Chapter 3

Instead of grinding her teeth, Harriet mentally bit the emperor and tossed the letter onto the table.

She knew delaying it would only make things worse, but she planned to read it after coming back.

“I should go to the count’s estate.”

Harriet muttered gloomily.

Maybe—just maybe—they’d be short-staffed and ask her to return. Even if not, she’d cling to them herself.

I must have been insane when I resigned! I was wrong!

As she brushed dust off her hat, a sudden chill ran down her neck.

‘What if they called me because they suspect I’m Elliot Dark?’

…No, impossible. Only Penelope knew. No one else.

And if they had figured it out, they wouldn’t send a telegram—they’d send guards.

Harriet pressed her hat down firmly, as if to suppress the thought.

Her light brown curls misbehaved every winter, frizzing no matter how much she brushed them. A hat was essential.

She stuffed the telegram into her pocket and left.

After graduating from the academy, she had been forced into a maid position by her parents’ pressure and endured three years of service.

During that time, she had worked in three households.

The third—Count Pailen’s estate—was a balanced place: a cruel eldest daughter and a cute younger one. Good enough for inspiration, and tolerable enough to survive.

She had even imagined staying long enough to see the younger daughter married, while the countess’s sharp personality aged into something almost endearing.

Then she had abruptly resigned.

Almost became a lifelong maid.

And now—

‘I came back as a guest.’

The ivy climbed the old brick walls like waves. A polished bronze plaque with the Pailen crest hung above the green door.

Harriet stared at it, then pressed the bell.

The chime echoed.

“Miss Brown?”

“Marsha! Long time no see!”

Harriet smiled brightly at her former coworker.

Marsha simply adjusted her glasses.

Harriet pulled out the telegram.

“I sent this this morning. It arrived fast.”

“You asked for urgent visitation. Is the count home?”

“In the study. You know the way.”

“Of course!”

Marsha stepped aside.

Harriet entered.

Strangely, there was no nostalgia.

No warmth.

Only a disturbing familiarity—like returning to work after a short break, only to find the same exhausting routine waiting.

“Should I inform the count you’re here?”

“Just go upstairs.”

Marsha disappeared without waiting for further questions.

Harriet sighed and went upstairs.

She knocked.

“Come in.”

With a forced smile, she opened the door.

“Good day, my lord.”

“Ah, Brown.”

The count stood immediately, even setting down his book to greet her.

Harriet’s smile stiffened.

Too welcoming.

That was worse than indifference.

‘Ever since yesterday, everything feels ominous.’

Why did he call me?

The count gestured to a seat.

“Have a seat. Tea?”

“No, thank you.”

Tea too?

The unease deepened.

The count had never been overly generous beyond status boundaries.

What is he planning?

Harriet sat carefully, already preparing for escape.

“I came after your telegram. You said it was urgent.”

“Yes. I returned this morning and immediately asked for you. I was surprised you had resigned.”

“Ah… well… circumstances.”

Without hesitation, he moved to the point.

“Brown, I’ll be direct. I need you to continue working.”

Exactly what she had hoped for—but she couldn’t answer immediately.

He sent a telegram just for that?

The count fidgeted, then suddenly composed himself with a polite smile.

“Not that I know your concerns, but this is actually a good opportunity. You won’t be working here anymore—you’ll be working in the royal palace.”

Harriet froze.

“…Excuse me? The royal palace?”

He nodded.

A cheerful smile—but now it felt unsettling.

“Yes. As a palace maid.”

Is this man insane?

Her mouth opened slightly.

But what struck her first wasn’t honor or opportunity.

It was—

“[Breaking] Elliot Dark: Emperor of Swan Empire Named Villain Inspiration!”

Her reckless provocation.

Her newspaper scandal.

And now—

The palace.

Me? Why?!

She hadn’t asked for this.

Harriet stammered,

“C-can I even work at the palace? I don’t—”

No noble family. No title. Just middle-class background.

But he cut her off.

“You graduated second in your class at the Royal Academy. And I’m recommending you.”

That recommendation again!

She didn’t want it!

Above all, she didn’t want the palace.

If they discovered she was Elliot Dark, she might be arrested immediately.

Her body trembled at the thought.

