Selene Voss stopped before the full-length mirror.
The off-shoulder gown bared her collarbones—clean, delicate lines flowing into smooth, rounded shoulders. Satin clung to her frame with deliberate restraint, cinching tightly at the waist before cascading down her hips. With each subtle movement, the skirt swayed, the deep violet tulle beneath resembling a night-blooming iris—elegant, defiant, quietly untamed.
For a moment, she studied her reflection.
Her face was unobstructed, luminous. Porcelain skin glowed against the dark blue silk, almost ethereal. Her brows were soft, her lips naturally rose-tinted, but it was her eyes that commanded attention—slightly upturned, pale blue, cold and unfathomably deep. They carried the unsettling impression of seeing straight through anyone who dared meet them.
Selene's gaze drifted.
That face… it mirrored a memory.
Her mother.
The resemblance was undeniable. Yet where her mother's eyes had once been warm—gentle as the slow currents of the riverside town of Willowford—hers now held only sharpened steel. Life had stripped away warmth and replaced it with precision.
The thought stirred a quiet storm inside her.
That gentle, beautiful woman had loved the wrong man. And for that love, she had paid everything—fading away alone in a foreign land, unwanted, forgotten.
A knock at the door shattered the silence.
Selene collected herself and opened it.
Standing outside was not a maid, but an elderly man in a meticulously tailored black suit. His posture was straight, his presence restrained but authoritative. Every strand of silver hair was in place.
Harlan—the Voss family's long-serving butler.
For a fleeting second, his eyes widened in unmistakable surprise. This was not the crude, unsophisticated girl he had expected. Whatever rumors had circulated about the eldest Voss daughter, they had fallen woefully short.
Harlan quickly lowered his gaze, masking the lapse with practiced composure.
"Miss," he said formally, "are you ready? The Master and Madam have asked that I escort you downstairs."
He hesitated, then added quietly, "You look… very lovely. If I may say so, you resemble the late Madam—your mother—very much at that age."
Selene's lashes fluttered once. She offered no reply, merely watching him with a calm, unreadable expression.
Perhaps unsettled by her silence, Harlan continued, his tone tinged with nostalgia. "Back then, Madam left after a disagreement with the Master. He has always regretted it. He truly did not know of your existence. Had he known… he would never have allowed you to suffer as you did. I hope you won't judge him too harshly, Miss."
Sincere words. Carefully chosen.
Selene's lips curved inward in a silent, cold sneer.
With the Voss family's influence, their connections spanning continents, the notion that they couldn't find her mother was laughable.
Before she could respond, a sharp, impatient voice cut through the hallway.
"Why hasn't the young lady changed yet?"
Lila Drake strode forward briskly. The moment her gaze landed on Selene's navy gown, she froze—just for a heartbeat—before curling her lips into a sneer, recalling Vivian Voss's instructions.
"Well, where did that come from?" she scoffed. "Did you tear down the curtains or something? If the guests see you like this, they might think the Voss family can't even afford a proper dress.
How embarrassing."
Harlan frowned faintly. "Lila, that's inappropriate."
But he did nothing else.
He remained still, watching—testing.
Finally, Selene turned her gaze on Lila.
"A maid," she said calmly, "criticizing her mistress's attire? Making snide remarks on top of that?" Her eyes narrowed slightly. "So this is Voss family discipline?"
She took a single step forward.
Though they were nearly the same height, the pressure of Selene's presence was overwhelming. Lila instinctively retreated half a step, her breath catching.
"Or," Selene continued coolly, "is this how my younger sister usually trains the help? If so, I may need to ask my father when our household standards sank this low."
The words struck like a blade.
They were directed at Lila—but the real target was Harlan.
His heart lurched.
Sharp. Calculated. Ruthless.
Not only had she seized on Lila's misstep instantly, she had exposed his passive indulgence just as quickly. This girl was no naive country orphan.
She understood hierarchy, leverage, and timing—and she wielded them flawlessly.
Harlan's expression hardened.
"You insolent fool!" he barked. "Kneel and apologize to the young miss—now!"
Lila dropped to her knees with a thud, her face drained of color, terror silencing her completely.
Harlan turned back to Selene, bowing deeply. "Please forgive us, Miss Selene. This failure in discipline is entirely mine. How would you like me to handle her?"
Selene regarded him coolly.
That's it? she thought. Such a crude little test.
Child's play.
She didn't even spare Lila a glance.
"The Voss family has its own rules," Selene said evenly. "You've served here long enough, Harlan. Surely you don't need me to teach you how to deal with a disobedient servant."
The message was unmistakable.
She would not beg mercy for a maid—it was beneath her. Nor would she dirty her hands by issuing punishment herself.
Harlan's chest tightened.
"Understood, Miss," he replied solemnly. "She will be dealt with according to house rules. An example will be made."
Selene stepped past the trembling Lila and the rigid Harlan without pause.
As she walked ahead, her voice drifted back, cool and commanding.
"Lead the way. I'm going to see my father."