Carmine had seen many maids in her time.
But Gina was… different.
From the little intel she'd gathered, Gina was an already-certified palace maid from a northern province. Her name was oddly peculiar — "Gina" didn't match the naming customs of any region Carmine knew. And then there was the other detail.
A G-cup.
Carmine had paused when she heard that. Not because she cared — but because it was oddly specific. And statistically improbable.
"A G-cup?" she'd muttered to herself. "That's like… one too many."
She shook off the thought and focused on Gina's behavior.
Every morning, Gina woke at exactly 4:00 a.m.
No tea. No stretches. No chatter.
She simply began working — folding, scrubbing, polishing — with mechanical precision. Carmine had started tracking her movements, noting the lack of breaks, the absence of fatigue, the eerie consistency.
Something wasn't right.
Earlier that day, Carmine had checked the blueberry pie — the one Colden had tampered with. She'd suspected the maids might've botched the recipe, so she quietly took it to her room and placed it on the bed, hidden from view.
She hadn't expected Elaine.
Elaine had come looking for her, slipping into the room with soft steps. She spotted the pie and smiled.
Maybe Carmine left it for me, she thought.
Elaine wasn't allowed to eat after 7 p.m., but she'd learned a few tricks. She took a slice, rearranged the pie to look untouched, and tiptoed back to her room.
She tasted it.
It was divine.
But then… dizziness.
Her vision blurred. Her limbs felt heavy.
She collapsed onto her bed, breath shallow, heart fluttering.
Carmine was summoned.
Viremont had called for her — a rare event.
She entered the room and froze.
Viremont, who never cared about her jewels or scattered gowns, was frantically cleaning. Her hair was tied back. Her eyes were wide. And her usual venomous aura had been replaced by something… innocent.
Carmine blinked.
Viremont turned, startled. "I need a maid," she said quickly. "Specifically Gina. Arrange it."
Carmine's mind spun.
Viremont never asked for help. Never trusted anyone. And now she wanted Gina?
Why?
Carmine nodded slowly, her thoughts racing.
Outside the room, Gina watched from the shadows.
That night, Colden returned to the inn.
His suit was wrecked — the brooch attachment had gone terribly wrong. Threads hung loose, the collar was twisted, and he looked like a man fresh from heartbreak.
Marco sighed and took the suit.
He didn't speak — just worked.
His fingers moved with quiet brilliance, weaving the fabric with practiced ease. In minutes, the brooch was perfectly attached, the suit restored.
Colden stared, eyes wide.
"You… you knit?"
Marco blushed. "My mom's a seamstress. I picked it up."
Colden smiled — soft, genuine, awed.
"No one's ever fixed something for me like that. whenever i used to wreck a cloth or toy it would eventually be replaced . you are a brilliant person."
Marco looked down, cheeks pink.
And for a moment, the world felt still.
But the potion was already working.
And the reversal had begun.
To be continued…