A faint smile crossed Katarina’s face, even though she honestly didn’t think she deserved it. She narrowed her eyes at Amélie, but it was the kind of shallow amusement she didn’t want to show.

“You know Charlotte Garrel? Even though you’ve never seen a performance in a theatre.”

“Well, I saw her in the news this morning, the famous, Olivier Dampierre…”

Oops. Seeing Katarina’s expression harden, Amélie quickly shut her mouth.

Perhaps it was because she wasn’t feeling well, but uncharacteristically, she let something unnecessary slip out of her mouth.

“Amélie, what kind of person is he…!”

Katarina blurted out, eager to enlighten the maid’s ignorance.

“The Duke Olivier Dampierre has no use for lowly actresses. At most, she’s a one-night stand.”

Amélie dropped her head, bitterly regretting having uttered the name. In her attempt to cheer her up, she’d inadvertently made Katarina uncomfortable.

Who cares about Olivier Dampierre?

It’s just a noun, a name that means nothing to her anyway, like the name of a flower along the road.

But to a noblewoman like Katarina, the name has a different weight.

Olivier Dampierre may be a dream for them, but at least he’s within their reach.

At the very least, he’s a celebrity who exists in the same world as them, someone with whom they might exchange a glance at a social banquet if they had the family name in front of them.

Believing in that one possibility, young ladies like Katarina craved the name like crazy.

So, even though they may be the same scandal, to maids it’s just a mere enjoyable gossip, while to noble ladies of the same age, it may seem like a captivating drama.

“Amélie, don’t you realise what a great party I’m throwing? Even his friends, like the Count of Monceau and the Marquis of Armand, are showing interest. Perhaps he’ll drop in for a while at the upcoming banquet.”

Amélie’s mind went fuzzy again. Firstly, how sensitive Katarina would be, and secondly, how raucous the party would be. How messy the drunken aristocratic young men would get…

Her already nauseous stomach turned even worse.

Katarina always wanted to shed her image of being from a ‘remote area’ and a ‘village corner,’ and made great efforts to establish her presence in the Ezon social circle, but she failed time and time again.

Then, last year, something finally clicked: a grand social party in a sprawling mansion.

These extravagant social gatherings were meticulously planned, aimed squarely at young noblemen of her own age. Katarina wanted the party she was hosting to be as loud and rowdy as any of Ezon’s social events.

Eventually, after a couple of outrageous and raunchy parties, the name ‘Katarina Biché’ began to make a bit of an impact in social circles.

“So, shall we go with this for the dress?”

“Yes… Yes, miss.”

Katarina studied her reflection in the mirror, pulling her breasts together and turning her body this way and that, scrutinising the shape of her hips.

Amélie, who stood beside her with her hands clasped together, blushed, now quite noticeably.

“By the way, Amélie?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Katarina glanced at Amélie, who was sucking in a sharp intake of breath, and the corner of her mouth twitched up wickedly.

“I’m afraid it’s a bit boring after all, don’t you think? It’s a bit under-decorated, and I think I’ll try on one more thing.”

“…Ah.”

Embarrassed, Amélie shook her head.

She really thought she was done now…

“Come on, Amélie. Tell me. Why don’t we do the opposite this time and wear a really big dress with lots of embellishments?”

“…”

Amélie fought with all her might to hold back the rising vomit, but the tears threatened to spill over against her will. Her whole body was boiling with heat, boiling fast.

I am a human too. Even a lowly servant, used like a doormat, has pride they want to protect, and there are days when they suffer to the point of wanting to die. So why do people trample on and torment others like this, even when they know this?

“Oh my, you, are you crying?”

Katarina’s voice immediately rose.

“No, miss. I’m sorry.”

Amélie quickly rubbed the sleep from her eyes and straightened up. She felt like she was going to collapse at any moment, but somehow she managed.

“What will people think of me if you cry so easily because your master made you do some work? Are you doing this on purpose?”

“I’m sorry, my lady. I’m sorry…”

“Okay, then go find my dress.”

Amélie crossed the room, forcing her heavy body to move.

“Uh…”

The floor tilted at an angle, and the world turned upside down.

* * *

Mrs Maxine lingered in Amélie’s room for a long time. She wove handkerchiefs and laid them on her, rubbed her hands and feet until the fever broke.

She knew she was suffering all the time, and she felt bad that she hadn’t done more to stop it. It wasn’t her fault, yet her heart sank when she gave her a dejected look, like she knew her limitations.

“Well, you don’t have to look at it like that.”

Amélie smiled weakly, her worried gaze a burden. With a heavy sigh, Maxine’s hand gently brushed Amélie’s forehead.

“Amélie. Even if it’s hard, hold on a little bit. Still, it’s a better environment than other houses, isn’t it? As others have said, there is no place like this. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Amélie smiled cheerfully.

“It’s not just about the salary, but also the luxurious mansion and generous treatment… And, as my wife always says, there’s no wretched master you’re always talking about.”

“Well, that’s important too. I’m worried about you because you’re too beautiful.”

Mrs Maxine clicked her tongue as she looked wistfully down at her feverishly flushed cheeks, and then her thoughts naturally shifted. She should be able to use today as an excuse to get Amélie out of Katarina’s party.

Katarina Biché’s debauched parties were getting more and more dangerous by the day, and it was unnerving to see the distracted noblemen ogling Amélie Gagnier in public.

It was always a source of great anxiety to see the vicious glances of the noblemen as they ogled Amélie Gagnier…!

If Amélie had been a maid in their house, they would have eaten her up long ago. But they only refrained from touching maids from other houses out of fear of being buried in the social circles. They always kept an eye out for opportunities.

Maxine sighed softly. She’s been a maid for more than half her life. Hundreds of maids she’d hired, trained, and dismissed.

But just as many have been lost to time.

How many girls have been lured into the master’s bed by a few sweet words. To be swept away by the pretext of sending them to school, marrying them off, or sending them away.

The heartless servants even forced themselves upon the young maids. The treatment was worse than that of the courtesans. They would drag them to dirty barns or behind trees, lifting up their skirts two or three times and later paying them off, threatening them, and doing it like they were relieving themselves.

When it comes to their own kind or gentlemen, they behave properly, but when they take a maid with them, they act like beasts. It’s no wonder that Maxine has had enough of noblemen.

What’s next.

The young lords go off to boarding schools, military academies, or travel to distant countries, while the left-behind maids either have an abortion and die or get beaten and kicked out onto the streets by their masters.

The men don’t take responsibility, and the maids end up dead.

Not figuratively, but literally ‘dead.’ Because there were only two things you’d hear about afterwards: she got sick and died, or she sold her body on the streets…

She hoped neither would happen to Amélie.

“Don’t worry, ma’am. I’ll work here with you for a long time, until we’re grandmothers together.”

“Oh, dear.”

She could be so cute when she knew she was worried. Mrs Maxine, unable to wipe the tears from her eyes, stroked Amélie’s face and stood up.

Mrs Maxine, who had just stood in the doorway, turned round and said.

“By the way, Amélie. There’s a letter for you. Denise told me earlier.”

“A letter?”

Amélie shook her head and reached for the letter, noticing the small envelope on the table beside her bed.

She doesn’t have anyone to write to. Who could it be…

Scanning the outside of the envelope, Amélie stopped dead in her tracks when she saw that the sender was stamped ‘Ezon Central Court’.

No way. It gets worse from here.

An ominous sense of foreboding washed over her.