CHAPTER NINE: HURT FEELINGS
1135 Words
The castle was silent, save for the wind that sighed through the long corridors like the breath of ghosts.
Aurelia had grown used to its silence. The cold stone, the echoing emptiness, the routine of labor from morning till night. Pain had become a constant companion—both the ache in her limbs from ceaseless chores and the deeper, bruising hollow in her chest whenever she thought of Lucien Virell.
She never saw him anymore—only glimpses. A passing shadow on the stairs. A locked door at the end of the west wing. He avoided her as if she were plague-ridden. Or perhaps… beneath that cruel mask, he feared what he might do if he didn't.
She couldn’t say. She didn’t dare hope.
But that night, everything changed.
It started with laughter.
A sound she hadn’t heard in weeks. Not the subdued laughter of servants or the shy giggles of distant staff—no, this was bright, sultry, loud. It echoed through the marble halls like a melody from another world. It was the laugh of a woman used to getting what she wanted. It stirred a strange sickness in Aurelia’s stomach.
She was on her way back from the scullery, carrying a bucket of coal. She froze as the sound carried down the corridor toward her.
He wasn’t alone.
And then she saw them.
Lucien walked out of the dining hall, his jacket off, shirt collar unbuttoned, hair tousled like he'd run fingers through it. Behind him came a woman in a tight crimson dress, lips painted as red as wine, her heels clicking confidently across the floor.
Aurelia ducked behind a column. Her breath caught in her throat.
The woman looped her arms around Lucien’s neck and whispered something in his ear. He chuckled—a low, amused sound. Then he grabbed her waist and pulled her flush against him, right there in the hallway, with no concern for who might see.
Aurelia turned her face away.
But she couldn’t block the sounds.
Not the laughter.
Not the gasps.
Not the moan that slipped free when Lucien pressed her against the wall and whispered something too soft to hear.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
But it didn’t help.
The images were already carved into her mind. Her throat burned. Her chest felt hollowed out.
She had scrubbed this castle from dawn till dusk for days. She’d gone hungry, cried in silence, worked until her knees gave out, all while Lucien watched from a distance.
And now he touched someone else with fire in his eyes?
It wasn’t just humiliation.
It was betrayal.
---
Later that night, Aurelia was returning from the kitchens when she passed Lucien’s wing—off-limits to everyone but Adeline.
Except the door wasn’t closed.
It was slightly ajar.
And inside… the same woman. Her red dress was on the floor.
Aurelia didn’t mean to look.
But her feet stopped anyway.
Through the narrow gap, she saw pale skin and tangled sheets, Lucien’s back arched as he leaned over the woman, his mouth moving down her throat, her hands in his hair.
The woman moaned his name.
Lucien growled something low.
It was too much.
Aurelia turned and fled down the corridor, her steps uneven, the cold air stabbing her lungs.
She ran past her quarters, past the servant’s hall, until she reached the rear garden and stepped out into the freezing wind. The moon overhead was a thin, red crescent. A sickle of blood in a starless sky.
She choked on the air.
Her fingers curled around the railing of the terrace. Her vision swam.
Why did it hurt this much?
He was never hers. Never gentle. Never warm.
Yet she had hoped.
Foolishly.
Stupidly.
She had hoped the hours of servitude meant something. That her presence chipped away at the armor he wore. That perhaps, just maybe, the way he’d touched her chin in the hall that day meant more.
But now…
She was nothing to him.
Less than nothing.
---
She didn’t sleep that night.
She sat by the window and watched the moon move across the sky until dawn stained the horizon.
When she finally rose, it wasn’t to mop floors or fold linens.
It was to confront him.
---
Lucien was in the front drawing room when she entered, reading a ledger by the fireplace. A glass of dark wine sat untouched beside him.
He looked up when she entered.
For a moment, silence stretched between them.
Then Aurelia spoke.
“I saw her.”
Lucien raised an eyebrow. “So?”
“So?” Her voice trembled. “You brought a woman here—paraded her around—slept with her—”
“Do you assume that’s forbidden?”
“I thought I meant something,” she hissed, stepping closer. “After all this… the things you made me do… the pain you’ve put me through… I thought it had purpose.”
Lucien stood.
He walked toward her slowly, the fire casting shadows on his pale, perfect face. “And what purpose would that be, Aurelia?”
She faltered. “I—I don’t know. Something real.”
He laughed—dark and cruel. “Real?”
“You don’t have to love me,” she snapped. “I never asked for that. But you could at least respect me!”
His smile vanished.
He stepped closer until he loomed over her.
“You are a servant,” he said softly. “A daughter of a man who sold you like cattle. You are here because I allowed it.”
“You think I wanted this marriage?” she spat.
“You were sold,” he repeated, cold and precise. “You’re not fit to be my woman, Aurelia. You're a bargaining chip in a business deal.”
Her breath caught.
The words felt like daggers in her chest.
“You may wear a noble name,” he continued, “but you live at my mercy. Don’t confuse kindness—when I spared you food—with affection. You are not my lover. You are not my equal.”
Her lip trembled, but she wouldn’t cry. Not in front of him.
“I don’t want to be yours,” she said, voice shaking. “Not if this is who you are.”
Lucien tilted his head, studying her. “Good. Then we understand each other.”
He turned back to the fire.
“You may go.”
She didn’t move.
He didn’t look back.
Only the fire cracked between them—alive and hungry, like something just barely caged.
When she finally left the room, her heart had gone quiet.
Something had died in her that day.
But in the silence… something else awakened.
Not submission.
Not despair.
But cold resolve.
---
- Writer
