A light, freezing rain fell from the gray sky.

Three black motorcars sped up the gravel driveway. The tires screeched as they stopped in front of the main stone steps of the manor.

Emmett stood in a line with the other footmen. He wore his stiff gray uniform. The rain hit his face, but he kept his head bowed.

The car door opened. Lady Philippa stepped out. She wore sharp black stilettos and a custom black mourning dress. She looked like a general walking onto a battlefield.

The door of the second car opened. Clara stepped out. She held a black umbrella over her head. She wore a simple black dress. Her face looked sad and fragile. She looked like a grieving angel.

Emmett looked at Clara's innocent face. His stomach violently cramped. Acid burned the back of his throat. The phantom feeling of the rough rope tightening around his neck hit him again.

He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek. The sharp taste of copper blood filled his mouth. The physical pain grounded him. He forced his body to stay perfectly still.

"Get the bags from the trunk," Philippa ordered. She waved her hand at the servants like she was swatting flies.

Emmett stepped forward. He grabbed the handle of a massive leather steamer trunk. He lifted it with one hand. His face showed zero strain.

Clara walked up the stone steps. She stopped suddenly. She turned around and looked at Emmett. She tilted her head, studying his face.

"That trunk looks very heavy," Clara said. Her voice was soft and sweet. "Please be careful. Don't hurt your back."

Rory stood next to Emmett. He looked at Clara with pure worship in his eyes. He thought she was an angel.

Emmett's blood boiled. But he immediately dropped his shoulders. He looked up at her with wide, amazed eyes.

"Thank you, Miss," Emmett said. He bowed his head. "You are too kind."

He played the role perfectly. The dumb, grateful servant amazed by her beauty.

Clara smiled. She loved the feeling of power. She turned around and walked into the grand hall.

Emmett stood up straight. He watched her hips sway as she walked away. The fake awe in his eyes vanished. It was replaced by a look of pure, murderous hatred.

Half an hour later, Emmett was assigned to clean the first-floor drawing room. He knelt in the far corner, wiping the marble edge of the fireplace with a cloth. He was completely silent. He was part of the furniture.

Philippa and Lady Leonora sat on the velvet couches in the center of the room. They had kicked all the senior staff out. They thought they were alone.

Philippa lit a long, thin cigarette. She blew the smoke toward the ceiling.

"Alistair's timing is terrible," Philippa said coldly. "My husband needs the trust fund money to cover his bad investments. We need cash now."

Lady Leonora leaned forward. She lowered her voice. "Your father has a plan. We are going to make Clara marry Kearney Bernard."

Philippa stopped smoking. She looked at Clara, who was sitting by the window, pretending to read a book. Philippa let out a loud, cruel laugh.

"Clara?" Philippa mocked. "She acts like a pure saint. Now she has to open her legs for a dirty country bastard?"

Clara slowly closed her book. She didn't look angry. She looked up at Philippa. A cold, calculating smile spread across Clara's face.

"If it keeps my unlimited line of credit active and pays for my townhouse in the capital," Clara said softly, "I don't care. I'll wag my tail for him. Men are incredibly easy to manipulate."

The words hit Emmett's ears perfectly. It was the exact same tone she used when she framed him for treason.

Emmett stopped wiping the marble. He stared at Clara's reflection in the polished stone. The last tiny piece of his past-life trauma shattered. She wasn't a ghost. She was just a greedy, pathetic woman.

He reached out. He intentionally hit the heavy brass fire poker with his knuckles.

The metal poker fell over. It hit the stone floor with a loud, ringing crash.

The three women jumped. They stopped talking instantly.

Philippa whipped her head around. She glared at Emmett. "You clumsy idiot! What are you doing in here?!"

Emmett threw himself onto his knees. He grabbed the poker with shaking hands. He widened his eyes in pure terror.

"I'm so sorry, my lady!" Emmett stuttered. He kept his head down. "I'm sorry! I'm so clumsy!"

Lady Leonora waved her hand in disgust. "Get out! Get out of my sight!"

Emmett scrambled to his feet. He kept his head bowed as he backed out of the room. He pulled the doors shut.

The second the doors clicked shut, the terror vanished from his face. He stood in the hallway. He had ruined their secret meeting, and he had heard exactly what he needed to hear. Clara was going to try to seduce Kearney.

