Four years.
That's how long it's been since my parents died, and still, no one has investigated what happened to them.
I caught my reflection in the silver tray I was scrubbing, the metal gleaming beneath my hands.
"Today's my eighteenth birthday," I whispered, "but who even cares?"
Laughter echoed from the main hall loud, bright, sharp, and impossible to ignore. I paused, wiping sweat from my forehead, just as Beatrice's shrill voice sliced through the noise.
"Rose!" she snapped. "Stop daydreaming and polish those glasses properly. The visitors will be here any minute. And the Steele family is coming. Everything must be perfect."
"Yes, Aunt Beatrice," I replied quietly, setting the tray aside.
She swept past me, her silk gown dragging along the floor, perfume thick and heavy in the air. Around us, the maids rushed from one end of the room to the other—carrying dishes, arranging flowers, polishing the already spotless floor for the hundredth time.
Today was also Samantha's birthday.
Not mine.
Never mine.
Even though our birthdays were just a day apart, Aunt Beatrice never let me forget my place. I was the helper, the extra mouth, the orphan they took in out of pity.
"Make sure the cake is perfect," Beatrice ordered, pointing at the towering white designer cake on the table. "And tell the maids not to touch anything until the guests arrive. Understand?"
"Yes, ma'am," I murmured.
She shot me a look full of irritation. "And, Rose, try not to be seen too much tonight. We don't want anyone thinking we keep untidy servants."
I nodded, my throat tight. "Yes, ma'am."
She walked away, her heels clicking sharply on the tiles, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
Happy birthday to me, I whispered, trying to convince myself I didn't care.
The Party Begins
By the time the guests arrived, the house sparkled like a palace. Chandeliers spilled golden light across the marble floors, music floated through the air, and everyone seemed to be smiling, everyone except me.
I stood in the corner, invisible, clutching a tray of drinks I wasn't allowed to taste.
Samantha stood at the center of attention, her long hair shining beneath the lights. Nathan laughed beside her, charming and confident as always. Uncle Albert hovered near the bar, greeting guests with that practiced businesslike smile he only wore on special occasions.
The room buzzed with excitement.
The Steeles were coming.
"They're here!" someone hissed.
Instantly, every head turned as three figures entered the hall.
An elderly woman led the way, silver hair pulled back, gray eyes sharp and commanding. Her navy gown flowed elegantly as she leaned on a cane that looked more like a scepter.
Beside her was a woman in a crisp white suit, elegant, but distant. Her beauty had a coldness that made people pull back without knowing why.
Behind them was a tall boy around my age, his dark hair falling over his forehead, his eyes a deep, thoughtful brown.
"Dominic couldn't attend," the elderly woman announced, her voice carrying effortlessly across the room. "But he sends his regards."
Even without him present, his name sent a wave through the crowd.
"That man is incredible," someone whispered.
"Ruthless but brilliant," another added.
"He saved the company after his father's death."
"They say he kept the city's economy from collapsing."
"And yet… he's never been seen with a woman."
I tried to tune them out, but the words slipped inside anyway.
Dominic Steele.
Even his name felt heavy.
I'd seen his picture once in a magazine: sharp jaw, cold eyes, the kind of man who looked like he didn't tolerate weakness. They said he built empires from ashes and destroyed anyone who crossed him.
Fearless.
Heartless.
Untouchable.
Then my breath caught.
The boy who walked in with them… he was the one from the hallway at St. Helena's. The one who told me not everyone was happy about my parents' death.
I blinked, stunned, the tray trembling in my hands.
"Please, Mrs. Steele, welcome," Uncle Albert said with a stretched smile. "It's an honor to have you all here."
The old woman gave a thin smile. "Thank you, Albert. It's been a long time since I attended one of your family gatherings."
"Grandmother!" Samantha sang sweetly, stepping forward. "I'm so happy you could come."
Margaret Steele nodded politely, her eyes sweeping from Samantha to the crowd, then stopping on me. Her sharp gaze softened, almost curious.
Beatrice swooped in instantly. "Rose! Why are you standing there? Get back to the kitchen."
"Yes, ma'am." I turned, but a voice stopped me.
"Rose?"
It was him.
He was taller now, his voice deeper but still gentle. His eyes held the same quiet emptiness as the day he warned me.
"You remember me?" he asked, stepping closer.
I hesitated. "Yes… You were at my school, right?"
He smiled faintly. "You're still the same. You look less lost, though."
"I… didn't expect to see you here."
"My grandmother insisted I come," he said. "It's my uncle's business, after all."
"Dominic Steele," I said softly. "Your uncle."
His smile faded. "Yes."
"Rose!" Beatrice's voice cut through the room like a blade. "Are you deaf? I told you to get back to work!"
I froze. "Yes, ma'am. Sorry, I…"
"Sorry, don't serve drinks," she hissed. "Put down that tray before you spill it."
Alex stepped between us, brow tightening. "She wasn't doing anything wrong."
Beatrice's eyes sharpened. "And who are you, young man, to tell my maid what to do?"
Margaret Steele's voice floated over smoothly. "Beatrice, that young man is Alex Steele. Dominic's nephew."
Beatrice paled instantly. "O…oh, I didn't realize… Mr. Alex, please forgive me."
"No harm done," Alex said plainly.
Margaret turned her attention back to me. "What did you say her name was?"
"Rose," Beatrice muttered. "She's a distant relative. We took her in after her parents died."
"Ah." Margaret studied me quietly. "Polite girl. She reminds me of someone I once knew."
Beatrice forced a smile. "She's… helpful around the house."
"I'm sure she is," Margaret murmured. "Now, shall we sit?"
Uncle Albert immediately took a seat. "I was hoping to speak with Mr. Dominic Steele today… about business."
Their voices faded. The laughter, music, glittering chandeliers all blurred together.
I slipped quietly into the hallway, my tray empty, my heart heavy.
My birthday.
My eighteenth birthday.
And I spent it scrubbing silver and serving strangers.
As distant laughter echoed through the corridors, I pressed a hand to my chest and whispered to myself:
"Maybe birthdays aren't meant for people like me."