I rubbed my aching neck, desperate to reach my cramped bedroom.

A hand clamped around my wrist. Hard.

"Don't scream," Jasper muttered.

He yanked me toward the half-open door of his guest suite.

"Get your hands off me," I hissed, digging my sneakers into the thin carpet.

"Just five minutes, Iris. Come inside."

I wrenched my arm backward, twisting my shoulder to break his grip. He stumbled forward, clearly surprised by my resistance.

"Are you insane?" I kept my voice to a sharp, furious whisper. "Your fiancée is sleeping directly above us."

Jasper adjusted the collar of his silk pajamas. "Celeste took a sleeping pill. She won't wake up until noon tomorrow."

"I don't care if she's in a coma. Stay away from me."

He stepped closer, backing me against the patterned wallpaper. "You don't mean that. You've been staring at me all week."

"I've been serving you dinner. It's my job."

"You used to look at me differently."

"That was before you sold yourself to a millionaire."

His facial muscles tensed. "Watch your mouth."

"Or what? You'll complain to the head maid?"

He lunged again, pinning my shoulder against the plaster. "I could make your life very easy here, Iris. Or I could make it a living hell. You know I still want you. You know I can take care of you."

"You're Celeste's lapdog now. Act like it."

"I'm the future master of this house!"

"Then why are you sneaking around the maid's quarters in the middle of the night?"

I shoved his chest. He didn't budge.

"Because you belong to me," he growled. "You always have."

"I belong to myself."

"Three years, Iris. We were together for three years." He leaned in, his voice dropping to a manipulative purr. "You think I forgot about our apartment? You think I forgot about us?"

"You forgot about us the second you saw the White family bank account."

"I did it for us! I can give you money now. I can buy you things."

"You're delusional." I scoffed, turning my face away from him. "You traded a three-year relationship for sports cars and designer suits. You didn't do it for me. You did it because you're greedy."

"I did it because I was tired of eating instant noodles on a mattress on the floor!" he snapped. "Look at this place. Look at what I have."

"Look at what *she* has," I corrected him. "You own nothing, Jasper. You're just a guest."

His eyes narrowed. "If you hate it so much, why are you still here? Why don't you quit?"

"Because your fiancée made sure I was blacklisted from every decent domestic agency in the city." I glared at him. "This is the only contract I could get to pay off my mother's medical bills."

"See?" He smiled, a sickeningly triumphant look. "You need me. I can make those bills disappear tonight."

"I need a paycheck. I don't need a parasite."

"Celeste pays you pennies to scrub her floors. I can slip you thousands. Just come inside the room."

"I'd rather starve."

"Don't play hard to get. It doesn't suit you."

A floorboard creaked on the staircase above us.

We both froze.

The heavy silence of the mansion pressed down on the hallway. Footsteps echoed from the second-floor landing. Slow. Heavy.

Jasper's grip on my arm tightened. Panic flashed across his face.

"Get in the room," he urged, pulling me toward the doorway again. "If the security guard catches us out here, he'll report it."

"Let him report it," I whispered back, resisting his pull.

"Iris, stop being stubborn! If Celeste finds out we were talking, she'll fire you."

"She won't just fire me. She'll dump you. That's what you're really afraid of."

The footsteps paused. Then, they began moving away, fading down the upper corridor.

Jasper let out an exhale, his shoulders dropping.

I used his distraction to rip my arm free.

"I'm not your secret," I said, stepping out of his reach. "And I'm not your backup plan."

He rubbed his jaw, his expression darkening. "You think you're so morally superior. You're scrubbing toilets for a living. I'm about to inherit an empire."

"You're marrying a fake heiress."

"Keep your voice down," he warned, glancing nervously at the ceiling.

"No. If you don't step back right now, I am walking up that grand staircase." I met his gaze, keeping my expression entirely flat. "I will knock on the master suite doors. I will wake Celeste up, and I will tell her exactly whose room you tried to drag me into."

Fear flared in his eyes again.

Celeste White was famously possessive. She treated Jasper like a prized show pony. She destroyed anyone who touched her toys, but she would also discard him the second he proved disloyal.

"You wouldn't dare," he countered.

"Try me. Grab my arm one more time and see how fast I run upstairs."

He stared at me, searching for a bluff. I gave him nothing.

