Chapter 4

There were nights when I let myself wonder.

If I had been born into wealth instead of squalor. If my mother had been a noblewoman instead of a desperate woman willing to trade her child for a single silver coin.

If my name had been something worth remembering.

Would things have been different?

Would I have been different?

I spent my days cleaning the floors of marble halls, carrying trays lined with silver, watching from the shadows as the Drevon family feasted on delicacies I would never taste.

If I had been born into their world, would I have been sitting at that table instead of standing behind it?

I imagined it sometimes—myself in a silk gown, my hair combed and perfumed, my hands free of scars.

Would I have been cruel, like Lady Drevon? Would I have been arrogant, like Valic? Would I have treated those below me with the same disdain that was shown to me?

I didn't know.

But I did know this: rich people did not suffer.

They did not feel hunger eat away at their stomachs. They did not fall asleep on cold stone, praying they would wake up the next day. They did not get beaten for standing in the wrong place at the wrong time.

If I had been born rich, I would not have been a stray.

I would not have been nothing.

One afternoon, I was summoned to Lady Drevon's chambers.

She was seated on a velvet chaise, sipping tea from a porcelain cup worth more than my life. Her daughter, Celena, sat beside her—a girl of twelve, golden-haired and pampered beyond belief.

Celena's lips twisted in displeasure when she saw me.

"She's dirty," she muttered.

Lady Drevon hummed in agreement, her gaze skimming over me as if I were no more than a speck of dust. "Yes. But she has hands."

I knew then what this was about.

Celena had been gifted a new set of jewelry—fine chains of gold and emerald, delicate clasps that were too difficult for her small fingers to manage.

Lady Drevon did not like when her daughter struggled.

And so, she summoned me.

I stepped forward, careful not to move too fast, not to breathe too loudly. I had learned how to make myself as insignificant as possible.

Lady Drevon held out a necklace.

"Fix it."

I took it from her, my fingers careful as I worked the clasp, securing it around Celena's pale throat.

Celena huffed, examining her reflection in a gilded mirror. "It's too loose."

I adjusted it, ignoring the way my hands ached from scrubbing floors all morning.

Lady Drevon took another sip of her tea, her expression unreadable. "See, Celena? This is what girls like her are for."

Girls like me.

Not daughters. Not people.

Just hands.

I kept my face blank as I stepped back, lowering my gaze.

Celena touched the necklace one last time before flipping her hair over her shoulder. "You can go now."

I turned to leave, but Lady Drevon's voice stopped me.

"Wait."

I froze.

She studied me, tapping her nails against the porcelain cup.

"If you had been born a noble," she mused, "I wonder what kind of girl you would have been."

My throat went dry.

She smiled, slow and cruel. "Perhaps a useless one. You have the face for it, but not the refinement."

I said nothing.

She waved a hand dismissively. "Go."

I obeyed.

But as I walked back through the cold halls of the Drevon estate, I thought about her words.

If I had been born rich, I would have been useless.

Maybe.

Or maybe—just maybe—

I would have been the most dangerous of them all.

I should have learned my lesson by now.

Obedience was survival. Silence was safety.

But no matter how much I tried to stay invisible, no matter how much I told myself to endure, there were moments when something inside me refused to submit.

And this time, I made a mistake.

It started with the hounds.

Lord Drevon kept six of them—large, sleek creatures bred for war. Their kennels were behind the estate, and they were trained to obey only the family and their guards.

To them, I was nothing.

But I understood them better than most.

They were fed well, groomed daily, given the best care. But at the end of it all, they were still chained. Still owned.

I wasn't much different.

Most of the servants feared the dogs, but I had never minded them. They didn't waste their cruelty on games like the nobles did. They bit when provoked, they attacked when commanded.

There was something honest about that.

One evening, as I scrubbed the stone path leading to the gardens, I heard the sharp snap of a whip.

I turned my head just in time to see one of the younger hounds yelp, its body jerking back from the strike.

A handler stood above it, whip in hand, his face impassive. "You disobey, you get punished," he muttered, raising the whip again.

The dog let out a low growl but didn't move.

I clenched my teeth, my grip tightening around the brush in my hand. I should have looked away. Should have ignored it.

But something inside me twisted.

I had seen that look before.

The quiet, hopeless acceptance of pain.

I knew it too well.

The whip came down again, but this time, before it could land, I moved.

I didn't think. I didn't plan.

I just acted.

My hand shot out, gripping the handle of the whip before it could strike.

The handler blinked in surprise.

For a long moment, neither of us spoke.

Then his shock faded, replaced by something colder.

"You must have a death wish, girl."

I realized then what I had done.

I had broken the unspoken rule.

Servants did not interfere. They did not question. They did not fight back.

I released the whip and lowered my gaze, stepping back. "I'm sorry."

It was too late.

His hand came fast, striking the side of my head hard enough to send me stumbling.

Pain bloomed through my skull, but I barely registered it.

Because the moment I fell, the hound lunged.

It happened in a blur. Teeth snapped. The handler cursed, staggering back as the dog clamped its jaws around his arm.

Blood hit the stone.

Then came the shouting.

Guards rushed forward. Someone grabbed the dog, yanking it back. Another dragged me to my feet.

Lady Drevon's voice sliced through the chaos.

"What is the meaning of this?"

Everyone stilled.

I lifted my gaze just in time to see her descending the stone steps, her icy expression unreadable.

The handler clutched his bleeding arm, his face pale with fury. "The girl interfered. The beast attacked because of her."

Silence fell.

Lady Drevon's eyes flicked to me.

Cold. Unforgiving.

"Is that true?" she asked.

I hesitated.

Lying wouldn't save me.

So I didn't bother.

"Yes."

Her lips pressed into a thin line. "Take her to the courtyard."

My stomach twisted.

The courtyard.

I knew what that meant.

By the time they dragged me outside, night had fallen.

The air was cold, thick with the scent of rain.

I knelt on the wet stone, my hands bound behind me, my breath uneven. The household had gathered—guards, servants, even Valic.

Lady Drevon stood in front of me, her expression calm. Almost bored.

"Disobedience is not tolerated in this house," she said simply. "You should have learned that by now."

I had learned it.

I just hadn't cared.

She turned to one of the guards. "Hold out her hand."

Dread pooled in my stomach.

Two guards grabbed my arms, forcing my right hand forward. I struggled, but their grip was iron.

A third guard stepped forward, a small hammer in his grasp.

My heart slammed against my ribs.

No.

I knew what this was.

Lady Drevon's voice was soft. Almost gentle. "You like using your hands where they don't belong?"

The guard raised the hammer.

"You won't anymore."

The first strike shattered bone.

Pain exploded through me, white-hot and searing. My vision blurred. A scream tore from my throat before I could stop it.

I had been beaten before, cut, bruised, broken.

But this was different.

This was destruction.

A second strike followed. Then a third.

By the time they let me go, I was barely conscious.

The world swayed. My hand was a mangled mess of swollen flesh and ruined bone.

Lady Drevon crouched beside me, her voice barely above a whisper.

"This is mercy, Liana."

I choked on a breath, shaking.

She smiled. "Next time, I won't be so kind."

Then she turned and walked away, the crowd dispersing behind her.

I curled in on myself, cradling my ruined hand against my chest, my breaths coming in short, broken gasps.

Somewhere in the distance, I heard the faint howl of a hound.

Maybe it was the same one.

Maybe it was mourning.

Or maybe—

It was just waiting for a day when the chains would break.

A day when the dog would bite back.