The afternoon sun filtered through the wide windows of the Martin mansion, casting golden rays over the marble floors. Lydia stood in the kitchen, humming softly to herself as she sliced carrots for the afternoon salad. Her hands moved rhythmically, but her mind wasn’t at peace. The words David had told her earlier in the morning kept replaying in her head like a broken record — words laced with poison and intent to divide.
“Do you really think Jacob loves you? He’s just using you to make me angry,” David had said with that sly smirk of his, the one that always made her skin crawl. “When he’s done, he’ll throw you away like the rest. Don’t be fooled, Lydia. You’re just a maid.”
At first, those words pierced deep. Lydia had walked away quietly, trying not to cry, but her heart had ached.
