“I heard she dismissed three maids without a letter of recommendation because they gossiped about her behind her back,” came a hushed voice from beyond the door.
“How can she be so cruel? As expected from someone of such lowly origin…” another replied, the disdain evident in her tone.
“She’s clearly venting her frustrations about Lady Claire on innocent people.”
Shailoh’s hand froze on the doorknob as the servants’ conversation reached her ears. She could have burst in, could have shouted that it was Claire who had done these terrible things, but instead, her grip weakened, her resolve faltering like a candle flame in a draft.
“Claire did it for me,” she whispered to herself, the justification hollow even to her own ears. “I can bear this much disgrace. Those maids were unfortunate, but…”
Yet this was merely the beginning, the first pebble before an avalanche. As days melted into weeks, more and more transgressions Shailoh had never committed were laid at her feet. Malicious rumors clung to her like shadows, following her through the grand corridors of the house she once called home. They were trivial matters individually, perhaps, but collectively, they were eroding her reputation like rainwater on limestone.
Tales spread through the household like wildfire–how she had whipped and dismissed a stable boy for failing to saddle a horse properly, how she had beaten and fired a maid for accidentally pulling her hair during combing. Each story was more outlandish than the last, yet believed with a readiness that cut deeper than any physical wound could.
When confronted, Claire offered nothing but denials, her face a perfect mask of innocence without a hint of explanation or remorse.
Day and night, Shailoh pleaded her case to her family, but their responses were as unyielding as stone.
“Shailoh. Claire treats me with the utmost kindness and genuinely considers you her sister. Why would she orchestrate such things? Are you attempting to shift blame for your own mistakes?”
It would have been easier if the duchess had shouted, if her face had contorted with rage. Instead, her expression remained unnervingly serene as she reprimanded Shailoh, regarding her as one might a foolish and wicked child who needed correction.
“I truly didn’t do any of it! That’s the honest truth,” Shailoh protested, her voice catching in her throat.
“So you’ll deny it to the bitter end, even with witnesses to your actions,” the duchess replied, her words falling like ice chips between them.
“Witnesses?” Shailoh gasped, shock rippling through her.
She turned her head in the direction the duchess indicated, and there they stood – the maids and servants who had disapproved of her from the moment she arrived from the orphanage in the slums, entering under Claire’s name.
“No, it’s not true,” Shailoh insisted, her heart pounding against her ribs like a caged bird. “They’ve always harbored ill feelings toward me. I never mentioned it because I didn’t wish to trouble you, but I’ve overheard them gossiping about me countless times!”
“Mother!”
As Shailoh tried to protest with a distressed expression, Claire swiftly intervened. “Please don’t treat Shailoh this way,” Claire implored, her voice soft with practiced concern. “What would people say if they witnessed this? They’d claim we brought in an orphan of unknown origin simply to mistreat her. I’ll handle this matter with gentleness.”
An orphan of unknown origin? The words sliced through Shailoh’s heart with the precision of a surgeon’s blade. As she stared at Claire with widened eyes, her supposed sister burst into theatrical tears and threw herself at her mother’s feet.
“I understand why Shailoh behaves this way,” Claire sobbed, her golden curls trembling with each affected breath. “She must feel I’ve usurped her position. But unable to direct her anger toward me or the family, she targets those she perceives as vulnerable to release her frustration.”
Though her words seemed to defend Shailoh, they were, in truth, a masterful belittlement, simultaneously elevating Claire herself. What was painfully obvious to Shailoh appeared invisible to everyone else, who gazed upon Claire with undisguised admiration.
“Oh, Claire! My darling daughter!” the duchess exclaimed, her voice thick with emotion. “How remarkably thoughtful you are. Despite enduring such hardships and growing up in such difficult circumstances, you’ve developed into such an upright young woman that this mother is truly…”
“What is happening here?” a deep voice interrupted.
“Mother?” came another, younger but no less authoritative.
As the duchess helped Claire to her feet, the duke and his son appeared, drawn by the commotion. Their eyes darted between the three women, trying to piece together the scene before them.
“This is…” the duchess began, dabbing at her eyes. “Shailoh was reprimanding the servants with excessive harshness. But Claire stepped in, offering to handle the matter gently and to take Shailoh under her wing.”
The duchess pressed a lace handkerchief to her eyes before bending to place a tender kiss on her daughter’s crown–a gesture of affection she had once bestowed upon Shailoh before Claire’s arrival but which now belonged exclusively to her biological child. Accustomed to such pain, Shailoh clutched at her chest as if physically holding her heart together.
“Wife!” the duke exclaimed, moving to his wife’s side.
“Claire!” his son added, both men embracing the women with protective concern, their eyes sending silent, reproachful warnings toward Shailoh.
Shailoh quietly clenched her fists as she watched herself being completely cast aside as if she were a stranger who had wandered into their midst. It felt as though she were being pushed beyond an invisible barrier, one so towering and impenetrable that crossing it seemed an impossible dream.
She knew that crying or appealing to their emotions would be futile now. Claire had already played that hand with masterful skill. If Shailoh accused Claire of orchestrating everything, she would only cast herself as the wicked stepdaughter falsely accusing the innocent biological daughter–a role that would fit all too neatly into the narrative Claire had crafted.