Slowly, his fingers curled into fists at his sides.

"You think she'll believe you?" he asked, trying to regain his footing. "You're just a bitter ex-girlfriend. She knows you're jealous."

"She knows you're a cheat. That's why she tracks your phone."

He flinched. I had hit the mark.

"You're making a massive mistake," he spat, his tone turning venomous.

"Goodnight, Jasper."

"Don't think this is over." He pointed a finger at my chest. "You're going to beg me for help before the week is out. I'll make sure of it."

"Go to sleep."

He turned and slammed his door shut. The heavy oak frame rattled on its hinges.

I slumped against the wall, rubbing the red marks on my skin.

My heart hammered against my ribs.

The confrontation was over, but the danger wasn't.

Jasper was a coward, but a vindictive one. He wouldn't let this go. He needed to feel powerful, and right now, I had made him feel weak. Retaliation was coming.

I pushed off the wall and hurried down the corridor to my room.

The space was barely larger than a closet. A single twin bed, a small dresser, and a window that looked out onto the brick wall of the garage.

I locked the flimsy door behind me and sank onto the mattress.

Three years.

I stared at the ceiling, letting the reality of my situation wash over me. We had built a life together. We had planned a future. Then he met Celeste at a charity gala I couldn't afford to attend. Within a month, he packed his bags.

And Celeste? She knew exactly who I was when she hired me.

The fake heiress didn't just want my boyfriend; she wanted to watch me suffer. She had specifically requested the agency send Iris Thorne to wash her laundry and clean her toilets. She wanted to parade my betrayal in front of my face every single day.

They were a match made in hell.

"Just survive the month," I whispered to the empty room. "Get the paycheck and leave."

My phone buzzed on the nightstand.

I glanced at the digital clock. 2:15 AM.

No one texted me at this hour.

I reached over and picked up the device.

A message from an unknown number glared back at me from the bright screen.

*Your little stunt in the hallway was caught on camera. Come to the greenhouse in ten minutes, or I send the footage to Celeste.*

My blood ran cold.

I typed back immediately. *Who is this?*

Three dots appeared on the screen. Then, a new message.

*Tick tock, Iris. Nine minutes.*

I stared at the screen. The greenhouse was on the far side of the estate. It was completely isolated. If this was a trap, no one would hear me scream.

But if the footage reached Celeste, I wouldn't just lose my job. I would lose everything.

I grabbed my coat.

"Iris Thorne!"

The shout echoed down the servants' corridor, sharp enough to rattle the cheap glass light fixtures.

I opened my bedroom door. Mrs. Gable stood in the hallway, her mouth pressed into a severe line.

"The young miss wants you in the main dining room," the head maid said. "Immediately."

"What time is it?" I asked.

"Time for you to answer for your behavior."

I followed her upstairs.

Jasper sat at the long mahogany table, staring at a porcelain teacup. Celeste paced behind him, her silk robe trailing over the polished hardwood floor.

"Explain yourself," Celeste snapped the second I crossed the threshold.

"Good morning, Miss White. Explain what?"

Jasper looked up, arranging his features into a mask of exhausted pity. "Don't play dumb, Iris. I told her."

"Told her what?"

"That you cornered me by the laundry room last night," he lied effortlessly. "That you begged me to let you into my suite."

My jaw locked. "That is a complete fabrication."

"You refused to handle seeing me happy," Jasper continued, his tone thick with fake sympathy. "You grabbed my wrist. You told me you missed our old apartment."

"You grabbed *me*," I countered. I shifted my focus to Celeste. "He waited in the dark. He tried to pull me into his room."

Celeste closed the distance between us. "You think I'm an idiot?"

"I think your fiancé is a liar."

"He is mine," Celeste said, stepping directly into my personal space. "His time, his attention, his loyalty. You are the help."

"I am fully aware of my job title," I said.

"Are you?" She tilted her head. "Because Jasper says you brought up your pathetic history to get a handout."

"He offered me money," I corrected her. "He offered to pay my bills if I went into his room."

Jasper slammed his hand on the table. "Stop lying, Iris! I told you to leave me alone, and you threatened to scream!"

"Check the hallway cameras," I challenged her.

Jasper shifted in his chair. "The cameras in the servants' wing have been down for maintenance all week, Iris. You know that. That's why you chose that spot."