Emmett walked away. He was going to make sure her plan burned to the ground.

It was six o'clock in the evening. Outside, the storm was raging. Lightning flashed across the sky. The entire staff was in a panic, preparing for the arrival of the new heir, Kearney Bernard.

Barnaby, a senior footman, stood on top of a tall wooden ladder in the grand foyer. He was polishing the massive crystal chandelier. His legs were shaking from exhaustion.

Emmett walked past the ladder, carrying a bucket of water. He glanced up. He saw Barnaby's knees trembling.

Suddenly, a blinding flash of lightning lit up the windows. A second later, a massive crack of thunder shook the floorboards.

Barnaby screamed. He panicked and stepped backward. His foot missed the wooden rung. He fell backward into empty space. Emmett's body instinctively surged forward, his hand reaching out to catch the falling man. But the distance was too great, and the heavy bucket in his hand threw off his balance. He watched, a cold sliver of guilt piercing his chest, as Barnaby hit the hard marble floor.

A loud, sickening crack echoed through the foyer. Barnaby grabbed his leg and screamed in agony. His shin bone was broken.

Elias ran into the foyer. He looked at Barnaby writhing on the floor. Elias's face turned purple with rage. "You useless fool! The dinner service is in an hour!"

Security guards ran in and dragged Barnaby away.

Elias rubbed his temples. He looked around wildly at the terrified lower servants. They needed a senior footman to pour the wine tonight. It was a critical job.

Elias's eyes locked onto Emmett. Emmett was standing perfectly still, holding his bucket. He looked completely calm.

"You," Elias pointed a shaking finger at Emmett. "Go to the locker room. Put on Barnaby's tailcoat. You are serving the wine tonight."

Rory gasped. He looked at Emmett with pure, hateful jealousy.

Emmett didn't smile. He just bowed his head. "Yes, sir."

Ten minutes later, Emmett stood in front of the mirror. He wore the black tailcoat of a senior footman. The custom tailoring fit his broad shoulders and narrow waist perfectly. He pulled the crisp white silk gloves over his hands. He looked like a predator putting on a disguise.

A deep engine roar rumbled outside. A black, custom-built motorcar pulled up to the front doors.

Emmett walked into the foyer. He stood in line with the senior staff. He was positioned right next to the front door.

The car door opened. A man stepped out onto the red carpet.

Baron Kearney Bernard walked into the manor.

He was tall. His shoulder muscles were coiled tight, like a beast of prey ready to strike. He wore a dark, expensive wool coat. His skin was pale. His dark eyes were angry, paranoid, and completely hostile. He looked at the crystal chandelier like he wanted to smash it.

Viscount Corbin stepped forward. He forced a huge, fake smile onto his face. He opened his arms for a hug.

Kearney didn't stop walking. He shifted his shoulder and completely ignored the Viscount's arms.

"I don't care about your rules," Kearney said. His voice was deep, rough, and freezing cold. "Show me my room."

The Viscount's smile froze. The tension in the room was suffocating.

Clara immediately stepped forward. She put on her sweetest, most vulnerable smile.

"Brother Kearney," Clara said softly. "You must be so tired."

Kearney didn't even look at her face. His eyes moved past her.

His dark eyes locked onto Emmett.

Emmett was standing with his head bowed. But he felt the heavy, burning stare hit his skin. It felt like a physical weight.

The memories of his past life rushed in like a tidal wave. This was the man he had foolishly betrayed, the man who had died because of his blind ignorance. A suffocating grip of guilt seized Emmett's heart. Emmett's fingers curled tightly inside his white gloves.

Kearney stared at Emmett for three agonizing seconds. The silence in the room was deafening.

Then, Kearney pointed a long finger at Emmett.

"Him," Kearney commanded. "He will show me my room."

The Viscount gasped. Clara's sweet smile cracked. They couldn't believe the new heir was choosing a servant over them.

Emmett cursed in his head. He didn't want this. But he had no choice.

Emmett stepped forward. He kept his face completely blank. He bowed. "Right this way, my Lord."

Emmett turned and walked toward the grand staircase. He heard Kearney's heavy boots walking right behind him. He could feel Kearney staring at the back of his neck. Emmett felt like a rabbit being hunted by a starving wolf.