Seraphina tightened the bandages around her chest, suppressing the natural curves that threatened to betray her secret. With a final tug, she adjusted the oversized, threadbare shirt she had been given, staring at her reflection in the cracked mirror of the small servant's quarters. The dim candlelight flickered against her weary face, casting shadows under her tired brown eyes. She had spent the past three years living as Sam, a lowly servant in the grand Vanderbilt estate, enduring every cruelty the world had thrown at her—especially those that came from Alexander Vanderbilt himself.
Alexander.
Just the thought of his name made her clench her fists. The arrogant heir of the Vanderbilt family had made it his personal mission to torment her at every opportunity. Whether it was belittling her in front of the other staff, making her redo tasks that were already done to perfection, or setting impossible demands just to watch her struggle, Alexander thrived on making her life miserable.
"Sam!" The sharp voice echoed down the long, marble hallway, sending a shiver down her spine.
Seraphina exhaled slowly, steeling herself before stepping out of her tiny quarters. She moved swiftly through the servant's wing and into the grand halls, where towering crystal chandeliers bathed the estate in golden light. The contrast between her worn-out shoes and the polished floors beneath her feet was stark—a silent reminder of her place in this world.
As she neared Alexander's study, the heavy oak doors stood slightly ajar, revealing the young man lounging lazily in a velvet chair. His dark, wavy hair was slightly disheveled, as though he had run a hand through it in frustration. He twirled a fountain pen between his fingers, his piercing blue eyes narrowing the moment he spotted her.
"You took your time," Alexander drawled, his voice laced with impatience. "I don't recall asking for a stroll through the entire estate."
"I came as quickly as I could, sir," Seraphina replied, keeping her head low.
Alexander scoffed. "Of course, you did. And yet, somehow, that's never fast enough." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "Tell me, Sam, do you enjoy making my life more difficult? Or are you just that slow?"
She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from responding. Arguing back was not an option, not when her survival depended on staying in this house, keeping her secret, and enduring whatever cruelty Alexander decided to throw her way.
When she didn't answer, Alexander let out an exasperated sigh. "I need my shoes polished by morning. And I want my breakfast prepared exactly how I like it—no mistakes this time. I swear, if my eggs are overcooked again—"
"They won't be," Seraphina cut in quickly.
Alexander's lips curled into a smirk, as if pleased that he had drawn a reaction out of her. "Good. Maybe you're learning after all."
She gave a curt nod and turned to leave, but before she could step out of the room, Alexander's voice stopped her once more.
"Oh, and Sam?"
She hesitated, her hands tightening into fists at her sides. "Yes, sir?"
Alexander leaned back in his chair, tapping his chin in mock contemplation. "You smell like a sewer. Do something about it."
Heat rushed to her face, but she forced herself to nod, her throat tightening with the weight of her humiliation. She turned and walked out of the study, her footsteps echoing in the vast emptiness of the hallway.
As soon as she was far enough, she let out a long breath, pressing a hand to her chest to steady herself.
This was how it always was.
Alexander Vanderbilt, the heir to one of the richest families in the country, saw her as nothing more than an inconvenience—a punching bag for his frustrations. To him, she was not a person but a servant to command, to ridicule, to torment for his own amusement.
And yet, Seraphina refused to let him break her.
She had survived worse.
The next morning, Seraphina was up before dawn. The Vanderbilt estate was still cloaked in darkness as she quietly made her way to the kitchen, careful not to wake the other servants. She worked swiftly, preparing Alexander's breakfast with meticulous precision. Scrambled eggs, slightly runny. Bacon, crisp but not burnt. Freshly brewed coffee, no sugar.
She had memorized every detail of his preferences, not because she cared, but because mistakes led to more ridicule—more suffering.
By the time the sun peeked over the horizon, she was carrying a silver tray up the grand staircase toward Alexander's room. She knocked once before stepping inside, only to find the heir still in bed, his face buried in the pillows.
Seraphina carefully set the tray on his nightstand and turned to leave, but Alexander's groggy voice stopped her.
"Where do you think you're going?"
She froze, gripping the tray. "Your breakfast is here, sir."
Alexander pushed himself up onto his elbows, his hair tousled from sleep. For a brief moment, without the arrogance in his expression, he looked almost human. But the illusion shattered the moment he smirked.
"You're not leaving yet. Fix my tie."
Seraphina's fingers twitched. It wasn't an unusual request, but it was one she despised nonetheless. She stepped forward, picking up the silk tie draped over the chair. Alexander stood, towering over her as she looped the fabric around his collar.
As she worked, she could feel his gaze on her, watching, scrutinizing.
"You're trembling, Sam," he murmured, amusement in his voice. "Are you scared of me?"
"No, sir," she lied.
Alexander chuckled. "Liar."
She finished the knot and stepped back, keeping her head lowered. "Is there anything else you need?"
He tilted his head, considering her. Then, with a cruel smirk, he reached out and ruffled her short, dark hair. "That's a good little servant."
Seraphina's entire body stiffened.
Her heart pounded against her ribs, not out of fear, but out of sheer fury.
One day, she thought.
One day, he would regret every single word.
The days continued like this, blending into weeks, months, years.
Seraphina endured.
She endured Alexander's jabs, his cruel smirks, the endless mockery. She endured because she had no choice. Because she had nowhere else to go.
But what Alexander didn't realize—what he could never understand—was that every insult, every humiliation, every moment of suffering only made her stronger.
And one day, when the truth finally came to light, it
wouldn't be her kneeling before him in submission.
It would be him, begging for forgiveness.
And she wasn't sure she'd ever give it.