CHAPTER 262: FLASHBACK

*FLASHBACK*

The morning was damp with dew and silence, the kind that clung to the skin and crawled into the joints. Dawn had only begun its slow rise over the Welhaven estate, casting milky gold through the east-facing windows. The grand house was still in slumber, though the servants had begun to stir in the lower halls. Cook was already clattering about in the kitchen. The laundry girls whispered over folded linens.

And Ken moved like a shadow.

His boots were in his hand, his shirt misbuttoned in his haste. He crept down the hallway on the third floor, heart pounding, each creak in the floorboards like the snapping of a whip. Behind him, Maeve’s door was shut, and locked, and would remain so until she awoke—later, long after he’d vanished. That was their pattern. Their ritual. Their sin.

He descended the servant’s stairwell quickly, boots thudding softly against the worn wooden steps. Every corner could be a witness. Every face a threat.

He didn’t see her until he stepped out into the narrow corridor by the linen closet.

Ophelia.

She leaned against the wall, arms folded, like she had been waiting all night. She wore a deep green velvet robe over a silk nightgown, a strand of pearls around her pale throat. Her eyes caught the thin sliver of sunlight bleeding into the hall—and they glittered like daggers.

"Well," she said.

Ken froze. His mouth opened, but nothing came out.

Ophelia gave a slow, serpentine smile. "Did she cry out your name, or did you make her whisper it?"

"I..." he began, voice raw as he glanced around to make sure no one else was coming. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same." She pushed off the wall and stepped closer, her slippers silent on the old tile floor. "But I already know. I followed you last night. I saw you slip into her room like a rat in heat."

Ken’s jaw tensed. "It’s none of your business."

"Oh, but it is," she said sweetly. "You think no one’s noticed, don’t you? The way she smiles at you in the garden, how you linger in the library when she reads. You both are not being subtle, Ken."

He narrowed his eyes. "Then why haven’t you said anything all that while?"

"Because I wanted to be sure, and i wanted to have you exactly where i want. And now I have."

Her voice lost its velvet.

"You have been screwing Maeve Welhaven right under her father’s roof," she said flatly, stepping into his space. "And you’re nothing. A servant’s son. You don’t belong in her bed."

Ken glared at her. "I love her."

Ophelia barked a cold laugh. "Love? Don’t be stupid. You think that matters in this house? What happens when she grows tired of playing rebel and Daddy finds out? You think she will protect you? Or will she pretend you meant nothing and let him tear you apart to save face?"

"She loves me." He said stubbornly, trying to remain stoic but the tremor in his jaw betrayed him.

Ophelia leaned in closer, her breath warm and sour with wine. "Want to know what I think? I think she’s playing with you. And I think you are too naïve to see it."

"What do you want?" he asked hoarsely.

Her eyes lit with something dark. "Come now. Don’t be so dense."

He stepped back. "No."

"Oh, Kenneth." Her voice was mocking. "You think you can keep touching Maeve and walk away clean? No, no. You are supposed to belong to me, You’re marked."

He shook his head and turned down the hall. She followed him.

"Go ahead, keep running," she said, voice rising. "But know this—if you don’t give me what I want, I’ll march straight to Maeve and tell her exactly what you are. I’ll whisper in her ear that you were with me the night before. That you kissed me like a starving dog and begged for more. Do you think she will believe you over her dear big sister who wants nothing than to protect her?"

He stopped, shoulders heaving. Then, with a groan of fury, he spun on her. "You wouldn’t."

"Yes Ken, I would," she said, cool as frost.

"You’d lie to her. Just to ruin me."

"Don’t be dramatic. I’d be saving her."

"You are disgusting."

She smiled. "Maybe. But I’m not finished."

He didn’t move as she circled him like a lioness, savoring the power.

"If that doesn’t frighten you, maybe this will: I’ll go to her father. I’ll tell him you seduced his teenage daughter. Defiled her. You think the great Kurt Welhaven will forgive that?"

Ken’s face paled.

"He’ll cut you off at the knees," she continued softly. "And your mother? She’ll be out in the snow by sundown. No references. No work. No pension."

He stared at her, horrified. "She has worked here for twenty years, she is like family..."

"She is a maid," Ophelia said coldly. "And you are a stableboy with ideas above his station. All it would take is a word. One word. And your lives would vanish."

Ken turned, rage clenching his fists, and stalked down the corridor toward the servants’ quarters. She followed him in silence, watching him crumble. He pushed into his tiny room and shut the door but she slipped in behind him before it latched.

The room was narrow and gray, with a narrow cot, a chest of drawers, and a cracked mirror. A stack of worn books sat on the sill. Everything smelled faintly of hay and soap. Ken looked like a caged animal.

"You can’t blackmail me into sleeping with you," he said quietly, not meeting her gaze.

Ophelia didn’t respond at first. She moved to the mirror, adjusted her pearls, and turned to him.

"I don’t need to blackmail you. I’m giving you a chance."

"A chance?"

"To stay safe. To keep Maeve’s name clean. To protect your mother. I’m not asking for love, Ken. I’m offering a deal."

He sat on the cot, running a hand through his tangled hair. "You’re sick."

She knelt in front of him, her eyes locked on his. "I’m realistic. Maeve can’t keep you. But I can. And in time... maybe you’ll see it wasn’t such a terrible trade."

He turned away from her, disgust curling in his chest.

"Fine," she said, rising. "Say no. But when your mother’s weeping on the steps, when Maeve won’t even look at you, don’t blame me. You were warned."

She reached the door. Her hand lingered on the knob.

"You’ll come around," she said. "They always do."

And then she was gone, the echo of her footsteps vanishing down the hall.

Ken remained seated, the walls closing in around him.

He wanted to run, to scream, to tell Maeve everything. But the image of his mother, her hands blistered from years of cleaning, her smile proud whenever she spoke of how Ken worked on his studies helped by Kind Lord Welhaven, struck him like a blade.

He couldn’t destroy her life.

Ophelia knew it. Counted on it.

That was the beginning. The first of many chains.