Chapter 4: The Mask Comes Off

Soon, it was the first of the month again. I was to serve the young master.

The household felt tense on those nights—the other maids avoided my gaze, whispers crackling like static in the kitchen. Even the air seemed colder, more watchful.

When Mrs. Quinn sent someone to prepare me, she sneered: "Truly a cheap skin. A few slaps and you still haven't healed, but with the gauze scarf, no one will see."

She thrust the gauze at me, her lips twisted in contempt. I wrapped it around my face with trembling hands, the rough fabric scraping my bruised cheek.

"You'd better behave today. If you try any tricks to seduce the young master again, watch your worthless life!"

Her threat landed heavy. I kept my eyes down, the knot in my stomach tightening.

I lowered my eyes and accepted her harsh warning, not daring to show a hint of resistance.

My hands shook as I buttoned my nightgown, the pale cotton thin as tissue. I took one last breath before the door opened, bracing myself for what was to come.

How would I dare to seduce him? In this Carter residence, I used all my strength just to survive. But no one would believe it. Just because I had a good figure, they branded me a vixen, a temptress.

I remembered the looks I’d gotten from the other maids—the jealousy, the suspicion. No one saw the fear, the loneliness. Only the body they envied.

When we were alone, the young master suddenly brought up the matter:

"That day—was the handkerchief embroidered by you?"

His voice was softer than I expected. The question caught me off guard. My hands twisted in the bedsheets, heart hammering.

Of course the handkerchief was my work. When I had nothing to do in the Carter estate, I would secretly make small things to amuse myself. I never embroidered much, just a lily pad in the corner.

I’d learned to keep my hands busy—quilting, darning, anything to feel useful. That lily pad was a memory of home, of simpler times.

My mind went blank; I didn't know how to answer. I hesitated, stammered, then looked away before I could only lie: "No... no, it was embroidered by the rough maid Hannah in the backyard..."

The lie tasted bitter. I held my breath, hoping he wouldn’t press further.

Even if the young master wanted to know, he would never lower himself to ask a rough maid, would he?

He was too proud, too distant, for such things. I prayed he’d let it drop.

The man's gentle eyes were tinged with red as he said softly, "Hannah?"

I froze, the name hanging in the air like smoke.

I trembled, turning my head away, not daring to look at him. Hannah was my former name. Now, by mistake, he had learned it.

My heart stuttered. That name was a lifeline to a life I’d lost. Hearing it now, from his lips, was a shock I wasn’t prepared for.

I flushed with embarrassment. Henry Carter's gaze grew deeper.

There was something in his eyes—a question, a sadness—that made my breath catch. I looked away, cheeks burning.

Under the swaying willow branches, I seemed to return to the pond of my childhood. I sat in a wooden tub, picking lily pods, while my mother called me home for dinner from the distant farmhouse. Back then, I was just a carefree child. Back then, I never knew my fate would be like this. So peaceful, so beautiful.

The memory washed over me—a lazy summer afternoon, the smell of grass and pond water, my mother’s voice floating through the air. I almost smiled, lost in the warmth of it.

I was lost in a daze, as if in a dream.

For a moment, the mansion faded away, and I was Hannah again, not some shadow in the Carter estate.

Suddenly, my face felt cold, and I snapped back to reality. I hurried to protect the gauze covering my face.

My hands shot up, clutching the gauze desperately.

"No... Mr. Carter... you will die..."

My words tumbled out, more desperate than before. I could hear the fear in my voice, the secret pounding in my chest.

Henry Carter just thought I was being coy. He laughed softly against my neck: "Honestly, I feel like I've died a thousand times."

His laugh was low, warm against my skin. For a second, I almost believed I was just a girl and he was just a boy, and none of this was real.

But in the next instant, my hands were pinned to the bed. "Let me see what kind of lily face you truly have—is it as lovely as they say?"

His voice was teasing, tempting, and gentle.

My breath came fast, panic and hope mixing in my chest. The air was thick with the scent of snow and cologne.

Before I could react, the gauze on my face was torn away.

The fabric slipped from my face, and the world seemed to hold its breath. For the first time, I was seen—not as a shadow or a secret, but as myself.

The door burst open, the sound echoing down the marble halls. Someone was coming—and this time, there’d be no hiding.