Chapter 3: Dance with Danger

For the Harvest Gala, Mr. Whitmore wanted to celebrate with the household. The matriarch announced that everyone must perform a talent at the party.

The announcement sent the mansion into a frenzy. Seamstresses worked overtime, musicians tuned their instruments, and the kitchens filled with nervous laughter and whispered bets.

I heard the Lady was furious in her suite. The matriarch clearly wanted the women to compete for favor. Let the games begin.

She smashed a vase, according to the gossip, but there was nothing she could do. The matriarch’s word was law.

In this house, even the Lady had to bow to someone.

On the day of the gala, I prepared a girl-group dance.

It was risky, but I figured fortune favors the bold. I gathered a few of the younger women, taught them the moves, and tried not to laugh at their shocked faces.

Mr. Whitmore had seen every kind of traditional performance, and classic styles were hard to make truly captivating. I didn’t have other talents, so I came up with the idea of a girl group dance.

I pulled inspiration from music videos I’d watched back in my old life, blending modern pop with the elegance they expected. The effect was electric. They’d never seen anything like it.

I even drew sketches and had the seamstresses make costumes like those from the twenty-first century.

The seamstresses gossiped about the short skirts and flashy fabrics, but I just winked and told them to trust me.

I might not be the smartest time traveler, but I was still from the modern world. In a mansion full of women scheming for favor, even a few tricks from my own era were enough to catch Mr. Whitmore’s eye. Sometimes, that’s all it takes.

Besides, I was already his consort.

I had nothing left to lose.

So, at the Harvest Gala, I successfully caught his attention.

The music started, and all eyes were on me. I danced like my life depended on it—because, in a way, it did. I felt every stare.

That night, Mr. Whitmore summoned me to see him.

The summons came with a silk ribbon and a single white rose. My hands shook as I tied the ribbon in my hair. This was it.

He asked, “What kind of dance was that? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

His voice was low, curious. I could see the gears turning in his head.

Acting coy, I said, “It’s a dance from a tribe in Silver Hollow. I thought it was fun, so I learned it. Do you like it?”

I bit my lip and looked up at him through my lashes, playing the part he expected.

He said, “I do.”

He leaned in, his eyes dark. I fought the urge to flinch away.

“From now on, you’re only allowed to dance it for me!”

It was half command, half plea. I nodded, smiling sweetly.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, all innocent and flirtatious.

I could feel his pulse racing beneath my fingertips. I hated myself for it, but I didn’t let go.

“Alright, I’ll only dance for you!”

My voice was breathless, full of promise. He grinned, satisfied.

Just like that, I became Mr. Whitmore’s favorite.

Overnight.

For a whole month, he spent a third of his nights with me.

The staff started calling me the "rising star" behind my back. I pretended not to hear.

Even though I was disgusted—sick to my stomach—and took a birth control pill every day, I still fawned over him, refusing to let my sister’s death be in vain. My stomach twisted every time he touched me, but I forced myself to smile.

As long as I could make the Lady suffer, I’d do anything—no matter how revolting. Anything.

As expected, the Lady couldn’t tolerate Mr. Whitmore favoring someone she disapproved of. After his third visit, she began punishing me—making me kneel at morning greetings, copy Bible verses, or carry scalding tea. I endured it all without a single complaint in front of Mr. Whitmore.

Her punishments were creative, but I never gave her the satisfaction of seeing me break. Not once.

The autumn weather was crisp and clear, perfect for soaking up a little sun in the garden. I was looking for a quiet spot and unexpectedly ran into the Lady.

The sunlight filtered through the trees, painting golden patterns on the grass. I almost believed I could disappear into the light. Almost.

She was accompanied by several women, led by Victoria Langley.

Victoria’s laughter rang out like a bell, sharp and clear. She moved with the confidence of someone who’d never heard the word "no."

They said she was one of the few women the Lady could tolerate, and the first among the new selections to bear a child.

Her family was old money, her manners impeccable. She was the kind of woman who made enemies without even trying.

She was also one of those responsible for my sister’s suffering. I would never forget.

She entered the mansion with my sister, but was much smarter—she immediately aligned herself with the Lady and quickly became favored. The Lady, usually jealous, tolerated her because she was obedient and her family served the Langley clan.

She knew which side her bread was buttered on. Loyalty was just another bargaining chip in this house.

Once favored, she became pregnant and gave birth to a daughter, securing her status. A year ago, she was pregnant again, and at five months, the doctors started hinting it was a boy.

