Footsteps echoed from the hallway, growing louder as they approached Samara's door.
Samara's heart skipped. Her eyes snapped toward the gentleman sitting comfortably on her bed.
"You," she whispered through gritted teeth, "need to hide."
The gentleman rose to his feet with unhurried grace.
"That won't be necessary," he replied calmly. "Only you can see me."
He paused, offering a faint smile.
"And you may refer to me as Adrian."
Before Samara could question him further, the door creaked open.
Tessa stepped inside.
For a moment, she looked surprised.
"I thought I'd find you fast asleep," she said as she moved to the dressing table and sat down, beginning to prepare her hair for bed.
Samara stood stiffly, her mind racing.
Adrian was still there.
Standing only a few steps away.
Yet Tessa showed no sign of noticing him.
So he wasn't lying…
Tessa glanced at Samara through the mirror when she noticed the silence.
"Are you alright?"
The question snapped Samara back to herself.
"Yes," she replied quickly, forcing calm into her voice. "I'm perfectly fine. I just woke up a while ago, actually."
She paused before adding,
"How was dinner?"
"Lovely," Tessa said with a small smile. "Although Althea asked me to remind you that starting tomorrow, attendance in public settings is compulsory."
Behind Samara, Adrian stepped closer.
He leaned slightly toward her ear and whispered,
"I have matters to attend to. We will speak again… sooner than you expect."
Samara stiffened.
But before she could say a word, he vanished.
Just like that.
Gone.
"I'll take note of that," Samara said, turning toward the bathroom before Tessa could notice her distraction. "I'm quite sweaty. I'll take a quick shower."
Samara didn't notice the lingering gaze Tessa gave her as she made her way into the bathing chamber.
For a while, Samara simply sat on the small wooden stool in the bathroom, doing nothing.
The room was quiet except for the occasional drip of water from the stone basin. The air smelled faintly of soap and damp wood.
Her thoughts, however, refused to be quiet.
Why do I always get myself into these kinds of situations? she wondered, rubbing her temples.
She leaned forward slightly, staring at the tiled floor as her mind replayed the strange events of the night.
I just hope Tessa didn't notice anything strange.
Her thoughts drifted back to the mysterious gentleman who had appeared in her room as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
What exactly was that thing? she wondered. And where did it disappear to?
Samara sighed and leaned back against the wall.
The cool stone pressed against her shoulders, grounding her restless thoughts.
I won't worry about tomorrow, she finally decided. Tomorrow will worry for itself.
I'll figure everything out then.
After sitting there for several more minutes, Samara pushed herself to her feet.
She washed quickly, letting the warm water clear the last of the tension from her body.
By the time she finished, her thoughts felt calmer, more organized.
When she returned to the bedroom, the soft glow of Tessa's bedside lamp revealed her roommate already fast asleep.
Tessa lay curled beneath the blankets, her breathing slow and even.
Samara moved quietly across the room so the wooden floor wouldn't creak.
She reached her bed, switched off the lamp beside her, and slipped beneath the blankets.
The room fell into darkness.
Sleep claimed her soon after.
...
The following morning, the applicants gathered in a large kitchen.
The room was enormous—far bigger than any kitchen Samara had ever seen. Long wooden tables filled the space, each neatly arranged with bowls, knives, and baskets of fresh ingredients.
The scent of herbs, flour, and fresh vegetables hung in the air.
Dozens of young women stood around the tables, all dressed in neatly pressed maid uniforms with white aprons tied tightly around their waists.
Soft chatter filled the room as everyone waited for instructions.
Some girls whispered excitedly. Others nervously examined the cooking tools laid out before them.
Samara stood among them, her arms loosely folded as she observed the scene with mild boredom.
Stacey quickly hurried over and positioned herself beside her.
Her face practically glowed with excitement.
"I'm so excited," Stacey whispered eagerly. "I'm a pro at cooking."
Samara glanced at her.
She didn't share the same enthusiasm.
Still, she offered a polite smile.
"Good for you," she replied simply.
Stacey blinked, noticing the dull tone in Samara's voice.
Concern crossed her face.
"Are you… a terrible cook?" she asked carefully. "I'm sorry if that sounded rude. If you want, you can just copy what I do. I don't mind helping."
She leaned a little closer and lowered her voice.
"But… are you really that bad?"
Samara shrugged lightly.
"I've never cooked a proper meal in my entire life," she said calmly. "So if that counts as a disaster, then yes. It's a disaster."
Stacey stared at her, completely shocked.
Her mouth opened slightly.
But she quickly tried to recover.
"Well…" she began.
She never finished the sentence.
The large doors of the kitchen opened.
The headmistress walked in.
Instantly, the quiet chatter died down.
The room fell completely silent.
She walked confidently to the front of the room, her sharp gaze sweeping across the applicants.
"I hope you all had a relaxing day yesterday," she began once everyone's attention was on her.
"Today you will prepare a meal suitable for a noble household," the headmistress said, her voice firm as it carried across the large kitchen.
"You will have one hour. The ingredients before you are the only ones you may use. Your dish will be judged on taste, presentation, and cleanliness."
The room fell into an uneasy silence as the girls absorbed her words.
Samara stood quietly at her table, her posture relaxed, though her eyes remained fixed on the headmistress.
"Those who fail this test," the headmistress continued coldly, "will be dismissed immediately."
A few nervous whispers spread through the room.
Samara simply exhaled slowly.
Well… that settles it, she thought.
She looked down at the neatly arranged ingredients on the table before her—flour, eggs, vegetables, herbs, and a small cut of meat.
She had no idea what to do with any of it.
My inevitable failure, she thought calmly.
Yet strangely, the thought didn't trouble her.
If she failed today, the whole ordeal would end. She could return home and pursue another path without angering her aunt.
In a strange way, the idea was almost comforting.
Then—
"You won't fail."
The quiet voice of a man spoke near her ear.
Samara stiffened.
"I will make sure of that."