Chapter 2 Just A Servant

A sinking feeling settled in Baila's chest. It struck her then-Rowan had always kept his distance from women. His expression was perpetually unreadable, his demeanor cold and detached, as though desire was something foreign to him. He was like an untouchable work of art, admired from afar.

So he had never slept with a woman before last night?

No wonder he was so furious.

Yes, she had made the first move last night, but once he woke up, everything had changed. He had flipped their positions in an instant, taking complete control...

The lingering heat on Baila's collarbone made her shudder. His bite marks still burned against her skin, and the aches in her body only served as a stark reminder of the night before.

"Honey, you must be mistaken! This is just a new servant-Baila!"

Sensing something amiss, Phoebe jumped in. She shot Baila a glare sharp enough to wound. The bitch always had a way of seducing men. Did she even look at herself? She was too ugly to seduce anyone!

"A servant?" Rowan's eyes swept over Baila, cold and distant yet laced with silent scrutiny.

Beneath his stare, Baila bristled, but she forced herself to remain composed. Slowly, she lifted her chin, tilting her face just enough for the long scar on her right cheek to catch the light. "Mr. Hayes, you're mistaken," she said calmly. "I don't know you. I'm just a servant here."

Only then did Rowan notice the scar. It stretched from the top of Baila's cheek to the bottom, long and jagged, marring what might have been a delicate face.

His brows furrowed slightly. This wasn't the face he had seen last night.

"Then why did you run away just now?" Rowan asked.

"I wasn't running away. I was just heading to the kitchen to work," Baila replied.

Rowan studied her for several seconds. The woman in the hotel room had Phoebe's face.

And yet, Phoebe was standing right next to him. How could he have mistaken someone else for her?

"You may leave now," Rowan said.

"Yes, Mr. Hayes." Baila gave a small nod before turning and disappearing into the kitchen.

Without another glance at Phoebe, Rowan strode upstairs.

***

Phoebe stormed into the kitchen, eyes blazing. "Listen to me, Baila," she hissed, "stay away from my husband!"

Baila met her glare with a look of indifference. "I'll leave here right now," she said coldly, "but only if you let my grandmother go."

"Your task here is not over yet," Phoebe snapped. "I already told Rowan you're a servant. If you disappear now, he'll start asking questions. For now, you'll stay here as a servant."

Stay here as a servant?

The memory of Rowan's cold, assessing gaze flashed in Baila's mind, sending a wave of unease through her. She didn't want to stay here a second longer.

But when she thought of her grandmother, she had no other choice but to agree.

Baila clenched her fists, steadying herself. "Then, Phoebe, you'd better make sure you hold on to your position as Mrs. Hayes. You wouldn't want me sticking around and watching you fail, would you?"

Phoebe stiffened. Baila's eyes-clear, piercing, and unsettlingly beautiful-sparkled with a strange charm. She felt a strong urge to poke her fingers into them.

How could someone so ugly have eyes this beautiful?

In fact, Phoebe's face was the result of plastic surgery. The surgeon she had paid a fortune to had once mentioned seeing a breathtaking girl on the busiest street of Washington. It was her face that Phoebe's own had been modeled after.

However, when Baila had been brought here from the countryside, her face without the scar was an exact match to the face Phoebe had paid to create.

Could Baila have been that beautiful girl from Washington?

That couldn't be true!

She was nothing but a nobody with an ugly scar on her face. She probably didn't even know where Washington was.

The surging jealousy in Phoebe's eyes slowly subsided. No matter how striking Baila's eyes were, the scar on her face would never fade. She would always be the ugly girl.

Phoebe sneered, then turned, swinging her hips as she strode out. On her way, she caught sight of Harlee Warren, the housekeeper. "Find the smallest servant's quarters for Baila," she ordered. "And make sure she's given the filthiest, most exhausting work you can find."

***

Alone in the dim servant's quarters, Baila sat in front of the mirror. Her fingers traced the jagged scar down her cheek. Actually...

The truth was Baila hadn't always looked like this.

She was a daughter of the Nelson family, just like Phoebe. But years ago, a mistake had been made-the wrong child had been brought home. While the imposter, Talia Nelson, was raised in luxury, she, the rightful daughter of the Nelson family, spent her childhood in the countryside.

By the time the Nelson family discovered the truth and brought her back, their disappointment was instant. To them, she was nothing more than a disfigured girl with a scarred face-an outsider who lacked refinement. They never truly accepted her.

She had been staying in the servant's room of the Nelson family and was looked down upon.

Phoebe, the favored daughter, enjoyed tormenting her the most.

Just when Baila had resolved to leave and return to the countryside, the Hayes-Nelson marriage alliance had taken shape. The Nelson family snatched her grandmother, using her grandmother as leverage to force her into becoming Phoebe's stand-in. From that moment on, she had been at their mercy.

Baila lowered her face, hiding the cold determination in her eyes. No matter what it took, she would get her grandmother back.

***

Rowan returned to the master bedroom, taking off his shirt before stepping into an ice-cold shower.

After the shower, dressed in black silk pajamas, he stood before the towering French window, his sharp face cast in a mesmerizing glow as city lights refracted through the glass.

Lifting a goblet of red wine, he took a slow sip, the rich, velvety taste spreading across his tongue.

Yet, even as the smooth liquid warmed his throat, a different sensation lingered in his mind. The memory of that kiss. Soft. Fresh. A sweetness unlike anything he had ever tasted-smoother than the finest wine.

His Adam's apple moved slightly. He should have punished Phoebe today. Yet, for reasons he couldn't quite explain, he hadn't done that.

"Shh. If you need an answer, just know this-I'm your wife."

Her words that night echoed in his mind. Setting the glass aside, Rowan lowered himself onto the soft bed.

She had slept on this bed before, and it carried the faintest trace of fragrance.

The delicate scent clung to the pillows.

Last night, Rowan had smelled the same scent. And, for the first time in years-he had slept soundly.

Insomnia had plagued him for as long as he could remember. But last night, he had fallen asleep easily.

Was it because of her scent?

Did he need that to fall asleep?

Testing the thought, Rowan rose and made his way downstairs. Soon, he spotted the familiar, slender figure in the living room.

He walked over and placed his hands on her waist.

Baila had been awake for a while. Standing by the living room, she carefully pruned a handful of fresh flowers, arranging them delicately into a vase. Just then, a set of steady footsteps echoed behind her.

Before she could react, a pair of strong hands touched her waist. She was pulled into an embrace. Through the thin fabric of her clothes, she felt the warmth of a man's chest.

Baila stiffened.

She didn't need to turn around to know who it was. Rowan. The master of the house. No one else would dare do something like that except him.

Why was he holding her?

Had he figured it out that she had been the woman at the hotel?

A sudden heat crept up Baila's neck as his handsome face moved closer. His breath fanned against her skin. He muttered, "Phoebe, why do you smell so good? What perfume are you wearing?"

A rush of warmth surged to Baila's face.

Immediately, she turned to face Rowan. "Mr. Hayes, you've mistaken me for Mrs. Hayes!"