He had planned this. When I rejected him last night, he sprinted to Celeste to spin the narrative first.

"He is manipulating you," I told her.

"Did you really think I would choose you over him?" Celeste asked, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

"I don't want him," I said.

"Everyone wants him. But he belongs to me."

"Then keep him on a shorter leash."

Celeste swung her arm.

The impact snapped my head to the side. A sharp, stinging heat exploded across my left cheek. The crack of her palm against my skin echoed off the vaulted ceiling.

I tasted copper. I kept my feet planted.

"You filthy little rat," Celeste spat. "I gave you a job. I let you into my home to pay for your mother's hospital bills. And you try to seduce my future husband?"

"I didn't touch him."

"Shut your mouth!" Celeste grabbed my chin, her nails digging into my jawline. "Jasper told me everything. He rejected you, and you threatened to make a scene."

I stared at her, ignoring the throbbing pain in my face.

Celeste shoved me backward. "The only manipulator here is the desperate maid trying to claw her way out of poverty. Mrs. Gable!"

The head maid stepped into the room. "Yes, Miss White."

"Iris is off her regular duties today," Celeste announced, glaring at me. "She will clean every floor-to-ceiling window in the conservatory and the grand hall. Inside and out."

"That requires a three-person crew, miss," Mrs. Gable pointed out.

"She does it alone," Celeste snapped. "Then, she will hand-wash all the silk bedding from the master suite. Use the washboards in the basement. I want it done the old-fashioned way."

"Yes, miss."

"And one more thing." Celeste smiled, a cruel, satisfied expression. "Iris does not eat today. No breakfast, no lunch, no dinner. If anyone gives her a single crumb, they pack their bags."

"Understood," Mrs. Gable said.

Celeste turned her back to me. "Get this trash out of my sight."

Mrs. Gable led me to the supply closet. She handed me a heavy plastic bucket and a squeegee.

"Start in the conservatory," the older woman ordered.

"He lied to her," I said, grabbing the handle.

"My paycheck relies on my silence, Iris. Yours should too. Get to work."

I carried the supplies to the conservatory. The morning sun glared through the massive glass panels, mocking the dull ache in my cheek. My face felt swollen, the skin tight and hot.

I climbed the step stool and started scrubbing.

Two hours passed. My shoulders burned. The bucket felt like it weighed fifty pounds.

A pair of maids, Clara and Maya, walked past carrying fresh floral arrangements.

"Excuse me," I said, stepping down from the stool. "Can I use that spare rag?"

Clara pulled the cloth away. "Use your own rag."

"Mine is filthy."

"Not as filthy as a woman who steals another woman's man," Maya muttered.

"I didn't steal anyone," I said, keeping my voice level.

"Don't look at me," Clara sneered. "Keep your eyes on the glass. Miss White gave strict orders. No one helps the homewrecker."

"We all heard what happened in the dining room," Maya added. "You threw yourself at Mr. Jasper. You're pathetic."

They walked away, leaving me alone with the dirty water.

I gritted my teeth. I dipped my sponge back into the bucket and climbed the stool again.

By two in the afternoon, my stomach twisted into violent knots. The hunger pangs were sharp, gnawing at my ribs. I ignored them. I moved from the conservatory to the grand hall, wiping away streaks and polishing the glass until my arms shook.

At five o'clock, I dragged myself down to the basement laundry room.

A massive pile of silver silk sheets sat on the concrete floor. The water in the utility sink was freezing.

I plunged my hands into the icy basin. The cold bit into my knuckles. The harsh soap stung the micro-cuts on my fingers.

Footsteps echoed on the concrete stairs.

Jasper walked into the dim room, wearing a tailored navy suit. He leaned against the doorway, watching me scrub the expensive fabric.

"I warned you," he said.

"Get out," I replied, not looking up.

"You brought this on yourself, Iris. You should have just listened to me last night. Now look at you. Starving. Swollen."

"I am working. Leave."

He stepped closer, stopping right behind me. "Celeste wanted to fire you and call the domestic agency. She wanted to ruin your mother's treatment plan. I talked her out of it."

I wrung out a pillowcase, twisting the silk with all my strength. "Am I supposed to thank you?"

"You owe me."

