Chapter 4 — A Villainess's Heartbeat
The manor was quiet that night.
Soft lantern light flickered against the stone pillars, casting gentle golden light across the hallway. I walked beside Seraphina, our steps slow and unhurried, yet neither of us spoke. The evening air was cool, carrying the scent of jasmine from the garden outside.
She looked calm — elegant even — but I could tell her silence was not peace. She carried tension like silk: beautiful, delicate, and impossible to ignore once noticed.
"My Lady," I murmured as we reached her chamber door. "If you wish to rest—"
Before I could finish, something shifted in the shadows behind us.
A whisper of steel being drawn.
My body moved before thought could catch up.
I grabbed Seraphina by the waist and pulled her against me, twisting our bodies just as a knife sliced through the air where she'd been standing. The blade thudded into the doorframe with a heavy, sickening sound.
Seraphina gasped — not in fear, but shock.
I didn't let her go.
"Stay behind me," I breathed.
There was no tremor, no hesitation. Clara's memory — no, my memory — surged up like a tide.
Feet braced. Breath steady. Heart quiet.
The assassin lunged from the shadows — masked, quick, trained. But speed was never enough.
I grabbed his wrist, twisted, felt the bones give beneath the pressure. He choked out a cry, but I was already moving — disarming him, slamming him to the marble floor, pressing my knee into the base of his spine.
A single motion. Clean. Silent.
The kind of technique born from years of training in darkness.
The man passed out, breath ragged.
I exhaled slowly.
Only then did I realize my hands were shaking.
I turned to Seraphina. Her wide crimson eyes were fixed on me — not afraid, just… stunned.
"…Clara," she whispered. "You—"
"I told you," I said softly, chest still rising. "I'm good at surviving dangerous things."
Her lips parted, but no sound came.
And then — only then — I saw it.
Blood.
A thin line of red across her upper arm, staining the pale silk of her sleeve.
The knife had grazed her.
"My Lady," I breathed, stepping close, "You're hurt."
"It's nothing," she said quickly — too quickly.
I shook my head. "Sit."
She hesitated — but only for a moment — before sinking onto the edge of the chaise lounge. I knelt before her, gently taking her arm.
Her skin was warm. Soft. Fragile in a way she would never admit.
I tore the ruined sleeve carefully, exposing the wound. It wasn't deep, but it was precise — the kind of cut that could scar if neglected.
Her breath hitched when my fingers brushed her skin.
"Tell me if it hurts," I murmured.
She didn't answer — but her eyes didn't leave mine.
I cleaned the wound slowly, methodically, but my hands were gentle. Too gentle, perhaps — as if I were afraid of hurting her more.
"Your hands," she whispered, voice barely a breath. "They're trembling."
I froze.
"…I thought it was fear," she continued quietly, her gaze searching mine. "But it's not. Is it?"
No.
It wasn't fear.
It was anger.
Someone had tried to take her from me.
Someone had dared.
I swallowed. "My Lady, I—"
"You looked ready to kill," she said, her voice soft but unshakably sure. "Not because you were ordered to. But because someone threatened me."
I didn't speak. I couldn't.
The silence stretched — warm, heavy, intimate.
Then she lifted her uninjured hand and touched my cheek.
Her fingers were cool, delicate, but the touch burned through me.
"You're not just my maid, are you?"
Her words were gentle. Not accusing. Not afraid. Just… knowing.
I met her gaze. The truth sat between us, quiet and undeniable.
"No," I whispered. "I'm not."
Her eyes softened — like ice thawing in spring.
"Good," she murmured. "Because I don't think I could bear it if you were only here out of obligation."
My breath caught.
She leaned slightly closer — not enough to close the distance, but enough to acknowledge it existed.
"You protect me," she said softly. "You speak to me like I am someone worth the effort. You watch me when you think I do not notice." Her voice trembled, barely. "And I… I do not hate it."
I think my heart forgot how to beat.
Her fingers slipped from my cheek — trailing lightly down to my collarbone — and stopped there, hesitant, unsure.
A single heartbeat of silence passed.
Then she whispered, so quietly it almost wasn't sound at all:
"Clara… stay."
Not as a servant.
Not as a weapon.
Not as an obligation.
But as someone she was beginning to trust — maybe even… need.
I bowed my head just slightly, unable to hide the softness in my voice.
"As long as you'll have me, My Lady."
She exhaled — a sound like a held breath finally released — and for the first time since I'd entered this world, Seraphina Aureline looked at me with something unguarded.
Not suspicion.
Not coldness.
Not dismissal.
But something fragile. And hopeful. And terribly, beautifully human.
I finished wrapping her bandage in silence — but the space between us was no longer cold.
Her hand rested beside mine. Barely touching. Almost, but not quite.
We did not need to speak about it.
The closeness said enough.