THE GHOST OF HARRINGTON MANSION
1218 Words
The gold-plated revolving doors of the Harrington Flagship Hotel spun with a rhythmic, mechanical *whoosh*, a sound that usually signaled the arrival of someone who believed the world was their personal playground. I didn't need to look up to identify the latest guest. The cloying, expensive scent of Chanel No. 5 drifted across the lobby, a fragrance that always felt like a physical weight in my lungs, a reminder of everything I was denied.
I kept my head bowed, my fingers locked in a white-knuckled grip around the handle of a gray, industrial mop. My world was six inches of marble at a time. A hurried guest had left a muddy footprint across the pristine floor, and I attacked it with steady, repeated movements, my muscles screaming in a dull, familiar ache. My black maid’s uniform was stiff, the collar chafing against my neck, and a prominent bleach stain marred my white apron—a mark of my "clumsiness" according to my stepmother. In this lobby, under the glittering chandeliers that bore my family name, I was invisible. A ghost in a stained apron.
"Oh, look, Ava. The trash is out early today."
The voice was high, sharp, and dripping with a fake sweetness that made my skin crawl. I stopped scrubbing. Vivienne Harrington stood a few steps away, wearing a silk dress that shimmered with a luster that cost more than I would earn in a year of cleaning these very floors. Beside her, Ava held her phone up like a weapon, likely ready to post my humiliation to a group chat of elite socialites.
"Is that a new stain on your dress, Celeste? Or is that just your personality leaking out?" Vivienne laughed, the sound echoing off the high ceilings like a jagged blade.
I slowly straightened my back, hearing my vertebrae pop one by one. My palms were calloused, but when I looked at Vivienne, I didn't let a flicker of exhaustion show. I looked her straight in her perfectly made-up eyes.
"It’s bleach, Vivienne," I said, my voice steady despite the thumping of my heart. "It’s used to clean up filth. You should try some; it might help with that mouth of yours".
Ava gasped, her jaw dropping as Vivienne’s smile faltered. My sister stepped closer, her expensive heels clicking aggressively on the wet marble I had just polished.
"You should watch your tone. Don't you know what today is?" Vivienne hissed, her face inches from mine. "Damien Chen is coming. And he’s coming for me. I’m about to become the most powerful woman in the country while you spend the rest of your life cleaning the toilets I use".
I leaned against the mop handle, a small, cold smile touching my lips. "Is that what Dad told you? That you’re a prize?".
"I am the prize," she snapped.
"No," I countered, my voice dropping to a whisper that felt like a razor. "You’re a price tag. You’re the collateral for a debt Howard is too arrogant to admit he can't pay. The Harrington hotels are bleeding money, Vivienne. The bank is circling. You aren't getting married because you’re beautiful... you’re getting married because the family is broke and Damien Chen is the only man with a checkbook big enough to keep you from the streets".
Vivienne’s face turned a violent shade of red. She raised a hand as if to strike, but I didn't flinch. I was taller, and without her heels, she would have looked as small as her spirit.
"Go ahead," I shrugged , turning back to my mop. "But then who would clean the lobby for the signing ceremony tonight? I don't think your manicures could handle the soap".
She let out a frustrated scream and marched toward the elevators. I watched her go, my heart thumping against my ribs. I had won this round, but the weight of the truth felt heavier than the mop.
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