I spun around, splashing cold water onto his polished leather shoes. "I owe you nothing."

He reached a hand toward my bruised cheek.

I smacked his wrist away with the wet sponge. "Don't touch me."

"I'm trying to help you," he lied.

"You're trying to control me."

He glanced down at his shoes, his jaw tightening. "You won't survive a month of this."

"Watch me."

"You're stubborn and stupid," Jasper hissed. "I offer you an easy life, and you choose to scrub floors."

"I choose my dignity."

"Dignity doesn't pay hospital bills." He sneered, turning back toward the stairs. "Make sure you get the stains out. Celeste hates water spots."

He walked away.

I turned back to the sink. My vision blurred for a fraction of a second. I blinked hard, forcing the weakness away. I would not cry. I would not give them the satisfaction.

Midnight arrived.

I hung the last silk sheet on the drying rack. My hands were raw, the skin cracked and bleeding around the cuticles. My stomach felt hollow, entirely empty.

I dragged my feet up the stairs and down the dark corridor toward my tiny room.

I unlocked the door and stepped inside.

I froze.

A small, white envelope rested on the center of my thin mattress.

Someone had been in my room.

I locked the door behind me and walked over to the bed. My fingers trembled slightly as I tore the envelope open.

A single photograph slid out, falling onto the blanket.

It was a still image taken from a security camera. The angle looked down on the servants' hallway. It clearly showed Jasper grabbing my wrist, his face twisted in aggression while I pulled away.

The cameras weren't broken.

I flipped the photo over. Neat, black handwriting covered the back.

*You survived the day, Iris. Now bring this to the library in five minutes, or I send the video to Celeste.*

The crystal chandelier cast a harsh glare over the twenty-seat mahogany table.

"Keep the bowls filled, Iris," Mrs. Gable muttered, shoving a heavy silver tureen into my hands. "And don't look anyone in the eye."

"Understood."

Steam rolled off the surface of the lobster bisque. The porcelain handles burned against my raw palms, a lingering reminder of yesterday’s laundry basement.

I stepped into the dining room.

Laughter echoed off the paneled walls. Celeste held a champagne flute, leaning into Jasper’s shoulder. He wore a velvet dinner jacket, his posture stiff but his smile practiced.

At the head of the table sat Hugh White, the family patriarch. To his right sat a man I didn’t recognize.

"Damon, you haven't aged a day since our last venture in Boston," Hugh boomed, raising his glass.

Damon tilted his head. He had sharp features and dark, observant eyes that didn't match the relaxed curve of his mouth. "I just learned how to hide the gray, Hugh."

"Nonsense! You're sharper than ever."

I moved down the line, ladling the scalding orange liquid into gold-rimmed bowls.

"Is this the new girl?" Celeste's voice cut through the chatter.

I kept my focus on the soup.

"She seems a bit slow, doesn't she, Jasper?" Celeste asked, her tone thick with fake concern.

Jasper didn't spare me a glance. "Good help is hard to find."

"Maybe she needs motivation."

I approached Celeste’s chair. The tureen weighed heavy in my grip. The liquid sloshed, bubbling near the brim.

"Serve me from the left, Iris," Celeste ordered. "You know the rules."

I shifted to her left side. I lowered the silver ladle.

Celeste suddenly twisted her torso. She drove her elbow sharply upward, slamming bone directly into my wrist.

The heavy porcelain slipped.

Boiling soup spilled over the edge.

A tidal wave of scalding liquid splashed across my forearm.

Fire erupted across my skin. The sheer heat stripped the breath from my lungs. I clamped my teeth together, trapping the scream in my throat.

The tureen shattered against the hardwood floor.

"Are you blind?!" Celeste shrieked, jumping up from her chair. She brushed a single drop of broth off her designer dress. "You clumsy idiot!"

I gripped my wrist. The skin on my right arm was already turning a violent, angry red. Fluid-filled blisters bubbled to the surface in seconds.

"I'm so sorry, Miss White," I forced out, my voice entirely flat.

An unexpected calm washed over me. I didn't cry. I didn't yell. I just stared at the damage.

"Sorry doesn't fix my dress!" she yelled.

The guests murmured among themselves.

"These agency hires are always so careless," a woman across the table whispered.

"She just dropped it right on her," another man agreed.

