Chaos erupted the moment the maid's shrill voice cracked through the drawing room.
"Madame! V-Venzrich Archeval has arrived!"
The room froze.
Mrs. Morrow halted mid-step, still holding a porcelain jar in her hand as if she intended to hurl it. The maids who were dragging me stumbled in their panic, their hands tightening around my arms. A droplet of my blood slid off my chin and splattered onto the cream carpet.
Everything shattered at once.
"Idiot! Hide her—NOW!" Mrs. Morrow spat.
Before I could draw my breath, the maids clamped down harder and yanked me forward. Their nails dug into my arms. My vision swirled sickeningly as they dragged my half-conscious body across the floor.
"W–wait—please—" I begged, the pain crashing into me as soon as my body moved.
They didn't hear me. Or didn't care.
A maid flung open the tall cabinet — the display closet, where Mr. Morrow kept her cherished suits and some empty certificates claiming the Morrow family had taste.
