Chapter 3

Lily glided into the room, carrying a small tray with a glass of water and some crackers.

"Ethan asked me to check on you," she said, her voice dripping with false concern. "He's so busy, you know, but he worries."

She placed the tray on my nightstand, her smile never wavering.

"It must be so hard for you here, Elara. This life... it's not for everyone. Especially not for someone like you, used to such finery."

Her words were perfectly innocent on the surface, but the underlying taunt was clear. She was reminding me of my place, or rather, my displacement.

"And Ethan," she continued, her voice softening possessively, "he has so much responsibility. He needs someone who understands this land, this life. Someone... strong."

The implication hung in the air: I was weak, an outsider, and she was the one who belonged, the one who understood him.

I pushed myself up against the pillows, my head still a little fuzzy, but my anger was clearing it fast.

"Don't pretend you care, Lily," I said, my voice hoarse but firm.

Her smile faltered for a fraction of a second.

"You think I don't know what you are?" I continued, my eyes locking onto hers. "Sweet, innocent Lily. Always so helpful. Always there for Ethan."

I let out a small, mirthless laugh. "You're about as innocent as a rattlesnake. And just as welcome in my room."

I saw a flicker of something cold in her eyes before she masked it again with practiced sweetness.

"My father may have married your mother, making us... something. But don't ever forget, you're the child of a mistress. It's a stain that doesn't wash off, no matter how much pie you bake for the foreman."

The direct insult hit its mark. Her sweet facade cracked.

Her eyes narrowed. She picked up a small, decorative glass bottle from my dresser, one I used for wildflowers.

"Oh, dear," she said, her voice suddenly shaky. "I'm so clumsy."

She "accidentally" let the bottle slip from her fingers. It shattered on the wooden floor.

Then, with a small, theatrical gasp, she stumbled, her hand flying to her ankle as she crumpled to the ground near the broken glass.

"Oh! My ankle!" she cried out, tears welling in her eyes. "Elara, why would you...?"

She didn't finish the sentence, just looked up at me with wide, wounded eyes, as if I had pushed her.

It was a performance worthy of an Oscar.

Right on cue, the door opened and Ethan strode in.

He took in the scene in an instant: Lily on the floor, tearful and seemingly injured, broken glass around her, and me, sitting up in bed, looking, I'm sure, like the guilty party.

His face hardened. "What happened?" he demanded, his gaze fixed on me, cold and accusatory.

He was already by Lily's side, gently examining her ankle. "Are you okay, Lily?"

"I... I think I twisted it," she whimpered, leaning into him. "Elara... she was so angry. I just wanted to bring her some water."

He didn't even ask for my side of the story. He'd already judged me.

"Elara, what did you do?" His voice was dangerously low.

I almost laughed. Of course. Why would he ever believe me over precious Lily?

"Nothing," I said, my voice laced with sarcasm. "I did absolutely nothing. She just... fell. Terribly clumsy, that one."

I remembered all the times I'd tried to explain myself, to make him see, and how futile it had always been.

He wouldn't believe me now. He didn't want to.

My resignation was a bitter pill. I was tired of fighting his perception of me.

"You expect me to believe that?" Ethan snapped, his eyes blazing with anger at my dismissive tone.

"Believe whatever you want, Ethan," I said, shrugging. "You always do."

Lily, ever the actress, sniffled. "Ethan, please... don't be angry with her. I'm sure she didn't mean it. I... I probably just startled her."

Her feigned mercy was almost more infuriating than an outright accusation. It made her look magnanimous and me even more unreasonable.

Ethan's expression softened slightly as he looked at Lily. "You're too kind, Lily."

He turned back to me, his face still stern. "Since Lily is asking me to be lenient, you'll just clean this mess up. And apologize to her."

Apologize? To her? For her own staged drama?

The injustice of it was a fresh stab.

I looked from Lily's falsely innocent face to Ethan's biased one.

"You know, Ethan," I said, my voice quiet but cutting, "your taste is truly terrible."

Before he could react, Lily let out a small cry of pain, clutching her ankle again, effectively distracting him.

"Oh, Ethan, it really hurts," she whimpered.

His attention immediately shifted back to her, all concern and tenderness.

"Let me see," he said softly, his large hands gently probing her ankle. "We need to get some ice on this."

He completely ignored my remark, his focus entirely on Lily. It was as if I wasn't even in the room anymore.

His blind spot wasn't just a spot; it was a gaping chasm where his reason and fairness disappeared whenever Lily was involved.

He helped Lily to her feet, supporting her carefully. "I'll take you to the kitchen. We'll get that ice."

"As for you, Elara," he said over his shoulder, his voice hard again, "clean this up. And I expect a written apology. A hundred words. On my desk by morning."

A written apology? For this farce?

He then proceeded to half-carry Lily out of the room, his murmurs of comfort audible as they went down the hall.

I was left alone with the shattered glass and the even more shattered pieces of my hope that he might, one day, see the truth.

I had to sit there, fuming, listening to them in the kitchen, his voice gentle, hers soft and grateful.

The sounds of his care for her were a special kind of torture.

Slowly, I got out of bed, my own aches momentarily forgotten in the face of this new outrage.

I found a dustpan and brush.

As I swept up the glass, I thought about the apology.

A hundred words.

Fine. He'd get his hundred words.

I sat at my small desk, took a piece of paper, and began to write.

Not an apology. An accusation.

"To Foreman Ethan Cole," I wrote. "Regarding the incident involving Lily Hayes: She is a manipulative liar. She dropped the bottle. She faked the fall. She faked the injury. Your blindness to her deceit is astounding. Your judgment is compromised. You consistently favor a conniving fraud over an honest person. This is not an apology; it is a statement of fact. Consider this my formal complaint about your biased and unprofessional conduct. Signed, Elara Vance, the person you refuse to see."

It was more than a hundred words, but I didn't care. I felt a grim satisfaction as I folded it.

The next morning, I placed the "confession" on his desk before anyone else was awake.

Later, at breakfast, Lily appeared, a slight, almost imperceptible limp in her step that vanished when she thought no one was looking.

She smiled sweetly at me. "Elara, I'm so glad we could put that little misunderstanding behind us."

Then, she turned to Ethan. "Ethan, dear, I was thinking... the weather is so lovely today. Perhaps a picnic by the creek? Just us?"

Her invitation, so innocent, so perfectly timed after I'd delivered my defiant note, was another twist of the knife. She wanted to rub her victory in my face.

She even glanced at me, a flicker of triumph in her eyes.

Ethan looked at Lily, then briefly at me. I could see he hadn't read my note yet, or if he had, he chose to ignore its content for now.

"That sounds nice, Lily," he said.

Then, to my utter disbelief, he turned to me. "Elara, you can come too. You can... serve us."

Serve them? Was he insane?

Lily's eyes widened slightly, then a small, cruel smile played on her lips.

I was too stunned, too weary from the constant emotional battery, to even argue.

"Fine," I said, my voice flat. Whatever. Let them have their show.

My will to fight, in that moment, was gone. I was just tired. So incredibly tired.