Everyone in the house held their breath, waiting for the next heir.

Mr. Whitmore’s first son—how precious would that be?

The answer was: priceless. The whole estate buzzed with anticipation.

He was overjoyed and promised to make her a consort if she gave birth to a son. That’s all it took.

But then she lost the baby.

The news hit the house like a thunderclap. Whispers turned to accusations in the blink of an eye.

All the evidence pointed to my sister.

It was too convenient, too neat. I knew a setup when I saw one. I’d seen it before.

My sister was accused of killing Victoria’s child, and further investigation linked her to previous miscarriages and deaths among the women.

She became the villain of the story, the scapegoat for every tragedy.

Mr. Whitmore was enraged and handed my sister over to the Lady.

His anger was cold, calculated. He never raised his voice, but everyone felt the chill.

The Lady, in her mercy, didn’t take my sister’s life—instead, she had her limbs cut off, eyes gouged out, tongue pulled out, turned her into a living remnant, and sent her home.

Mercy. The word tasted like ashes in my mouth. Mercy. Yeah, right.

Thinking of this, I clenched my fists. Victoria noticed and raised an eyebrow. “Oh, isn’t this the Silver Hollow girl who danced at the Harvest Gala?”

Her voice was syrupy sweet, but her eyes were like broken glass.

“Come on, Silver Hollow girl, dance for us and the Lady!”

She snapped her fingers, as if I were a trained monkey.

The other women laughed. “Yeah, that dance was something. Show us again!”

Their laughter was cruel, echoing off the garden walls. I kept my face blank.

“What’s so special? Just a cheap trick to seduce the boss.”

Their words stung, but I didn’t let it show.

“Exactly. Remember what she wore that day? Her waist was bare—must’ve learned it from the lowest clubs!”

They snickered, nudging each other. I could feel their eyes crawling over my skin.

…

I could’ve snapped. Instead… I wasn’t angry, just said, “If he likes it, I only dance for him!”

My words hung in the air, silencing them. The Lady’s eyes narrowed, her lips pressed into a thin line.

That shut them up. The Lady’s face turned cold. “The Silver Hollow girl is getting cocky!”

Her voice was like ice cracking. I felt a shiver run down my spine.

At her words, Victoria stepped forward and slapped me hard across the face. “How dare you be disrespectful in front of the Lady!”

Stars exploded behind my eyes. My cheek burned, but I didn’t flinch.

I lowered my eyes and knelt. “Please forgive me, Lady Whitmore. I deserve punishment.”

I kept my voice steady, refusing to let them see me break.

The Lady gave me a cold look and said nothing more. The other women hurried to flatter her. Desperate for approval.

They crowded around her, cooing and fawning, desperate for her approval.

“You and Mr. Whitmore have been in love since you were young—how many of us envy you! No little country girl could ever compare.”

Their words dripped with honey, but their eyes were full of poison.

“Please, don’t say that. She’s not worthy of comparison.”

The group laughed, the sound brittle and sharp.

“Yes, yes, I misspoke. The Lady is a peerless beauty—no one can outshine you.”

The flattery piled up, suffocating and relentless. I could barely breathe.

…

With all this flattery, the Lady’s mood improved. She raised her hand. “Oh, where’s my diamond bracelet?”

She glanced at her wrist, frowning theatrically. The others sprang into action, eager to please.

The group immediately started searching. As if they actually cared.

They combed the grass, peered into flowerbeds, their movements frantic and exaggerated.

Victoria said, “Oh dear, did it fall into the pond?”

Her voice was laced with false concern. I saw the trap a mile away.

The Lady’s maid agreed, “That’s possible!”

She clapped her hands, eyes wide with mock alarm.

“What now? That’s her favorite bracelet!”

The panic was staged, but convincing enough for anyone watching.

Victoria said, “That’s easy. The Silver Hollow girl was just begging forgiveness—why not have her fish it out of the pond?”

She looked at me, a sly smile curling on her lips.

“Surely she won’t refuse?”

The challenge hung in the air. I knew I couldn’t back down.

All eyes turned to me—some resentful, some amused, some icy cold. Each gaze was chilling.

I could feel their hatred, their hunger. They wanted to see me break.

I knew there was no way out. No choice.

So I lowered my eyes. “I’m willing.”

My voice was steady, but inside, I was screaming.

The autumn pond was already cold. As soon as I entered the water, a chill swept over me. Someone shoved me, hard.

