Chapter 4
I brought Sofia inside.
Not because she should hear adult conspiracies.
Because adults had already built one around her while pretending children understood nothing.
I sat her beside me.
“What does bad Vaughn mean?”
She looked toward Veronica.
“Tell Daddy,” I said.
Sofia whispered, “She says I’m too much Mommy.”
My throat tightened.
Evelyn.
Again.
“What does that mean?”
“She says Mommy people work. Daddy people own.”
Veronica looked away.
That sentence did not come from a three-year-old.
It came through her.
I stared at my fiancée.
“You taught my daughter there are owner people and worker people.”
“It’s simplified.”
“No.”
My voice stayed quiet.
“It’s poison designed for someone too young to challenge you.”
Thomas looked furious.
Good.
I was not alone.
Sofia continued.
“Uncle Miles says Daddy forgot.”
I turned toward Thomas.
“Bring Miles.”
Veronica spoke quickly.
“He didn’t do anything.”
Interesting.
First person she defended.
That meant Miles mattered.
“Bring him.”
Miles arrived twenty minutes later wearing the relaxed expression of a man who thought family protected him from consequences.
Then he saw Sofia in my jacket.
The apron.
The notebook.
His confidence disappeared.
I placed the page with his initials on the table.
“Explain.”
He sat slowly.
“Alexander—”
“Explain.”
He looked at Veronica.
She looked at Damian’s chair.
Nobody wanted to be first.
I chose for them.
“What does Damian want?”
Miles exhaled.
“The old household charter restored.”
I almost laughed.
“Household charter?”
“It’s not paperwork.”
Good.
I hated paperwork almost as much as I hated inherited stupidity.
He clarified.
An old set of internal rules.
Who sat where.
Who controlled household staff.
Which children could attend family councils when older.
Which branch of blood received priority.
Informal.
Traditional.
Cruel enough to survive because nothing had to be written down.
“And Evelyn?”
Miles looked uncomfortable.
“Her bloodline was classified household.”
My jaw tightened.
Because her mother once worked here.
One generation of employment had become permanent caste.
I looked at Sofia.
My daughter.
Their boss’s daughter.
Still being classified beneath people because her maternal grandmother once cleaned rooms.
“What happens if the charter returns?”
Miles hesitated.
“Veronica becomes household matriarch after marriage.”
There.
The engagement.
Not romance.
Position.
“And Sofia?”
Silence.
I already knew.
“She becomes subordinate to any child Veronica gives me.”
Miles did not answer.
May you like
He did not need to.
My daughter had been put in a maid uniform because they were rehearsing the future they wanted her to accept.
