Aria's POV
I did not sleep well that night.
Even when my eyes were closed, I saw him standing in the doorway of his bedroom, water glistening on his skin, his voice sharp with anger, his fiancée's hand resting possessively on his waist.
And then his grandmother's voice followed.
"You look like someone who cries quietly."
I turned on my bed, clutching the edge of the blanket. I had promised myself I would not be weak here. This job was my second chance. I would not ruin it with foolish emotions.
When morning came, I woke up before the alarm. My chest felt tight, but I forced myself out of bed, washed my face, and tied my hair neatly.
Today, I would be invisible. No mistakes. No emotions. Just work.
When I entered the kitchen, Martha was already there, humming softly as she prepared breakfast. Bianca leaned against the counter, scrolling on her phone.
I went straight to the coffee machine.
My hands remembered the rhythm now.
Measure.
Pour.
Stir.
Breathe.
When the cup was ready, I placed it carefully on the tray.
A few minutes later, footsteps approached.
My heart skipped before I could stop it.
He entered.
Sebastian Sinclair.
Tall. Perfectly dressed. Untouchable. I lowered my gaze immediately.
"Good morning, sir," I said softly.
Martha greeted him too.
He walked toward the counter.
For a second, the room felt too quiet.
Then he picked up the cup.
Our fingers almost touched.
Almost.
"Thank you," he said.
I froze.
He had never thanked me before. I looked up without thinking. Our eyes met. Just for a moment.
But in that moment, the world stilled. There was no anger in his eyes. No coldness. Only something I did not understand.
Something careful.
Something human.
"You're welcome, sir," I whispered.
He turned away quickly and left. Bianca scoffed.
"Well, look at that," she muttered. "The ice king has learned manners."
I pretended not to hear her, but my heart would not slow down.
Why did that single word affect me so much?
Why did it feel like a fragile bridge had been built between us?
The rest of the morning passed slowly.
I followed Bianca around, cleaning rooms, wiping surfaces, organizing shelves. She spoke little to me, and when she did, it was sharp.
At noon, while we were arranging the guest hallway, she finally broke the silence.
"You should stop dreaming," she said suddenly.
I paused.
"Dreaming about what?" She laughed softly.
"You really think you belong here?" My throat tightened.
"I'm just doing my job."
"No," she said, stepping closer.
"You're pretending not to see it, but I do."
"See what?"
"The way he looks at you." My heart skipped painfully.
"That's not true," I said quickly.She tilted her head.
"You're poor. You're a maid. He's engaged to a woman who could buy your entire life without blinking."
Her words cut deep.
"He doesn't look at girls like you," she continued.
"He never will." I swallowed.
"I never said he would."
"Good," she replied coldly.
"Because if you forget your place, you'll be crushed." She walked away.
I stood there for a long time, unable to move.
Her words echoed the fears already living inside me. She was right.
What was I thinking?
I was nothing here.
Just another servant in a mansion full of gold.
That afternoon, Madam Sinclair called for me again.
I brought her tea to the garden this time.
She sat under a large white umbrella, feeding small pieces of bread to birds.
"You look troubled," she said gently.
I forced a smile.
"Just tired, ma'am." She studied me.
"You are lying." I lowered my head.
"I don't belong here," I whispered.
She chuckled softly. "Child, no one belongs anywhere until they decide they do."
I did not understand, but her presence comforted me. She held my hand again.
"You remind me of myself when I was young," she said.
I blinked.
"You?"
"Yes," she smiled.
"Poor. Afraid. The world had no space for me."
"But you became… this," I gestured at the mansion.
She laughed.
"Not because I was rich. Because I was stubborn."
Her eyes softened.
"Don't let people convince you that your worth is measured by money or clothes."
I nodded, though my heart still felt heavy.
That evening, everything changed.
Vivienne arrived.
I heard her before I saw her. High heels clicking like warning bells across the marble floor.
Her laughter floated through the mansion like smoke. I was in the living room dusting shelves when she walked in.
Tall.
Perfect.
Beautiful.
She wore a red dress that hugged her like it was designed only for her body. Sebastian followed behind her.
They were talking quietly. When she noticed me, her eyes narrowed.
"So this is her," she said.
My hands shook.
Sebastian stiffened.
"Vivienne"
She walked closer, slowly like a predator.
"You're the maid who keeps spilling coffee, aren't you?"
My face burned.
"Yes, ma'am."
She circled me.
"Poor thing," she murmured mockingly.
"You look like you might break if someone raises their voice."
I stayed silent.
She stepped closer until I could smell her perfume.
"Listen carefully," she whispered.
"Men like Sebastian do not fall in love with girls like you."
"That's enough." Sebastian spoke sharply.
She smiled sweetly at him.
"I'm only protecting what's mine."
She turned back to me.
"If you ever forget your place, I will remind you."
She walked away.
My knees almost gave out.
Sebastian stood frozen. He did not look at me.
That hurt more than her words.
That night, I cried quietly into my pillow. No sound. No witnesses. Just silent tears soaking into borrowed sheets. I told myself it was foolish to feel anything. But my heart did not listen.
The next days passed in strange tension.
Sebastian became quieter. He avoided looking at me directly. But sometimes, when he thought I wasn't watching, his eyes followed me.
Vivienne visited often.
Each time, she found small ways to remind me I was nothing. Bianca enjoyed watching.
Madam Sinclair noticed everything.
One afternoon, as I was arranging flowers in the hall, she spoke quietly beside me.
"She is threatened by you." I was startled.
"By me?" She nodded.
"Because you are genuine."
"I'm invisible," I whispered.
"No," she said firmly.
"You are light in a house that has forgotten warmth." My chest tightened.
That evening, Sebastian called me to his study.
My heart nearly stopped. I stood outside the door, shaking.
I knocked.
"Come in."
The room smelled of books and leather.
He stood by the window.
"Sit," he said.
I obeyed.
Silence.
"I will be away for three days," he said finally.
"Business."
"Yes, sir."
"You will continue your duties as usual."
"Yes, sir."
He hesitated.
"You do not deserve to be spoken to the way Vivienne spoke to you."
My breath caught.
"It's fine."
"It is not."
Our eyes met.
"I will handle it," he said quietly.
For the first time, I saw something different in his face.
Regret.
"I should go," I whispered.
He nodded.
As I reached the door, he
spoke again.
"Aria."
I turned.
"You are not invisible." Then he looked away.
I left before my heart betrayed me.
That night, I stared at the ceiling again. But this time, I whispered into the darkness:
"Please don't let me fall in love with him."
Because deep down…
I already was.