“I heard they’re recruiting regardless of status. I merely mentioned your name. And now it’s a perfect opportunity. If you enter early under my recommendation, it will help greatly when my eldest daughter Seily becomes a palace maid.”

So that was the real reason.

His daughter.

Still—this was undeniably a good opportunity.

And she needed money.

‘But I still hate it!’

The palace was dangerous.

Before she could refuse, the count clapped his hands.

“Good. You start tomorrow. Don’t embarrass my recommendation.”

“W-wait—”

“I’m busy. When you visit next time, speak with Emily. She liked you.”

“My lord, I said I can’t—”

“And if you fail to arrive at the palace…”

The smile faded.

“I will skin you and throw you into the river.”

His voice dropped cold.

A chill crawled down her spine.

The count smiled again as if nothing had happened.

“I left notes for Marsha. Ask her. Take care, Brown.”

She was pushed out of the study before she could speak.

The door slammed shut.

Only then did Harriet regain her senses.

‘What kind of cursed life is this?’

She hadn’t done anything particularly wrong.

And yet her life was being shoved around by powerful people’s whims.

“If I didn’t have bad luck before, I definitely do now.”

She trudged downstairs.

Marsha handed her a note from the count without a word.

Harriet put her hat back on.

Marsha stood beside her until she left, like a silent escort.

No farewell warmth.

Just cold routine.

‘The palace wasn’t even my choice.’

And yet—

Now I might be sent to prison instead of a workplace.

She walked home slowly.

Each step felt heavier than the last.

Her breath turned white in the cold air.

‘If I run away, the count will come after me.’

The kind-looking Count Pailen valued reputation above all else.

And that “skin you alive” comment was not a joke.

‘Trapped either way.’

Life was nothing but dark clouds.

Harriet stopped in the middle of the road and rubbed her face.

If she could turn back time, she would stop herself from ever provoking the emperor.

She walked for hours.

When the cold had nearly numbed her fingers and toes completely, something finally settled in her mind.

A decision.

Not much of one—but still.

There was only one path.

Go to the palace.

No other choice.

‘I’ll earn money and survive. And avoid getting killed by the count.’

Surely no one would suspect Elliot Dark working in the palace.

She could just endure, then quietly quit or get fired.

‘Yes. I’ll do it.’

Harriet clenched her fists.

Her resentment toward life itself became fuel.

And so—

She entered the palace with determination.

And immediately—

“Your father? Oh, an accountant?”

“…Ah, I see.”

The beginning was already a disaster.

The new maid, recommended by the influential Count Pailen, quickly became the center of attention.

“Any relatives? Wait—are you related to Baron Brown? No? Doctors and lawyers, then?”

“No siblings? Only child?”

The questions came like a storm.

Not curiosity.

Judgment.

Within a week, Harriet was labeled the lowest rank among maids.

Ignored. Dismissed. Spoken to with single words, if at all.

Assigned not to the royal palace proper—but to the remote Sinea Palace.

A neglected annex.

Honestly, she had expected it.

Better this way.

Less attention meant less risk of exposure.

So she decided to work quietly.

But even that resolve lasted only a short time.

The conditions of Sinea Palace made her snap.

Cracked walls. Wild gardens.

She ended up personally inspecting structural damage, pulling weeds with her own hands, dragging reluctant caretakers into doing basic repairs.

She was caught by the head maid and scolded harshly.

“Why are you doing this yourself? That’s what staff is for!”

“They don’t do it properly!”

And the worst part—

The dormitory.

“Do you need help, Brown?”

“No, I’m fine.”

Why am I sharing a room?!

Among maids who all had private rooms, only two were forced into shared lodging.

So she couldn’t even write at night.

‘What kind of sin did I commit in my past life?’

She mechanically folded clothes, expression dead.

Her life felt reduced to laundry and survival.

Then—

Her roommate, Grace, asked casually,

“Is that skirt a problem? Want mine?”

“Please sit quietly.”

First meeting had been worse.

Grace had smiled sweetly and said:

“New roommate, huh? Nice to meet you, Brown.”

A roommate in name only.

In reality—a tyrant.

She demanded water when she was thirsty.

Refused to let maids enter her room.

Made Harriet clean her mess.

Harriet’s conclusion was simple:

‘Did I join as a maid… or as someone’s servant’s servant?’