CHAPTER 74: KNOW YOUR PLACE

The morning sunlight streamed through the tall windows of the Camden estate, soft and golden, spilling warmth across the sitting room. Rachel sat in one of the armchairs opposite Mr. Camden, a small teacup in her hands, while the old man leaned back with a rare ease.

Just yesterday, the entire house had been in quiet panic, and Rachel had hovered anxiously by his bedside, afraid he might not even open his eyes.

But this morning, he was in unusually high spirits, as though determined to prove to her, and perhaps to himself, that he was far from done with life. His voice, though still rough from age, carried a note of humor Rachel hadn’t expected to hear so soon.

"...and then," Henry said, his wrinkled eyes bright, "I told the doctor that if he made me swallow one more pill, I’d throw him out the window. The poor man nearly fainted himself."

Rachel gasped and then laughed, clapping a hand over her mouth. "You didn’t say that."

"Oh, I did. Ask him yourself when he comes today. He’ll tell you," Henry said, amusement dancing in his eyes.

She shook her head, her dark hair brushing her cheeks. "I can’t believe you, Mr. Camden. I’m never going to stop seeing you as a stubborn old man."

Henry chuckled, lifting his cup with shaky but determined hands. "Stubborn keeps me alive. Don’t you agree? I simply can’t live the rest of my life being docile like a chicken."

Rachel arched a brow, feigning sternness. "I think you’re impossible. But..." her lips softened into a smile, "I suppose that’s part of your charm."

The words surprised even her. It startled her, how easily she could say such things to him now. Their constant bickering had given way to something lighter, something almost... companionable.

Yesterday’s fear of losing him had cracked something open in her heart. She no longer felt like she was simply doing a job. She felt like, though she dared not say it aloud, she was keeping company with a grandfather or was it a friend, of her own.

Just as Henry laughed again, a sharp voice cut into the room.

"Well, isn’t this just cozy?"

Both Rachel and Henry turned their heads. Standing in the doorway was Sandra, her perfectly pressed blazer making her look even more severe than usual. Her arms were crossed, her lips pressed into a thin line as she took in the sight of them.

Rachel immediately sat straighter, heat rushing to her face. She hadn’t heard Sandra arrive.

"Good morning, Sandra," Henry said warmly, unfazed by her tone. "You’re here earlier than usual."

"I came to check on you," she said, stepping into the room. Her heels clicked against the polished floor. "After what happened yesterday, I was worried. I didn’t expect to find you... laughing." Her eyes flicked toward Rachel like a blade. "With the help."

Rachel’s cheeks burned in anger, but before she could speak, Henry frowned.

"Sandra," he said sharply, "Rachel is not ’the help.’ She’s my caretaker. And a good one at that."

Sandra tilted her chin, her smile tight. "Caretaker. Maid. Help. The difference is very little, isn’t it? She works for you. She serves you. Don’t you think it’s unbecoming to sit here, sharing tea and laughter as though she were your equal?"

Rachel’s throat tightened. The words stung more than she wanted to admit. She lowered her gaze to her lap, but Henry was already gripping his cane with trembling hands, his blue eyes sparking with rare anger.

"You will not speak of her that way," he said, his voice firm despite the weakness in his body. His tone carried the weight of a man who had once commanded respect in every room he entered. "Rachel is not only doing her job—she’s doing it with patience, kindness, and dignity. That deserves my respect, and yours too."

Sandra’s jaw clenched, but she forced a brittle smile. "Grandfather, I only mean you should be cautious. She works for you, and it would be unwise to let her forget that fact."

Henry’s eyes narrowed. "The only one forgetting their place here is you, Sandra. Rachel is not trying to be my equal. She’s simply being herself. And I’m enjoying her company. If you have a problem with that, keep it to yourself."

Rachel’s heart thudded. She hadn’t expected such a fierce defense.

Sandra exhaled sharply through her nose, then turned back to her grandfather. "Fine. I won’t argue with you." She set her bag down and leaned forward, her tone softening. "The important thing is that you look better today. After yesterday, I was afraid..." She shook her head. "But if you’re sitting here, laughing... I suppose I don’t need to hover."

"You never needed to hover," Henry said with a smirk. "Rachel has me well in hand."

Sandra’s lips pressed into a thin line again. She glanced at Rachel once more before picking up her bag. "I’ll be back later. Don’t overexert yourself, Grandfather."

Henry gave a dismissive wave. "Go, go. You’re fussing worse than Rachel."

Sandra left the room with clipped steps. Rachel rose instinctively, gathering the empty cups and saucers.

"I’ll clear this up," she murmured.

Henry gave her a look that was equal parts affectionate and exasperated. "Ignore her. She thinks the world revolves around her judgment. It doesn’t. She’ll learn."

Rachel managed a small smile, though Sandra’s words lingered like a bruise.

She carried the tray out to the kitchen, her thoughts spinning, and just as she stepped back into the hall, she almost collided with Sandra.

Sandra’s eyes narrowed instantly. "Ah. There you are."

Rachel steadied the tray, keeping her expression neutral. "Yes?"

Sandra’s voice dropped, quiet and cold. "I’ll make this simple. My grandfather’s health is your responsibility. That’s it. You are not here to sit with him, laugh with him, or pretend you’re family. You are here to care for him. Nothing more."

"I don’t—"

Sandra cut her off with a sharp shake of her head. "Know your place, Rachel. Whatever bond you think you’re building with him, it isn’t real. Don’t mistake his fondness for equality."

Her gaze lingered, icy and warning, before she brushed past, the click of her heels echoing like punctuation to her words.

Rachel stood frozen in place, the tray heavy in her hands, her heart pounding.

Why would Sandra say that? Why did she feel the need to warn her away, as though she were... a threat?

She looked toward the sitting room where Henry still sat, the echo of his laughter lingering in her ears. Whatever Sandra thought, Rachel knew what she felt in that room: respect, companionship, a fragile bond growing into something steady.

But now, Sandra’s words clung to her, heavy and bitter.

She forced a steady breath and shook her head. Whatever Sandra believed, Rachel wouldn’t let it rattle her. She had a duty here, and she knew her own heart. She wasn’t thinking whatever Sandra was thinking of accusing her of and that was all that mattered.