Chapter 2 - Things never changed

Elena POV

A soft knock comes at my door. I do not move. I do not answer. But the door opens anyway.

It is Celine, the head housekeeper. She is older, maybe in her sixties. Her hair is streaked with grey. Her hands are rough from years of work. She has been here longer than I have been alive. She has watched me grow up. She has watched me wither.

She is the only person in this house who looks at me like I am human.

"Elena," she says softly. "I brought you something."

She holds out a small tray. A cup of tea. A piece of bread. Simple and warm. She is the only one who remembers to feed me.

"Thank you, Celine."

She steps into the room. She sets the tray on my desk. She looks at me with sad eyes.

"You went to the manor," she says. It is not a question.

"Yes."

"Madame Laurent sent you to the florist."

"Yes."

"The lilies were pink."

I look at her. I do not ask how she knows. She always knows. She knows everything in this house.

"Yes."

She shakes her head. She sighs. She looks at me like she wants to say something. Something she cannot say.

"You are too good for them," she says quietly. "You have always been too good for them."

I do not respond. I do not know what to say.

She leaves. The door closes softly behind her.

I look at the tea. It is warm. I pick it up. I hold it in my hands. The warmth spreads through my fingers.

I take a sip. It is sweet. She knows I like it sweet.

I am not crying.

But my eyes are wet.

---

I wait.

I do not know what I am waiting for. Something. Anything. A sign that things will change. A sign that I will not always be invisible. A sign that someone, someday, will see me.

But nothing changes.

The afternoon passes. The evening passes. The night comes.

I sit in the dark. I do not turn on the light. I do not need it. I know this room by heart. I know every crack in the ceiling. Every stain on the floor. Every shadow in the corner.

The phone rings again.

I pick it up.

"Elena."

My mother's voice. Sharp. Cold. The same as before.

"Yes, Mother."

"The wedding is in three days. I need you to run more errands. The caterer needs to be confirmed. The photographer needs to be paid. The seating arrangements need to be finalized."

"Yes, Mother."

"You will come to the manor at seven in the morning. Do not be late."

"I will be there."

"Elena."

"Yes?"

"Victoria is the focus of this wedding. She is the bride. She is the one who matters. Do not forget that."

"I have not forgotten, Mother."

"Good."

The phone goes dead.

I set it down. I stare at the wall.

Victoria is the focus. Victoria is the bride. Victoria is the one who matters.

I am nothing.

I have always been nothing.

I will always be nothing.

---

I do not sleep that night.

I lie in my bed. I stare at the ceiling. I listen to the sounds of the night. The wind outside. The creaking of the old house. The distant laughter from the main mansion.

They are celebrating. They are planning. They are building a future for Victoria.

I am here. In the dark. Alone.

I think about my childhood. I think about all the times I was forgotten. All the times I was pushed aside. All the times I was told I was not enough.

I remember my father. Julian Laurent. Cold. Distant. He looked at me like I was a stranger. He looked at me like I was a mistake.

I remember Victoria. Beautiful. Polished. Perfect. She had everything I ever wanted. Love. Attention. Affection.

She did not have to earn it. She was just given it. Simply by existing.

I had to earn everything. And even when I earned it, it was never enough.

I think about my mother. Marguerite Laurent. She looked at me like I was a burden. A burden she had to carry. A burden she wished would disappear.

I did not ask to be born. I did not ask to be their daughter.

But I am.

And I cannot escape it.

---

Morning comes. Grey. Cold. Unforgiving.

I get out of bed. I dress in the same clothes. I walk to the manor.

The house is busy. The staff are rushing. The planners are shouting. The chaos is everywhere.

I found my mother. She is in the kitchen, surrounded by people. She sees me. She does not smile.

"Elena. The caterer. Go."

"Yes, Mother."

I leave. I walk to the caterer. I confirm the order. I walk back. No one thanks me. No one acknowledges me.

The day passes. The errands continue. I am used to it.

By the evening, I am exhausted. My feet ache. My eyes are heavy. I want to sleep. I want to rest.

But I know I will not.

Because tomorrow will be the same.

Tomorrow will always be the same.

I walk back to my room. I close the door. I sit on the edge of my bed.

I stare at the wall.

And I wait for something to change.

I wait for someone to see me.

I wait for someone to choose me.

But they never do.

They never have.

They never will.