I gasped, arms flailing, as icy water closed over my head. Panic clawed at my throat.

With a splash, I fell in.

The shock of the cold stole my breath. I kicked wildly, desperate to reach the surface.

Panic and terror surged through me. I struggled desperately, begging for help from the Lady and her entourage.

My cries echoed across the water, but no one moved. Their faces were blank, watching me sink. They didn’t care.

But they just watched coldly, as if I were already dead.

It was like being trapped in a nightmare. I wondered if this was how my sister felt, in her final moments.

They wanted me gone that day.

I saw it in their eyes—the calculation, the satisfaction. I was just another problem to be solved.

I started to sink. Suddenly, someone pulled me out and into a warm embrace. I coughed violently, barely conscious. A lifeline.

Strong arms wrapped around me, hauling me onto the bank. I gasped, water streaming from my hair, my vision swimming.

I heard the Lady, Victoria, and the others greeting Mr. Whitmore: “Good afternoon, sir.”

Their voices were smooth, practiced. I wanted to scream. I bit my tongue.

Mr. Whitmore looked at me, shivering and coughing on the ground, his face darkening. “What’s going on here?”

His tone was deadly calm. The women fell silent, shifting nervously.

No one dared speak, so the Lady stepped forward. “My bracelet fell in. The Silver Hollow girl was helping me retrieve it. Why are you angry, darling?”

She smiled sweetly, but her eyes were hard as flint.

He scolded, “Nonsense!”

His voice cracked like a whip. The Lady’s smile faltered.

He might not love me, but I was still the daughter of the Mayor of Silver Hollow. That made me useful.

Silver Hollow was far from the city—if the mayor rebelled, the city would be helpless. That’s why Mr. Whitmore rebuked the Lady.

Politics was a dirty game, and he played it better than anyone. I knew the rules.

I understood, but the Lady didn’t.

She saw only betrayal. Her face twisted with rage.

She was upset. “You’re scolding me for this tramp?”

Her voice shook, but she didn’t back down.

Mr. Whitmore’s brow twitched. “She was brought here to appease Silver Hollow. If anything happened to her and Silver Hollow rebelled, what then?”

He spelled it out, slow and careful, as if talking to a child.

“Don’t be unreasonable!”

The words hung in the air, sharp as broken glass.

The Lady was so angry she trembled and stormed off.

Her heels clicked furiously on the stone path. The rest of the women scattered, leaving me alone with Mr. Whitmore. I was still shaking.

Mr. Whitmore, still furious, muttered, “Unbelievable. Someone take the Silver Hollow girl back to her quarters.”

His voice was tight, barely controlled. I nodded, too exhausted to speak.

“Yes, sir!”

A maid appeared, hovering at my elbow. I leaned on her, my legs weak and unsteady.

Dazed, I glimpsed a shadowy figure in the distance before passing out. When I woke, I heard the couple had quarreled. Someone had saved me.

The memory flickered at the edge of my mind—a flash of dark hair, a whisper of perfume. I wondered who had saved me, and why.

I asked around and learned the Lady not only refused to admit fault, but also took it out on Emily, who had served Mr. Whitmore since he was a young man.

Emily’s name came up in hushed tones, always with a hint of respect. She was the only one the Lady seemed to fear, even a little.

When Mr. Whitmore took over, she should’ve been made a consort, but to avoid upsetting the Lady, all those women were only given the rank of companion.

It was a small mercy, but a mercy nonetheless. Emily kept her head down, never asking for more than she was given.

Emily was frail and had been recovering in the mansion. I’d never met her. I heard the Lady slapped her, and she fainted, sending the house into chaos and infuriating Mr. Whitmore.

The staff buzzed with gossip. Some said Emily’s collapse was the first real crack in the Lady’s armor.

I couldn’t help but sneer. So much for Mr. Whitmore’s great love for the Lady—what he really cared about was his power. Otherwise, why hold a selection?

It was all a game, and we were just the pieces.

But thinking of the shadow I saw before fainting, I realized Emily must have brought Mr. Whitmore to the garden to witness what happened. She’d saved me.

Was she helping me?

The question nagged at me, but I kept it to myself. For now.

But why?

Maybe she saw something of herself in me. Maybe she just wanted to see the Lady fall.

Once I recovered, I tried to thank her, but her people turned me away. I didn’t push it.

I left a small bouquet of wildflowers outside her door, hoping she’d understand.