Married To Darkness
Chapter 94: The Assaulting Maid

Chapter 94: The Assaulting Maid

The morning continued as light filtered through the windows and the maids came in, they started preparing Salviana for the day.

Soon it was hair time.

She sat patiently as her "bad" maid, Priscilla, combed her hair, though today it felt harsher than usual—each stroke tugging painfully at her scalp.

Salviana winced, trying to ignore it, but the sharp tugs only grew worse, almost as if Priscilla was doing it on purpose.

She’d tried to tolerate Priscilla’s poor attitude for weeks. She’d noticed how Priscilla often left her tasks unfinished or whispered bitterly under her breath.

Salviana had even overheard the lies she spread among the other maids, painting her as spoiled, weak, or unworthy.

Priscilla’s spite had been subtle at first, but lately, it was becoming harder and harder to ignore.

When another harsh yank nearly pulled her hair from the roots, Salviana’s patience finally cracked.

She turned around, catching Priscilla’s wrist mid-stroke. Her voice, usually so soft and reserved, was steely as she met Priscilla’s gaze.

"Priscilla," she said firmly, "I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve this, but I won’t be treated like this in my own home."

Priscilla raised an eyebrow, her mouth curling into a disdainful smirk. "Your home?" she sneered. "This isn’t your home, my lady. You’re just... passing through. We all know it."

Salviana’s eyes widened at Priscilla’s open disrespect, but she forced herself to keep calm. "That’s no excuse for the way you’ve been acting," she said.

"I’ve overlooked a lot, thinking you might be going through something yourself, but this—" she gestured at her hair, where Priscilla had been yanking with undisguised aggression, "—is unacceptable."

Priscilla rolled her eyes, crossing her arms with an indignant huff. "Oh, forgive me, my lady," she said mockingly. "I didn’t realize you were so delicate. It must be nice to be sheltered from everything difficult."

Salviana frowned, hurt by the cruel jab but still holding her ground. "I’ve tried to be patient with you, Priscilla. I don’t know why you feel the need to insult me like this, but whatever issues you have, you need to handle them professionally."

"Professionally?" Priscilla scoffed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Isn’t that rich, coming from someone who got here through privilege and luck."

Salviana’s patience began to fray as Priscilla’s words stung deeper than she wanted to admit. "That’s enough," she said firmly, her voice barely above a whisper, but her eyes flared with uncharacteristic defiance.

"Oh, is it?" Priscilla shot back, her voice rising. "You don’t know the first thing about what it’s like to actually work, to actually struggle. You walk in here, all high and mighty, and think you can order people around just because you’re the ’lady of the house.’"

Salviana clenched her fists, fighting to stay composed. "I may not know every struggle," she said slowly, trying to keep her voice steady, "but I don’t belittle others. I’ve done everything I can to be kind to you, to be understanding, even when you’ve been... difficult."

Priscilla’s face darkened, and for a moment, something almost venomous flickered in her eyes. "Kind?" she repeated with a bitter laugh. "You’re not kind, you’re weak. And the way you fawn over people just makes you pathetic."

Salviana’s expression shifted, the hurt evident in her gaze. "If that’s how you truly feel, Priscilla, then maybe you shouldn’t be working here. I won’t tolerate someone who’s only here to tear me down."

Priscilla’s eyes flashed, and she took a step forward, her face twisted with anger. "Oh, believe me, I’d be glad to leave if it meant not having to look at you every day, pretending you’re better than the rest of us."

Salviana swallowed, gathering her courage. "I never once thought I was better. I only asked for respect—something you clearly don’t believe in giving."

"You don’t deserve respect," Priscilla spat. "Respect is earned, and you’ve done nothing to earn mine."

Salviana’s face softened, her disappointment clear. "Then why did you stay here all this time?" she asked quietly, hoping for some glimmer of understanding.

But Priscilla only scoffed, her tone as sharp as ever. "Because I thought I could tolerate you, that maybe you weren’t as useless as you seemed. But you’re just a spoiled girl who’s playing at being important."

The final insult was enough to break Salviana’s resolve. Her voice trembled as she said, "I told you to stop."

But Priscilla was beyond listening. With a harsh sneer, she hissed, "I don’t take orders from you. You’re just—"

Without warning, she raised her hand and slapped Salviana, the sound echoing sharply through the room.

The sting of the slap burned, and Salviana stumbled back, her hand instinctively going to her cheek as her eyes widened in shock.

For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. Then Salviana looked up, her face a mixture of shock and heartbreak. She took a shaky breath, her voice barely above a whisper. "I thought... I thought you might be better than this."

But Priscilla just scoffed, her anger still simmering, though she seemed a bit startled herself by what she’d done.

Before she could say anymore, Salviana had pulled out a pin from her hair and it was now right under Priscilla’s skin.

Her throat.

Priscilla barely had time to blink before the cold point of a hairpin pressed against the tender skin of her throat.

She gasped, stumbling back a step, but Salviana followed, eyes burning—not with tears, but fury held tight and sharp.

The room crackled with tension, the silence oppressive and thick.

"You dare strike me?" Salviana’s voice was low, deadly calm. "You think because I speak gently and walk lightly that I’m weak?"

Priscilla’s lips parted, but no sound came. Her back hit the wall, breath shallow, the sharp pin still grazing her skin—close enough that one wrong move would draw blood.

Salviana leaned in, eyes locking onto hers like a predator pinning prey. "I welcomed you. I smiled at you. I gave you warmth, and you repay it with a slap?"

The disdain in her voice twisted Priscilla’s face into something ugly—anger, yes, but beneath it, fear.

"You’re poor," Salviana continued, voice like silk and steel. "You come from the gutters and wear borrowed gowns like they make you noble. I was going to raise you beside me, but now—" she laughed once, humorless "—now I see the filth in your soul rises faster than perfume ever could."

Priscilla’s hands trembled at her sides, fury surging, but her body refused to move.

"You should know better," Salviana hissed. "A girl with nothing should have manners. Respect. Gratitude."

"I—I didn’t mean—" Priscilla stammered, shame suddenly catching up to her.

"Oh, you meant it," Salviana whispered, pressing the pin just a touch deeper—not enough to wound, but enough to make Priscilla’s knees wobble. "And now you’ll remember it. I won’t forget, and I won’t forgive easily."

She finally stepped back, letting the blade fall from Priscilla’s skin with slow, deliberate grace. "Get out of my sight before I decide your punishment should start now."

Priscilla stood frozen for a breath, then turned and bolted—her face red with humiliation, her jaw clenched with swallowed screams.

She left shaking, the door slamming behind her, echoing like judgment in the still air.

Salviana stood alone, chest heaving, the pin still in her hand. Her cheek still stung, but the fire in her spirit burned far hotter.

She didn’t cry. She wouldn’t.

Not for Priscilla.

Never.

Salviana stood in silence for a moment, the hurt lingering, but she knew she’d done the right thing. As her hand lowered from her cheek, she straightened, a quiet strength settling within her.