Chapter 2: The Hero Returns, the Maid Decides

Dusk was falling.

The sky outside the window was streaked with orange and purple. The air heavy with the promise of rain.

After months away on official business, Harrison finally returned to the estate.

The whole house came alive—maids bustling, cooks shouting in the kitchen, the air buzzing with excitement. Even the dogs barked louder, sensing something important.

This time, he’d cleared up several big cases, earning praise from the governor and love from the townsfolk. His name was in the local paper. His picture on the front page.

The welcome-home dinner was attended by Mrs. Whitaker herself, her gaze on Harrison full of pride and affection.

The dining room was lit with crystal chandeliers, silver polished to a shine. Mrs. Whitaker sat at the head of the table. Her smile warm and genuine for once.

Seated beside her was the Langley girl, in the bloom of youth—born to privilege, and by next spring, she’d marry into the family and become my real mistress.

She wore a dress the color of spring grass, her laughter light and musical. The whole room seemed to revolve around her.

That night, I helped Harrison change out of his suit.

He stood in front of the mirror, tie loosened, hair falling over his eyes. I moved quietly, my hands practiced. Careful not to meet his gaze.

He instinctively pulled me into his arms, kissing my lips. “Did you miss me?”

His breath was warm against my cheek, his hands gentle but insistent. The question was soft, but it carried the weight of everything we’d never said.

His voice was low and gentle.

It made my heart ache, the way only he could. Letting myself lean into him for just a moment, I closed my eyes.

I suddenly remembered the year Harrison first started out as a lawyer, when he’d angered the wrong people and was ambushed on his way to court.

The memory hit me hard—a flash of blood, the sound of shouting, the fear that he wouldn’t make it home. I’d never been so scared in my life.

I was the one who took the knife for him, saving his life.

I still had the scar, a thin white line on my side. He never forgot, and neither did I.

When I was on the edge of death, Harrison knelt at my bedside, eyes red, promising he’d never let me down.

He stayed with me through the fever, holding my hand, whispering promises he couldn’t keep. For a while, I believed him.

His voice then was just as soft, brushing over my heart like a feather.

It lingered, even now, haunting me in quiet moments.

It made my heart tremble.

Even now, after everything, I wanted to believe he meant it.

“How’d you get so thin?”

His hand was gentle as he tilted my chin, searching my face for answers.

Harrison pinched my chin, looking me over. “Your face is so pale, you look sick… Has someone been giving you trouble?”

His concern sounded real, but I knew better than to trust it. Still, a part of me wanted to let him take care of me.

His eyes turned cold.

The warmth vanished, replaced by suspicion. He was always quick to protect what was his.

I forced a weak smile, waving it off. “Who’d dare? It’s just you’ve been gone so long, I worried about you—worried you’d get hurt or sick. That’s why I haven’t been eating or sleeping well.”

The lie came easily, practiced from years of hiding my real feelings. But my voice trembled just a little.

Harrison undid my hair tie. “After all these years, you’re still so skittish.”

His fingers tangled in my hair, gentle but possessive. He always liked to see me undone. Vulnerable.

His words sounded sharp, but the curve of his lips showed he was in a good mood.

He smiled, that slow, lazy smile that always made my heart skip. For a moment, I let myself believe things could be different.

“At dinner today, you saw the Langley girl. What do you think?”

I remembered her face. “She’s beautiful, and seems sweet. I imagine… you two will be a perfect match.”

The words tasted bitter, but I forced a smile. It was what he wanted to hear.

Harrison didn’t argue.

He just nodded, thoughtful, his eyes distant. I wondered what he was really thinking.

“She’s from a good family and will help my career—that’s one thing. The other…”

He paused, looking at me as if weighing his next words.

He arched a brow. “I’ve heard she’s strong and healthy. Some fortune-teller even said she’d have kids early.”

He said it lightly, almost joking, but I could hear the hope in his voice. An heir was everything in this world.

I stared at him, confused.

I couldn’t understand why he was telling me this, what he wanted me to say.

Harrison looked at my face, a small smile on his lips. “If she has the heir early, I can make it official for you that much sooner—set you up properly. Wouldn’t that make you happy?”

He sounded almost proud, as if he was offering me a gift. I felt a chill run down my spine.

Happy?

The word echoed in my mind, hollow and sharp. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt truly happy.

I couldn’t help but smile bitterly.

It was all I could do to keep from crying. Pretending to straighten his tie, I looked away.

And what if she never gets pregnant?

The question lingered between us, unspoken. I wondered if he’d ever really thought about it.

After a pause, I gathered my nerve and asked carefully, “If… if she never has a child, could you maybe… not sleep with me for a while?”

My voice was barely more than a whisper. I stared at the floor, afraid to meet his eyes.

At that, Harrison’s face went cold in an instant.

The change was sudden, shocking. I flinched, bracing for the storm I knew was coming.

“You don’t want to sleep with me?”

His voice was low, dangerous. I felt my hands start to shake.

His look grew darker and darker. I started shaking, tears streaming down my face as I shook my head.

I tried to explain, but the words stuck in my throat. The tears came fast, hot and silent.

Harrison gripped my chin. “Do you think that’s a question a maid should ask?”

His fingers dug into my skin, holding me in place. I couldn’t look away, couldn’t hide.

Once, a maid tried to slip something in Harrison’s drink and crawl into his bed. She nearly succeeded.

The story was whispered in the servants’ quarters for weeks. Everyone knew what happened to girls who overstepped.

When I rushed in, Harrison had already thrown her out.

He stood over her, cold and furious, his control absolute. I’d never seen him so angry.

He looked at me, face blank. “Are you scared?”

His eyes were empty, unreadable. I nodded, too scared to speak.

“Trying to take what isn’t yours—that’s what happens.”

His words were a warning, a line drawn in the sand. I understood exactly what he meant.

A master is always a master.

No matter how close you get, the line is always there. Cross it, and you’re done for.

Even if the maid served Mrs. Whitaker herself, even if Harrison was just the second wife’s son with little status.

The rules never changed, not for anyone.

If a maid dies, so be it.

Life was cheap, especially for girls like me. I learned that early.

Tonight, I’d overstepped, made him angry, and brought misery on myself.

I should’ve known better.

I cursed myself for forgetting my place, even for a second.

Harrison was rough when he was happy, and even rougher when he wasn’t.

He didn’t hold back, not with me. I learned to take it—to bite my tongue and wait for it to be over.

He bit my ear, wild, whispering through my tears, “Clara…”

His breath was hot against my skin, his voice ragged with want.

“You have no idea how much I want a child with you.”

His words were a confession and a threat all at once. I froze, not knowing how to respond.

I stared at the swaying curtains over the bed.

The moonlight cast shadows on the walls, flickering with every breath of wind. I tried to lose myself in the pattern—to forget where I was.

Hearing that, I couldn’t help but cry.

The tears came harder, silent and endless. I pressed my face into the pillow, wishing I could disappear.

Harrison didn’t know.

He never would. I kept my secrets close, locked away where he’d never find them.