: The Price of Being Nothing:
Alexander Mansion – Main Hallway – 10:00 AM
The engagement dinner was three days away, and the mansion was in chaos.
Florists came and went. Caterers argued over menu cards. Servants polished every surface until it gleamed.
And Zara was at the center of it all – invisible, exhausted, and running on empty.
She had been up since 4:00 AM. The floors in the east wing were scrubbed. The silverware was polished. The guest towels were folded and refolded three times because Imani kept changing her mind.
Now she stood in the main hallway, holding a stack of fresh linens, trying to catch her breath.
"You're in the way."
Zara looked up.
Amara stood at the top of the grand staircase, wearing a silk robe, her long braids falling over her shoulders. Her face was twisted with annoyance.
"I'm sorry," Zara said quickly, stepping aside. "I was just—"
"Just what? Standing there like a statue?" Amara descended the stairs slowly, her bare feet silent on the marble. "You have work to do. Go do it."
Zara nodded. "Yes, ma'am."
She turned to leave.
"Wait."
Zara stopped.
Amara circled around her slowly, like a predator sizing up prey. Her eyes moved over Zara's faded uniform, her worn shoes, her tired face.
"You know," Amara said, "in three days, Liam Sterling is going to walk through those doors. He's going to look at me. And he's going to fall in love."
Zara said nothing.
"Did you hear me?" Amara stepped closer. "I said he's going to fall in love with me."
"I heard you, ma'am."
"Then why aren't you congratulating me?"
Zara's throat tightened. "Congratulations, ma'am."
Amara smiled. It was not a kind smile.
"Do you know what it's like to be me, Zara?" Amara gestured around the hallway. "This house. This wealth. This future. Everything my father built will be mine. And Liam? He's just the cherry on top."
Zara gripped the linens tighter. "That sounds... nice."
"Nice?" Amara laughed. "It's more than nice. It's everything you'll never have."
The words hit Zara like a slap.
Imani walked out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. Her eyes landed on Zara, and her expression hardened.
"What is she doing here?" Imani asked.
Amara glanced at Imani. "Loitering. In the hallway. Like she belongs here."
Imani walked toward Zara. Her footsteps were slow. Deliberate.
"Zara," Imani said, "how many times have I told you to stay out of sight?"
Zara's voice was barely a whisper. "I was just passing through—"
"Passing through?" Imani grabbed the stack of linens from Zara's arms and tossed them onto a nearby table. "You don't 'pass through' anywhere. You go where you're told. You work where you're told. You exist because I allow it."
Zara's eyes burned. She blinked rapidly, refusing to cry.
"Look at me when I'm talking to you."
Zara raised her eyes.
Imani's face was close. Too close.
"You think you deserve better, don't you?" Imani's voice was low and venomous. "You think you should be the one wearing silk robes and planning weddings."
"No, Ma. I don't—"
"Liar." Imani grabbed Zara's chin. "I see the way you look at this house. The way you look at the guests. Like you want to be one of them."
Amara laughed from behind them. "She wants to be me. It's pathetic."
Imani released Zara's chin but didn't step back.
"Let me tell you something, Zara." Imani's voice was cold. "You are nothing. You came from nothing. And you will always be nothing."
Zara's lip trembled.
"I gave birth to you," Imani continued. "I kept you fed. I kept you clothed. I gave you a roof over your head. Do you know how many women would have thrown you away?"
Zara shook her head.
"None," Imani said. "Because you're not even worth throwing away."
The words hung in the air like poison.
Amara stepped forward, crossing her arms.
"I don't know why my father keeps you," Amara said to Imani, her tone dismissive. "But at least you're useful for something. Someone has to clean the toilets."
Imani's jaw tightened. But she said nothing. She couldn't – not to Amara. Amara was the daughter of the house. Imani was just the housekeeper.
Amara turned to Zara.
"You should be grateful, you know." Amara's voice was light, almost cheerful. "My family feeds you. My father pays for your existence. Without us, you'd be on the streets. Or dead."
Zara's hands were shaking.
"Say thank you," Amara said.
Zara looked at Imani. Then at Amara.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"Thank you, who?" Amara prompted.
"Thank you... ma'am."
Amara smiled. "Good girl."
She turned to Imani. "I'm hungry. Have her make me breakfast. And tell her to hurry – I don't have all day."
Imani nodded. "Zara. Kitchen. Now."
Zara picked up the linens from the table and walked toward the service hallway.
"Zara."
She stopped. Didn't turn around.
"Remember what I said," Imani said quietly. "You are nothing. You serve. You obey. You do not dream. Do you understand?"
Zara's voice cracked. "Yes, Ma."
She walked away.
Behind her, she heard Amara say, "She's so dramatic. Always crying."
And Imani replied, "She's always been weak."
Then their voices faded.
Zara walked faster.
---
Staff Quarters – Kitchen – 10:30 AM
Zara stood at the counter, cracking eggs into a bowl.
Her hands were shaking.
You are nothing.
You came from nothing.
You will always be nothing.
She had heard these words her whole life. She should be used to them by now.
But they still cut.
"Zara."
She looked up. Mrs. Patmore stood in the doorway, her face soft with concern.
"I heard," the old cook said quietly. "The whole house heard."
Zara wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "I'm fine."
"You're not." Mrs. Patmore walked toward her. "No one should talk to their child like that. No one."
"She's not wrong," Zara whispered. "I am nothing."
Mrs. Patmore grabbed Zara's shoulders.
"Listen to me, child." Her voice was fierce. "You are not nothing. You are kind. You are hardworking. You are strong. Stronger than both of them combined."
Zara's tears fell. "Then why does she hate me?"
Mrs. Patmore's eyes flickered. Something passed across her face – guilt, maybe. Or fear.
"I don't know," she said. "But I intend to find out."
She released Zara's shoulders and stepped back.
"Finish the eggs," she said gently. "And keep your head down. The engagement dinner is almost here. After that, things might calm down."
Zara nodded.
Mrs. Patmore walked out.
Zara picked up the knife and kept chopping.
But her mind was somewhere else.
Why does she hate me?
What did I do wrong?
And why won't anyone tell me the truth?
---
Staff Quarters – Zara's Room – 10:00 PM
Zara lay on her mattress, staring at the ceiling.
She had made Amara's breakfast. She had cleaned the kitchen. She had scrubbed the floors of the east wing again.
And now she was here.
Alone. In the dark. With nothing but her thoughts.
You are nothing.
You serve.
You obey.
You do not dream.
But she did dream.
She dreamed of a different life. A life where Imani loved her. A life where she knew her father. A life where she wasn't afraid.
She dreamed of a man with dark eyes and a kind smile.
A man she had never met.
A man she would probably never meet.
A man who was engaged to Amara.
Zara closed her eyes.
Stop dreaming, she told herself. Dreaming is dangerous.
But she couldn't stop.
And somewhere in the mansion, three floors above her, Liam Sterling was probably sleeping
He had seen her , he knew her name
But to him she was just a servant ,who is been hated by her mother