Chapter 2 Glass and Blood
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"Get out of my sight."
The old man's voice roared through the hallway like a thunderclap, sharp and final. Heira didn't flinch not because it didn't hurt, but because she no longer had the strength to show it did. Her eyes, once bright with curiosity and hope, were now hollow. Lifeless. Without another word, she turned away, her movements slow and heavy, dragging her numb body like a broken shell toward the servants' quarters.
Each step felt like walking through molasses. She didn't look back. What was the point? Everything she had what little she still clung to in hope had already been taken. Her belongings, her dignity, her place in this family. Gone. Her father hadn't even bothered to ask where she'd sleep. No one had.
She tried not to cry, but her chest ached from the pressure of it all. She wondered if her things small pieces of a life now erased had been tossed out or hidden away. Maybe even burned. But what would be the point in looking for them? She knew better now. This was a losing battle. One she'd already lost the moment she stepped back into the house that no longer welcomed her.
When she finally reached the servants' quarters, the sight of the empty bed nearly broke her. It wasn't hers not really but for now, it was all she had. She collapsed onto it, the mattress hard and uninviting, but she didn't care. She cried, muffling the sound in the pillow, not wanting anyone to hear. Not because she was ashamed of crying but because they'd enjoy it. She cried until sleep took her, dreamless and cold.
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Morning never came gently in the Darnell household. There was no soft light creeping in through curtains. No birdsong. Just cruelty. Cold, harsh, unrelenting cruelty.
A splash of freezing water hit her full in the face, jerking her violently out of sleep.
She gasped, scrambling upright, drenched and disoriented. Her heart pounded, and there wasn't a single trace of sleep left in her eyes. All she could feel was the icy shock biting into her skin.
She blinked, eyes darting toward the source. A young woman stood at the foot of the bed, a sneer twisting her lips, a metal bucket still in hand.
"You're awake," she said flatly. "Finally."
Heira didn't have to ask who she was. She already knew.
Calliope.
The newly adopted daughter. The family's fresh darling. Younger, prettier, nastier.
"I wouldn't have wasted my time waking someone like you, but mom insisted," Calliope said with a bored shrug. "You're lucky she still has a soft spot for you. Not that I understand why."
She tossed the empty bucket onto the ground with a clang.
"Chop chop. Get moving. You're getting a maid's uniform, and you're in charge of cleaning my room and mom's room. I want it spotless—sparkling. Like your pathetic life depends on it." Her grin curled wider. "Because maybe it does."
Heira said nothing. She only stood, water dripping from her soaked clothes from the day before she hadn't even changed out of the clothes she came back from prison with, trying not to shiver, not to show even a sliver of weakness. But inside, her stomach twisted in humiliation. It wasn't enough to exile her into the shadows they wanted to grind her dignity into the floor with every step.
She accepted the maid uniform wordlessly from another servant, disappearing into the bathroom. When she returned, her hair was slicked tightly into a bun, her uniform crisp, her face set with quiet resolve.
She didn't cry again.
She wouldn't give them the satisfaction.
Gathering the cleaning supplies, Heira moved toward the rooms when a low, chilling voice stopped her in her tracks.
"Well, look who's grown thicker skin. No greeting for your brother?"
She froze.
William.
Her older brother. The heir. The golden child. They had never gotten along, not even before everything fell apart. There was always something sharp in his words always a challenge, a jab, a test she couldn't win.
She turned to face him slowly. There was no warmth in his eyes. No recognition. Just a calculating stare, as if he were waiting for her to stumble. To beg.
"Good morning, sir," she said flatly, her voice even. Then she turned and walked away before he could respond.
She cleaned both rooms in silence. Her mother's room first. The scent of lavender and roses was the same, but the feeling inside wasn't. It used to be a safe space a refuge. Now it felt like a stranger's room.
Then Calliope's.
Heira scrubbed every corner, folded every item, arranged everything just as it should be. She worked until her arms ached and her knees burned. By the time she finished, it was well past noon.
Still, there was no rest.
She made her way back to the servants' quarters where laundry waited in piles. Without a word, she knelt and began to wash. Her hands turned raw against the fabric and soap, but she kept going. She was hanging the clothes to dry when the scream came.
"Heiraaaaaa! Come here NOW!"
Calliope's voice rang through the halls like a siren of doom.
Heira didn't hesitate. She ran.
When she entered the room, her breath caught in her throat. The entire space was destroyed. The bed was overturned, drawers ripped open, perfume bottles shattered across the floor. The scent was suffocating floral, sweet, and sickening.
She barely had a moment to register the chaos before something flew at her.
A perfume bottle.
She dodged just in time, but not entirely. The glass grazed her forehead, slicing the skin, and crashed into the mirror behind her. The mirror exploded, shards raining to the ground, tiny glittering knives.
The sting was instant. Her legs were cut. Blood trickled down in thin streams.
Still, Heira stood tall.
She wouldn't flinch.
"Are you stupid or just pretending?" Calliope snapped. "I told you to clean this room, and I come back to this? What exactly do you do here? Sleep and laze around?"
Heira didn't answer.
Calliope stepped closer, eyes flashing with malice.
"And to make matters worse, I can't find the wad of cash I left in the drawer. Funny how things start to go missing right when you show up." She folded her arms. "Back from jail, and already back to your old habits? Honestly, you must miss prison. Maybe I should help you go back."
Still, Heira ignored the threat choosing to remain silent. Not because she had nothing to say, but because nothing she said would matter. Calliope didn't want truth. She wanted a target.
"Well?" Calliope barked.
Nothing.
Furious, she hissed, "Clean up this mess. With your hands. I want every shard of glass picked up. And if I come back and see even one speck out of place, I'll make sure Father hears about the money. Let's see how generous he is next time."
She slammed the door behind her as she left.
Heira stood frozen in the middle of the destruction. Her legs ached. Her head throbbed. Blood trickled steadily down her brow and along her calves, red against pale skin.
Still, she knelt.
She picked up the shards one by one, her fingers trembling as fresh cuts bloomed across her palms. The pain was sharp, but the humiliation was worse.
By the time she was finished, her hands were shaking, blood mixing with glass and perfume on the floor. She swept, mopped, scrubbed until the room was spotless.
When she returned to the servants' quarters, she didn't say a word to anyone. She poured warm water into a bowl, adding disinfectant and bleach. Her hands hovered above the bowl for a moment. She knew what was coming.
She plunged them in.
The pain was instant. White-hot. Agonizing.
She clenched her teeth, the sting lashing through every nerve ending. Tears welled in her eyes, but she didn't let them fall. She tilted her head back, blinking rapidly, trying to keep them contained.
No one would see her cry again.
Not if she could help it.