Chapter 3

Hazel's POV

Two years ago, I was sixteen.

The Vances' chauffeur picked me up from the mining barracks in an old sedan covered in coal dust.

It was pouring rain. I stood in the middle of the Vances' luxurious living room, dripping wet, clutching my frayed backpack.

Richard Vance, the patriarch of the family, sat on the plush leather sofa. He puffed on a cigar, looking at me as if I were a cheap piece of property taken to settle a bad debt.

"Your mother is sick, and the debt your father left behind won't be cleared anytime soon," Richard said smoothly, blowing a ring of smoke. "Staying here with us is the only way to keep what little dignity your family has left."

"Taking care of me" was a lie.

"Debt labor" was the reality.

"Take her to the back room. She'll help with the chores around the house," Richard's wife, Victoria, said from the side. She took a sip of her coffee without even looking up.

The "back room" was a cold, windowless space at the very end of the hallway.

It smelled like damp mold, and the cot creaked loudly the moment I sat on it.

"Six AM sharp. You vacuum and mop the entire first floor," the head housekeeper told me, tossing my backpack onto the cot. "You help in the kitchen during meals. Don't go near Chloe's room on the second floor. In this house, whatever Chloe tells you to do, you do it."

I looked at the narrow cot and silently clenched my fists.

Before I could even unpack, the sharp clacking of heels echoed from the stairs.

Chloe Vance, dressed in a brand-new designer outfit, strutted down. The moment she saw me, her face contorted with disgust.

"Mom, who is this?"

Victoria replied casually, "That's Thomas's daughter from the mines. She's going to live here and do some chores."

"Live here?" Chloe stormed over, pointing her manicured finger right at my face. "Why? Our house isn't a homeless shelter! Why are we picking up trash?"

A few of the Vances' wealthy relatives and house guests were in the living room. Some sipped their tea, others pretended to look at their phones. Not a single person spoke up. Every gaze felt like a needle pricking my skin.

But I stood there, keeping my spine perfectly straight.

Chloe walked a circle around me, then reached out and yanked the faded sleeve of my school hoodie. "You wear this garbage and think you can stand in my living room? Your dad owed us money. Why did he dump his trash on us?"

I met her eyes. My voice was steady. "I can work. I won't take up your space, and I won't cost you a dime."

"How dare you talk back to me?!"

Chloe lost it.

There was a mug of freshly brewed, steaming hot tea on the side table. Chloe snatched it. The heat burned her fingers for a split second, but in the next, she swung her hand and threw the boiling liquid straight onto my bare arm and hand.

The scalding water hit my skin.

A searing, blinding pain exploded.

My entire body shuddered, my muscles convulsing from the shock.

Hot water dripped from my fingers onto the hardwood floor. Within seconds, my skin turned a violent, blistering red.

But I bit my lip so hard I tasted copper, forcing the scream back down my throat. My eyes welled with tears, but I refused to let a single one fall.

Chloe clapped her hands in delight, looking down at me with a smirk. "Now you know your place, trash."

A relative nearby cleared their throat and covered their face with a teacup. The housekeeper quickly turned back into the kitchen, pretending she hadn't seen a thing.

Victoria frowned slightly, but there was no anger in her voice. "That's enough, Chloe. Don't make a mess. Hazel, clean up the floor."