Phoebe's POV
I stood at the top of the stairs, arms crossed as I watched Nina scrubbing the floors below.
It wasn’t enough.
Not yet.
Tapping my nails against my sleeve, I narrowed my eyes. She was working too well—too efficiently. There was no struggle. No exhaustion.
That wouldn’t do.
I descended the staircase slowly, ensuring each step echoed against the polished wood. My heels clicked, sharp and deliberate.
Nina heard me approaching but didn’t stop working.
Typical.
She always acted obedient, always lowered her gaze as if she knew her place. But I knew better.
This girl—this nobody—had been brought into the family out of misplaced kindness. And yet, somehow, she still had people on her side.
I stopped just behind her.
“Get up,” I ordered.
She straightened, wiping her hands