I looked at Jasper.

He sat two feet away. He stared at the broken porcelain. He didn't look at my arm. He didn't defend me. He simply picked up his wine glass and took a sip.

"Look at this mess," Celeste continued, pointing a manicured finger at my face. "You can't even handle a simple bowl of soup!"

"You hit my arm," I stated.

The dining room fell dead silent.

Celeste's eyes widened in mock horror. "Excuse me? Are you accusing me of ruining my own dinner party?"

"I am stating a fact."

"Hugh, did you hear this?" she spun toward her grandfather. "She ruins the meal and then calls me a liar!"

Hugh frowned, waving a dismissive hand. "Just get her out of here, Celeste. It’s ruining the appetite."

"Go to the kitchen," Celeste commanded, a victorious smirk playing on her lips. "When we finish, you will scrub this floor until it shines. By yourself."

I turned to leave.

"Hold on."

The deep voice came from the head of the table.

Damon set his napkin down. He didn't look at Celeste. His dark eyes locked entirely on my blistering arm.

"The girl needs ice," Damon said.

"She needs to learn how to do her job," Celeste snapped back.

"Second-degree burns tend to distract from one's duties," Damon replied, his tone polite but unyielding. He met my gaze. "Go run that under cold water."

"Thank you, sir," I whispered.

"Don't thank him!" Celeste stepped into my path. "You don't leave until I dismiss you."

"Celeste," Hugh warned, a rough edge to his voice. "Let the maid go. Damon is right. It's unsightly."

Celeste scowled, stepping aside. "Fine. But you clean this up later, Iris. Every last drop."

I walked out of the dining room.

The kitchen was empty. I turned on the industrial sink, shoving my arm under the freezing stream. The temperature shock sent a violent tremor down my spine.

My skin looked melted. The blisters stretched across my forearm, tight and agonizing.

Jasper's silence replayed in my mind. He watched me burn. He watched her do it.

Two hours later, the grand foyer doors slammed shut. The final guest had departed.

Mrs. Gable marched into the kitchen.

"They're gone," the head maid said, tossing a roll of paper towels onto the counter. "Miss White wants the dining room spotless before you sleep."

"My arm is severely burned," I said, showing her the angry red welts.

"My instructions were clear." Mrs. Gable looked away, her face hardening. "Get it done, Iris."

She left me alone.

I grabbed a bucket and a mop. I dragged them down the hall, every movement pulling at the damaged skin on my arm.

The dining room was a disaster zone. Broken porcelain shards littered the floor. Orange grease stained the expensive rug.

I dropped to my knees.

I picked up the sharpest piece of the tureen. My fingers shook. The pain radiated from my wrist all the way up to my shoulder.

"You didn't cry."

I spun around, dropping the shard.

Damon stood in the doorway. He had lost the dinner jacket. His white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar.

"Guests are supposed to leave through the front, sir," I said, clutching my injured arm against my chest.

"I forgot my coat," he replied, stepping into the room.

"The coat check is in the foyer."

"I know."

He walked closer, his leather shoes silent on the hardwood. He stopped right in front of me, crouching down to my eye level.

"Why didn't you scream?" he asked.

"It wouldn't have changed anything."

"Most people would have caused a scene."

"Miss White wanted a scene. I prefer not to give people what they want."

Damon reached into his pocket. He pulled out a small, white tube of ointment and set it on the floor beside my knee.

"Burn cream," he said. "Apply it after you finish scrubbing."

I stared at the tube. "Why are you giving me this?"

"Because I saw her shove you."

My head snapped up. "You saw?"

"I see a lot of things." Damon stood up, towering over me. The shadows of the chandelier cast sharp angles across his face. "Hugh thinks his granddaughter is a saint. Your ex-boyfriend thinks she's a bank. But you and I know exactly what she is."

I froze. "How do you know about Jasper?"

Damon smiled. A cold, calculating curve of his lips.

"Have a good night, Iris."

He turned and walked out of the room, disappearing into the dark hallway.

I grabbed the tube of cream. The plastic was still warm from his pocket.

My phone vibrated in my apron.

I pulled it out. Another message from the unknown number.

*You missed our meeting in the library. Turn around.*

I whipped my head toward the dark corner of the dining room. A shadow detached itself from the heavy velvet curtains.