Chapter 2

Duke said nothing as he led her up the stone steps, his grip firm around her arm. Daphne’s heart pounded with every step, her eyes flicking between the gilded walls and silent guards who lined the hallways like statues.

The deeper they went, the heavier the air became. The scent of polished wood and something darker—old blood, maybe—hung in her nose. She felt like a lamb being led to a lion’s den.

Duke finally stopped before a massive double door carved with wolves and moons. Without ceremony, he pushed it open and guided her inside.

Lord Archie sat behind a dark mahogany desk, sunlight slicing across his face through tall windows. His eyes lifted to hers—sharp, unreadable, like steel behind glass.

“Sit,” Lord Archie commanded.

Daphne hesitated but obeyed.

“Do you know why you’re here?” he asked, voice cold and sharp. “Do you have any idea what your father did to me?”

She stared at him blankly, without responding.

He glared at her, frustrated by her silence.

“Elli!” he called.

“Yes, my Lord!” Elli appeared at once, slightly out of breath.

“Take this girl to the servants’ quarters. She’ll be my personal maid from now on.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Elli responded with a respectful nod.

“Come along, dear. We need to get you settled.”

As they walked, Elli explained, “Every servant has their own room. This one is yours. Make sure to clean it well. I’ll assign your duties tomorrow, so get some rest—you’ll need all the strength you can gather.”

Daphne nodded silently as Elli left her alone in the small, plain room.

⸻

Meanwhile, the Lady with the Iron grip from before walked briskly down the corridor leading to Lord Archie’s chambers. Her mind buzzed with suspicion.

“Who is this new girl? I need to see for myself.”

In her haste, she collided with Elli, knocking the basket of fruit from her hands.

“Sorry, my Lady. I didn’t see you—”

A sharp slap landed across Elli’s cheek, cutting her sentence short and making her ears ring.

“Are you blind, you old, dirty hag?” She spat. “You think being head maid makes you important? Don’t fool yourself. If not for Lord Archie, I would’ve had the guards whip you. Look at my dress—it’s ruined. Disgusting!”

Elli stood still, her head bowed, as She strutted away like royalty.

⸻

“My Lord, it’s Lady Pearl. Shall I let her in?” the guard announced.

“Yes,” came the calm, deep voice from within.

Pearl entered, a bright smile stretched across her face.

“Greetings, my Lord,” she purred.

Lord Archie gave a silent nod, his eyes fixed on the stars outside the tall window, showing little interest in her presence.

Not one to give up easily, Pearl glided across the room, pressing her body against his back as she whispered into his ear.

“You must be tired from your trip… Let me ease your stress.”

In one swift motion, Lord Archie turned and grabbed her chin with a firm hand, pulling her into a fierce kiss. Pearl moaned into his mouth, surrendering to the intensity of his touch as his hand explored her body with demanding roughness.

“On the bed. Now,” he ordered.

Her heart raced with satisfaction—he wanted her. Slowly, she undid the lace of her dress, watching his gaze darken. She savored the moment.

Lord Archie stepped forward and tore the dress from her body in a single, powerful yank, leaving her bare. Pearl smiled, loving his aggressive touch. She pressed her lips to his again, their kiss becoming deeper, hungrier. He paused briefly, allowing her to catch her breath.

“On all fours,” he said.

With a wicked smile, Pearl obeyed, positioning herself on the bed, completely exposed to him.

Without warning, he entered her with brutal force. She cried out, not in pain, but in pleasure, lost in the intensity of the moment.

As they moved together, a thought returned to Pearl’s mind—the girl. Now seemed like the perfect time.

“My Lord,” she began breathlessly, “about the new girl—who is she?”

“A new maid,” he replied curtly.

Unsettled by the vague answer, she pushed further.

“But there are already so many maids. Why bring in another?”

“This is my house,” he snapped. “I decide who stays and who goes. I’ve warned you not to question my decisions.”

“Get out,” he barked.

“But… my Lord, we’re not done—”

“I said OUT. NOW.”

Pearl didn’t wait another second. She scrambled for her torn dress, clutching it to her chest as she fled the room—humiliated and furious.

“How much I despise him…” she seethed inwardly, her jaw tightening. He probably thinks he’s some god. The anger in her eyes was unmistakable, burning hot and untamed.

Her steps were swift and purposeful, heels clicking against the marble floor as she raised her chin high—daring any maid to meet her gaze. None did. At the sight of her, they bowed their heads, retreating into silence, too frightened to risk her wrath.

Inside her chamber, her maid Lolita was dusting the window panes when the door creaked open. She didn’t need a soothsayer to know who it was. She turned and immediately bowed low.

But as she raised her head, her heart sank.

Mistress Pearl stood before her—clothes torn, eyes bloodshot with fury. Lolita’s breath caught. One wrong move could cost her dearly.

Without a word, she rushed into the bathroom, her hands trembling as she filled the tub. She added honey, milk, and a few sweet-scented petals, just as her mistress liked it. The scent of lavender and jasmine rose with the steam.

She stepped out, head bowed. “Your bath is ready, my lady.”

Pearl stood still, silent. Lolita moved behind her, awaiting permission to help her undress.

“Go on.”

The command was soft, but sharp—like a blade hidden in silk.

When the last piece of fabric slipped to the floor, Pearl strode into the bathroom. Lolita followed, clutching a towel and oils. Pearl dipped a hand into the water, then suddenly spun around and slapped her hard across the face.

Lolita staggered, the sting of the blow burning her cheek.

“Did I say I wanted cold water?” Pearl snarled. “Get warm water. From the kitchen.”

Tears brimmed in Lolita’s eyes, but she bowed. “Yes, my lady.”

⸻

Moments later, she returned, breathless and holding a bucket of steaming water—only to find Pearl already in the tub.

She watched in silence as her mistress rose, water streaming down her pale skin. Lolita moved quickly, dabbing her dry, then smoothing oils across her skin with practiced hands.

Pearl said nothing. When it was time to dress, she picked a red flower-embroidered gown and held it up. Lolita waited, and only when Pearl gave a nod did she slip it over her.

“I’m going out for air. Don’t follow me.”

The command was final.

Pearl swept out of the chamber, her presence as sharp and suffocating as a storm.

⸻

A little way down the walkway, three maids stood whispering, unaware of how close danger lurked.

“Mistress Pearl always acts like she’s royalty,” one scoffed.

“She’s not even Lord Archie’s wife—just a mistress.”

“What if she was his mate?” the third whispered.

The others burst into cruel laughter.

“Please! If she were his mate, he’d have claimed her by now. He doesn’t even look at her.”

Behind them, Pearl stood still as stone, their words slicing into her pride. Her hands clenched at her sides.

“Are you done talking?” she asked coldly.