Liora had never seen Mr. Ambrose straighten so fast.

The moment her mother’s voice echoed through the room, his shoulders squared and his expression snapped into obedience. Liora rose from her kneeling position just as quickly, turning her face away and lifting a hand to hide her eyes. She prayed her mother wouldn’t notice the redness, the faint shine of tears she hadn’t fully wiped away.

“I asked a question.”

Her mother’s sharp tone sliced through the air. Liora felt it before she saw it—the weight of that stare, cold and assessing.

“What exactly were you doing?” her mother demanded, eyes narrowing slightly. What is she thinking now?

“Nothing, Mother,” Liora replied softly, keeping her gaze fixed on the floor.

“That didn’t look like nothing to me.” Her mother scoffed, already dismissing the answer. “Anyway—Ambrose, go and get the maids to set the table. We have important guests coming.”

Liora’s head snapped up before she could stop herself.

Guests.

“Mother… what guests?”

“Don’t ask stupid questions.” Her mother turned fully toward her now. “Go and freshen up. You’ll be downstairs for dinner shortly.”

Liora rejected it instantly—quietly, internally—but she didn’t dare say it aloud. Whenever guests came over, it was never pleasant. It was always middle-aged men who looked at her for too long, or women who examined her like a flaw that needed correcting. The first time she had spoken up, her parents had told her to behave.

“But—”

Her words died in her throat as her mother stepped closer.

“Don’t you even think of defying me,” she said lowly. “You will get ready. You will come down for dinner.” A pause. “You have no choice.”

Her mother turned toward the door, then stopped.

“Dress nice.”

“Yes, Mother.”

The door slammed shut behind her, the sound echoing louder than necessary. Liora flinched, staring at it for a moment.

“My poor door,” she murmured.

Several minutes passed before she finally moved.

She went into the bathroom and shut the door behind her. The water ran as she undressed, the sound filling the space while she stepped into the bath. She scrubbed herself slowly, methodically, as if she could wash away the tightness in her chest, the sting behind her eyes, the weight of her mother’s voice still pressing down on her.

When she was done, she wrapped herself in a towel and stood there for a moment, breathing, steadying herself getting ready. Only then did she return to her room and face the mirror.

The girl staring back at her looked… acceptable.

Liora adjusted the fall of the emerald green dress, smoothing invisible creases and tilting her head slightly. The fabric hugged her well enough, rich in color, modest in cut.

Mother said to dress nice, she reminded herself.

Her hair was pinned up—simple, tidy, restrained. Nothing bold. Nothing that could invite criticism. Just enough to please.

A knock came at the door.

Mr. Ambrose peeked in moments later, informing her that her parents were already waiting downstairs. Liora slipped into her black heels and followed him out, her steps measured, controlled.

By the time she reached the dining room, her posture was perfect.

The dining room was already prepared, quiet and expectant. The long dining table gleamed beneath the chandelier, every place setting but untouched. Her Mother sat at the head of the table, composed and upright, her presence commanding even in silence. At the opposite end , Liora’s Father occupied his seat, a glass of wine already in his hand.

Liora took a chair along the side, neither too close nor too far, a position that allowed her presence without inviting attention.

“About time,” her mother remarked, eyes flicking over her appearance with practiced disapproval.

“I’m sorry—”

“Save it,” her father said, lifting a glass of white wine. “Our guests will be here any minute. Behave.”

A glass had been set out for her as well, but she had no intention of touching it.

Voices sounded from the hallway.

Mr. Ambrose soon returned, leading a middle-aged couple into the room. Not just them—two young women followed closely behind. Around her age.

Liora stood immediately, mirroring her parents as they greeted the guests with warm smiles. She forced one of her own onto her face.

It didn’t take long to notice it.

The two girls were staring at her.

Not curious. Not polite.

Evaluating.

They looked so alike that it was obvious they were sisters, but what unsettled Liora more was the way their eyes lingered—expectant, dismissive, as though she were meant to serve them.

She looked away.

“And who might this be?” Mrs. Williams asked pleasantly.

“Our daughter, Liora,” her mother said smoothly. “Liora, say hello to Mr. and Mrs. Williams, and their daughters—Mia and Celeste.”

That look followed.

Say it properly.

“Nice to meet you,” Liora said, offering a restrained smile.

Mrs. Williams smiled back, warm enough. Mr. Williams remained stoic. The daughters merely exchanged glances, their lips curling slightly.

Chairs scraped softly as the Williams family settled in, their presence subtly shifting the balance of the room.

Dinner began soon after.

To Liora’s surprise, it went smoothly. No lingering looks. No remarks about her posture or appearance. She relaxed just a little.

“Maybe we can finish dinner and say our goodbyes.”

“Excuse us,” Mia said suddenly, her tone polite enough to pass. “We’d like to use the bathroom. Could Liora show us where it is?”

Liora froze.

She waited—hoped—that her mother would ask a maid instead.

“Of course,” her mother said easily. “Liora, darling, please show them the way.”

Her stomach sank.

“Yes, Mother,” Liora replied, rising. “Please follow me.”

The sisters stood immediately. Too quickly.

You’re overthinking, she told herself as she led them down the hallway.

She entered the bathroom first.

The sound of the lock clicking shut echoed loudly behind her.

Liora turned slowly.

“Liora, is it?” Mia said, her smile sharp. “Honestly, we expected more when we heard we’d be dining with the Fontaine family.”

Celeste laughed softly. “No wonder they don’t bring you out to social events. They’re clearly embarrassed of you.”

Liora swallowed. “Please, we can just—”

“Oh, shut up.”

Celeste shoved her without warning.

Liora cried out as she hit the floor, pain shooting up her hip. The impact knocked the breath from her lungs. For a moment, she just remained there, wishing she could disappear.

The sisters crouched down to her level, their expressions amused.

“Don’t speak when we’re talking,” Mia said coolly. “Next time, listen.”

Celeste smirked. “We’re done here. Just thought we’d give a proper introduction.”

They stood and left, their laughter trailing down the hallway.

Liora dragged herself toward the wall, resting against it as her breathing steadied. Her body ached, but the heaviness in her chest hurt worse.

She forced herself up.

If she stayed away too long, there would be questions. And questions never ended well.

She opened the bathroom door.

“Ma’am.”