Between Uniform And Lies

Chapter 2: First Night

I don’t stop thinking about his eyes even after I leave school. They stay with me as I walk home, calm and blank, like I didn’t exist at all, and I keep checking my bag even though I know it’s still closed, because the thought of that strap slipping out again makes my stomach twist.

The street is loud but familiar, and the sounds of passing cars and shouting children should calm me, yet they don’t. My heart’s crushing, and every step feels heavier than the last.

***

When I reach home, the door creaks softly as I push it open, and the smell of warm food greets me, thin but comforting. My mother is sitting on the bed when I enter, her shoulders slumped, her breathing shallow. She coughs again, so loud and rough and I freeze where I stand until it passes.

“I’m fine,” she says quickly, even though I didn’t ask. I nod because arguing takes too much energy, and because I need to leave soon.

I change quietly, folding my uniform carefully and putting it away, then pulling on the plain clothes I use for work, I tie my hair back tighter than usual, for neatness and for safety, and I remind myself that tonight is simple.

Just work, don’t break anything and don’t be seen.

“I’ll be back late,” I say.

She nods, and doesn't ask questions i can't answer because somethings are too heavy to say and we both know it

***

Outside, the sky is dark and cool, and the road to the mansion feels longer than it should. When I finally reach the gates, they slide open slowly, silently, like they were expecting me.

The Dominic mansion rises ahead of me, large and tall, and even at night it looks expensive, with soft lights glowing behind tall windows and cars parked neatly outside, their surfaces clean and perfect.

I pause before stepping inside because the air feels different here, cooler and calmer, and for a moment I feel like I’ve crossed into a place where I don’t belong at all.

Inside, the marble floors stretch wide and pale, reflecting the soft light above, and my footsteps sound too loud even though I’m barely moving. The ceilings are high, the walls spotless, and everything looks like it costs more than my whole life put together.

A woman with a tight bun and sharp eyes approaches me, her steps quick and sure.

“You’re the new one,” she says, not asking.

“Yes, ma’am,” I reply.

“I’m the head maid,” she continues, already turning. “Follow me and listen carefully.”

I do both.

She walks fast, and I hurry after her as other staff pass by quietly, focused, their faces unreadable. No one stares, but no one smiles either.

“You’ll clean the west wing tonight,” she says. “Small areas only. Tables, shelves, corners. Don’t touch personal items and don’t wander.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And if you hear footsteps,” she adds, glancing at me, “you move out of the way.”

I nod again, my hands clenched at my sides. She hands me a cloth and points down the hall before leaving me alone.

The space is quiet now, and the silence presses in as I begin working. I wipe a small table carefully, lifting nothing, moving slowly, because my hands are shaking and I can’t afford a mistake.

The furniture is smooth and cold under my fingers, and I keep thinking how one wrong move could shatter something I could never replace.

Everything here feels fragile and powerful at the same time. I move from table to shelf, breathing slowly, telling myself that I’ll be fine if I stay focused and finish quickly.

Then I hear footsteps.

They’re slow and steady, and the air around me shifts, like everyone else feels it too. Somewhere down the hall, voices lower and movements soften and I don’t need anyone to tell me.

It's Lucian, he's home

My heart begins to race, and I look around quickly, spotting the staircase nearby. The space beneath it is dark and narrow, but it will hide me, so I move without thinking and slip under the stairs, crouching low.

The wood is cool against my back, and dust clings to my clothes, but I don’t care then I pull my knees in and press my hands together, forcing myself to stay still.

He won’t see me, I tell myself, again and again, because I need to believe it.

Just breathe and stay quiet and everything will be okay.

The footsteps come closer.

Slow and unbothered like whoever is walking has never had to rush for anything in his life.

I press myself deeper under the stairs, my back scraping the wall, my knees pull tight to my chest and my fingers dig into my skirt to stop them from shaking. I tell myself to breathe, but my chest won’t listen.

“He won’t see you”, I tell myself.

“He won’t care”. Just finish your work and go but the words sound weak in my head.

The light shifts and a shadow stretches across the floor, long and dark, stopping just inches from where I’m hiding. My heart stutters so hard it feels like it might fall out of my chest so I close my eyes.

This is it.

I don’t know what breaks first the fear, the shame, or the tiredness of always hiding.

Something inside me sinks. I’m tired of crouching, tired of holding my breath and tired of pretending my life is something I should be ashamed of.

My hands stop shaking.

Before I can think too much, before fear can pull me back, I move.

I crawl out from under the stairs and stand up slowly, my legs weak, my head bowed. I don’t look at him at first because looking feels like begging.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

My voice is quiet, but it doesn’t c***k. That surprises me.

“I didn’t mean to hide,” I add, even though I did. “I was just working.”

Silence stretches between us, heavy and thick.

I lift my head.

Lucian Dominic stands there, watching me. His face is calm, unreadable, like this moment doesn’t cost him anything at all.

And something inside me snaps.

I straighten my shoulders even though my chest hurts.

“If you want to tell them,” I say, the words coming out faster now, spilling. “You can.”

My hands curl into fists at my sides.

“You can tell everyone at school,” I continue. “You can laugh, you can make it a joke, you can let them whisper when I walk past.”

My throat tightens, but I don’t stop.

“This is my life,” I say softly. “This job, this uniform, this house at night and school in the morning.”

I swallow hard.

“I don’t have a choice.”

The words hang in the air, small and bare and true.

I wait for him to say something cruel, to smile, to look down on me because that’s what always happens.

But he doesn’t speak and the silence feels worse than words.

My eyes burn, but I refuse to cry. Crying would make this smaller and I need him to see it, even if he never understands it.

“I just wanted to finish and leave,” I whisper. “That’s all.”

For a moment, I feel completely empty like I’ve handed him every fragile part of me and there’s nothing left to protect.

He finally moves but just one step.

My heart jumps even though I tell it not to but he doesn’t touch me, he doesn’t laugh, he doesn't say anything at all.

He looks at me like he’s seeing something he wasn’t supposed to see.

Then he turns and walks away just like that.

I stand there long after he’s gone, my body shaking now that it’s over. The house feels colder, bigger and meaner.

I sink back down onto my knees and press my forehead to the marble floor.

I told him everything, I think.

And I don’t know if that makes me brave or ruined.