I must approach this differently. Shailoh’s mind raced despite the heaviness in her heart. Though her eyes burned with unshed tears and her throat constricted with suppressed sobs, Shailoh somehow managed to contain her emotions, drawing on reserves of strength she scarcely knew she possessed. With remarkable composure, she prepared to defend herself one final time.
“Father, Brother. I’m innocent,” Shailoh said, her voice steady despite the storm raging within her. “I’ve never mistreated anyone as they claim. Not once have I raised a hand to whip or strike any servant in this household.”
“Shailoh. Stop it,” the duke sighed heavily, turning away from her. “I know you’re not that kind of child.”
A flicker of hope rose in Shailoh’s chest as she lifted her downcast eyes, only to have it extinguished by the duchess’s cold, cutting voice.
“It was our mistake to make you believe a place that was never yours belonged to you,” she said, each word falling like chips of ice. “I understand that in your youthful heart, you might direct your frustrations toward those you perceive as beneath you.”
The gaze that bore down upon Shailoh was worse than any the duchess had given her before—it was the look of nobility regarding something found in the gutter. Shailoh recognized it instantly; it was the same expression she had endured when begging on the streets for coins to buy her mother’s medicine. A toxic blend of contempt, pity, and fleeting curiosity.
“I’m… sorry,” Shailoh whispered, recognizing the futility of further protest. The verdict had been rendered before she’d even spoken. Anything more would be the desperate flailing of a drowning soul.
A profound weariness washed over her as though she had run for miles without rest. Everything she had fought to preserve slipped through her fingers like water. Nobles who clung to status and bloodlines were, after all, merely that—nobles.
“I won’t do it again,” she conceded, her voice hollow.
Claire’s eyes widened at Shailoh’s unexpected surrender. Shailoh offered her a smile as empty as a long-abandoned house and dipped into a gentle bow.
“Thank you for standing up for me, Claire. I won’t forget this kindness.”
“Oh… it’s nothing,” Claire replied, awkwardly averting her gaze before announcing her desire for a family walk, effectively dismissing Shailoh from their presence.
“Milady…” came a hesitant voice after the family had departed. Shailoh raised her head wearily to see Doris, the young maid who had been in service since Shailoh’s arrival eight years ago. A faint smile touched Shailoh’s lips.
“You’re… Doris.”
The maid, close to Shailoh and Claire in age, approached with tears threatening to spill. She took Shailoh’s hand in her own. “I’m sorry, Milady. I should have helped you,” she said, her voice thick with emotion.
“It’s okay,” Shailoh replied softly. “If you had, it would have been difficult for you to remain employed here.”
Doris understood the unspoken truth in Shailoh’s words and wiped her tears with the back of her hand. “Is there anything I can do for you, Milady?”
“No need to…” Shailoh began but fell silent, her thoughts turning inward. After a moment of contemplation, she opened a desk drawer to show Doris a sketch. “Do you know what this emblem represents?” she asked.
“This is…” Doris examined it with curiosity, her head tilted slightly. “It’s the emblem of the Grid Merchant Guild Leader.”
“It was the seal on a letter left on the desk last night. The contents discussed plans for my marriage,” Shailoh explained, her voice barely above a whisper.
“That’s impossible!” Doris exclaimed, her eyes widening in horror. “The Grid Merchant Guild Leader is a commoner over fifty years old, and there are terrible whispers that his former wife took her own life due to his cruelty. No matter what, you’re the duke’s daughter. There must be some mistake.” Doris shook her head vehemently, disbelief etched across her features. “There must be some misunderstanding… Milady!”
“Ha,” Shailoh’s legs suddenly gave way with a clattering sound. She clutched at the desk for support, the realization dawning on her like a cold sunrise. This was Claire’s endgame—to slander her name, sow discord within the family, and ultimately drive her from the duke’s household entirely.
“Milady?” Doris approached with concern as Shailoh remained silent, head bowed.
After a long moment, Shailoh rummaged through the drawer again and handed over an envelope. “Could you secretly send a letter to the Kildare Baron Family?” she asked.
“The Kildare… Baron Family?” Doris echoed.
“Yes.”
“That’s where Madam’s aunt resides.”
“I visited once, about half a year ago,” Shailoh explained. “The elderly lady of the Baron Family seemed fond of me. I thought she might accept me if I asked, so I prepared this in advance.”
“Are you really… going to leave this mansion?” Doris asked, her voice trembling.
“Whether I leave on my own or am forcibly expelled,” Shailoh replied with quiet resignation, “it’s inevitable.”
Typically, debutantes were presented to society at the age of twenty, a milestone that loomed on the horizon like a distant storm. Claire, with her insatiable hunger for attention, could never abide another stealing even a sliver of the spotlight that she believed rightfully hers. Shailoh knew with grim certainty that should the duke merely hint at introducing her to society, even for the sake of appearances, Claire would orchestrate her expulsion from the mansion with the precision of a seasoned conductor. Both young women had just turned eighteen; the grace period stretching before them was brief—mere years that would slip away like sand through fingers.
“Do you remember when I spoke of my mother’s final words?” Shailoh asked, her voice soft yet resonant with a newfound clarity.
Doris nodded silently, her eyes reflecting the weight of the moment.
Shailoh’s expression hardened with resolve, her features settling into lines of determination that transformed her countenance. “I believed I had grasped happiness with both hands,” she said, “but I was mistaken. If that’s the case, then I shall ensure one thing above all else—I will avoid the path that leads to ultimate misery.”
