Chapter 1
The afternoon sun poured through the towering arched windows of the Ashford estate’s music parlor, casting a brilliant, natural cinematic light across the room. There was no hazy yellow tint to the air; the light was crisp, pure, and brilliantly white, illuminating the vibrant, rich colors of the lavish sanctuary. A massive black grand piano anchored the space, surrounded by a tall rolling sheet-music cabinet, gleaming brass metronomes, and elegantly framed music scores. Near the center of the room, a decorative engagement-flower display stood proudly next to a table laden with velvet favor boxes, celebrating an impending union that was supposed to solidify an empire.
Mae Harper kept her head down, her fair, rosy skin flushed from the exertion of her labor. At twenty-five, she was a quiet, unassuming presence in the Ashford house, dressed in a strict, professional black-and-white maid uniform, complete with a starched apron, opaque tights, and sensible flats. She scrubbed the marble floor near the base of the piano, trying to remain entirely invisible.
A few feet away, her three-year-old daughter, Nora, sat quietly on the edge of the leather piano bench. Dressed in a simple child’s dress, a soft cardigan, white socks, and tiny flats, the little girl hummed a quiet, innocent tune, her legs swinging gently.
The heavy parlor doors swung open, and the atmosphere in the room instantly turned toxic.
Celeste Wainwright marched in, her high heels clicking aggressively against the pristine marble. At thirty-three, she was the future lady of the house, Nolan Ashford’s fiancée. She wore an elegant, breathtaking engagement dress, her fair skin adorned with heavy, sparkling diamond jewelry and an antique diamond engagement ring that caught the bright sunlight. She carried herself with an air of absolute, venomous entitlement. Trailing behind her was her older brother, Marcus Wainwright, a forty-year-old Mafia associate in an expensive tailored suit, his polished leather shoes squeaking faintly.
"What is this?" Celeste snapped, her sharp American accent cutting through the quiet parlor. Her eyes locked onto the three-year-old girl sitting on the bench.
"I apologize, Miss Wainwright," Mae said, immediately scrambling to her feet, her voice trembling. "She was just waiting for me to finish the floors. We will leave right now."
"You certainly will," Celeste sneered, stepping aggressively toward the piano. "This room is prepared for my engagement guests, not for the hired help's filthy offspring."
Before Mae could even reach her daughter, Celeste’s hand shot out. With a sudden, vicious surge of unwarranted violence, she violently shoved little Nora off the piano bench.
"Nora!" Mae screamed.
The three-year-old flew backward, crashing hard onto the unforgiving marble floor beside the heavy wooden legs of the piano. A sharp, terrified wail erupted from the child’s lungs as she curled inward, clutching her bruised arm.
Mae rushed forward, entirely abandoning her subservient protocol. She dropped to her knees to gather her weeping child, but before she could touch her, Celeste’s manicured hand aggressively tangled into Mae’s hair.
"Do not ignore me when I am speaking to you!" Celeste hissed. With a brutal yank, she pulled Mae up and threw her forcefully against the polished wooden side of the grand piano.
Mae gasped, the breath knocked from her lungs as she slid down the instrument, her apron tangling around her legs.
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"Filthy hands don’t touch Ashford property," Celeste said viciously, her rosy cheeks flushed with cruel satisfaction. "You and that brat are nothing."
At that exact moment, the heavy oak doors leading from the main corridor silently pushed open.
