Chapter 6: A New Face for Revenge

In the estate, any maid close to her mistress has at least one skill to lean on. Some were good at sewing, others at cooking or mixing drinks. I’d always kept my true talents hidden, biding my time. Savannah kept me around mainly because I was skilled at making candles and perfumes. She loved the way I blended scents, the way I could turn even the cheapest wax into something luxurious. It was a small thing, but it kept me close to her. But she didn’t know I also excelled at disguises and altering faces. I’d learned from my mother, who used to work the traveling carnivals—she could make anyone into anyone, with a little paint and a steady hand.

“Are you ready? Once my knife falls, you’ll never be Mariah Evans again.” I held the blade steady, my hands sure. Mariah sat in the chair, her eyes closed, her breath coming in short, shallow bursts.

Mariah stroked the blood-stained locket in her palm. When she looked up again, her eyes were steady, her voice resolute. “Please, Miss Tessa—do it.” She didn’t flinch, not even when the blade touched her skin. I admired her courage, even as I set to work.

I gave her a disguise tonic to drink, then used a blade as thin as a butterfly’s wing to alter her features, leaving just a trace of her true face. The tonic tasted bitter, but Mariah drank it down without complaint. I worked quickly, reshaping her nose, adding subtle scars. When I was done, she looked like a stranger—and yet, not. Finally, I marked a delicate teardrop mole beneath her eye. It was a small touch, but it changed everything. The mole drew the eye, distracting from the rest of her face. It was the perfect disguise. This way, she would look both familiar and different—enough to make people suspect, but not be certain. I checked my work in the mirror, satisfied. Mariah studied her reflection, her lips pressed into a thin line. “I hardly recognize myself,” she whispered.

I did this for two reasons. One, to keep people from recognizing her. Two, to leave enough of her features so she could enter the governor’s ball. It was a risky plan, but the only one we had. If we were careful, it just might work.

Back when the current governor was just the deputy governor, he and Mariah were childhood friends. He once asked the old governor to approve their engagement. They’d grown up together, racing through the apple orchards, daring each other to climb the tallest trees. The governor never forgot her, not even after all these years. But Mariah had already pledged herself to Jackson. When the old governor found out, he refused the deputy’s request. It was a scandal at the time—everyone in town had an opinion. The old governor’s pride was legendary, and he never forgave a slight. Now that deputy is governor, but that old wound remains. He kept a picture of Mariah on his desk, hidden beneath a stack of papers. I’d seen it once, late at night, when I was cleaning his office.

Otherwise, with Senator Evans’s great service, a single word from Savannah wouldn’t have been enough to deny him honors even in death. The Evans name should have been untouchable. But Savannah’s jealousy was stronger than any debt of gratitude.

Even Mariah herself doubted she could get past the vetting, afraid the governor still resented her. She paced the floor, wringing her hands. “He’ll never forgive me,” she whispered. “Not after what happened.” But I thought differently. I’d seen the way the governor looked at her, even after all these years. Love like that doesn’t just disappear.

After years in the estate, I’d noticed something—all the governor’s favorite companions looked a little like her. Blonde hair, blue eyes, a certain tilt to the chin. It couldn’t be a coincidence. At first, I didn’t understand why. Then I met Mariah and realized— The resemblance was uncanny. It was like the governor had spent his whole life searching for someone to replace her. Those women were just stand-ins. They came and went, none of them lasting more than a season. But Mariah was the original, the one he could never forget. That’s the kind of obsession men like the governor have for their first love—the more unattainable, the more unforgettable. It was a dangerous kind of love, the kind that could turn to hate in a heartbeat. Men in this world… they’re all the same, really. I’d seen it before—good men brought low by jealousy, ambition, or regret. The faces changed, but the story stayed the same.

Soon, Mariah’s face had healed enough. I checked the bruises every morning, dabbing them with ointment. The swelling faded, the scars softened. She was almost ready. With the ball approaching, I arranged a new identity for her. Faith Young, daughter of the county judge from Silver Hollow.

The judge was a sly old fox, always looking for an angle. When his real daughter died, he saw an opportunity—and so did I. The judge had hoped to use his real daughter to climb the ranks through the governor’s circle, but she died on the way. Not wanting to give up, he never reported her death or withdrew her from the guest list, so I found him and offered him a replacement. He hesitated at first, but greed won out. I promised him a cut of whatever Mariah gained, and he agreed to play along. He was greedy, and knew it was risky, but the reward was worth it—so now, we were all in this together. He handed over his daughter’s papers, coached Mariah on her new backstory. We rehearsed every detail, down to the way she held her fork at dinner.

Lately, Savannah was obsessed with consolidating her power. She spent hours in her office, meeting with officials, making deals behind closed doors. The ball was her chance to show off her influence, to remind everyone who really ran Maple Heights. She wanted to use the ball to slip in daughters of officials who’d bribed her. It was all about appearances—who stood where, who danced with whom. Savannah played the game better than anyone. With so many girls, she wouldn’t remember them all. It was the perfect chance for me to smuggle one in without her noticing. I made a list, checked it twice, rehearsed every detail with Mariah. We couldn’t afford a single mistake.

I was run ragged preparing everything. My hands ached from sewing, my eyes burned from lack of sleep. But I kept going, fueled by anger and hope in equal measure.