In that house, laughter was disruptive and mistakes unforgivable. Martha, the head housekeeper, kept glancing at the clock. Eight sharp—that was when Catherine came downstairs.
When Catherine appeared in her pale silk dress, flawless and cold, the air tightened. She didn’t greet anyone. She simply took her seat at the long dining table as if the world existed to serve her.
In the corner of the room, facing the wall, stood six-year-old Lily. She wasn’t allowed breakfast. Her small hands were stiff at her sides, her nose pressed against the paint, legs trembling from standing too long.
“Has she moved?” Catherine asked coolly, sipping her coffee without looking.
“No, ma’am. She’s been there since seven,” Martha answered quietly.
“Good. She needs discipline. Self-control protects this family’s name.”
Lily swallowed her tears. She was hungry, exhausted—and she missed her father. Michael had been overseas for weeks. Catherine had warned her that if she misbehaved, he might not come back. So she tried to be perfect.