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Chapter 4
Instead of grinding her teeth, Harriet threw the letter onto the table—along with a mental bite aimed directly at the emperor.
She knew delaying it would only make things worse, but she intended to read it after going out.
“I should go to the count’s estate.”
Harriet muttered gloomily.
Maybe they were short-staffed and would ask her to return. Even if not, she’d beg.
I must have been insane when I resigned!
As she brushed dust off her hat, a chill ran down her neck.
‘What if they called me because they suspect I’m Elliot Dark?’
No. Impossible. Only Penelope knew.
And if they had found out, they wouldn’t send a telegram—they’d send soldiers.
Harriet pressed her hat down firmly.
Her light brown curls always misbehaved in winter, puffing up 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 and survived three years of service.
She had worked in three households.
The third—Count Pailen’s estate—had been balanced: a cruel eldest daughter, a sweet younger one. Good material for writing, and tolerable enough to endure.
She had even imagined staying long enough to see the younger daughter married, while the countess’s sharp temper mellowed into something almost familiar.
Then she had resigned.
Almost became a lifelong maid.
And now—
‘I came back as a guest.’
Ivy climbed the brick walls. A bronze nameplate marked the estate.
Harriet rang the bell.
“Miss Brown?”
“Marsha! Long time no see!”
Marsha, her former coworker, adjusted her glasses instead of answering warmly.
Harriet showed the telegram.
“I sent this this morning. It arrived quickly.”
“You asked for urgent visitation. Is the count home?”
“Second-floor study. You know the way.”
“Of course.”
Marsha stepped aside.
Harriet entered.
No nostalgia.
No warmth.
Just a disturbingly familiar feeling—like returning from a break only to resume the same exhausting work.
“Should I inform the count?”
“Just go upstairs.”
Marsha left.
Harriet sighed and went up.
She knocked.
“Come in.”
She opened the door with a polite smile.
“Good day, my lord.”
“Ah, Brown.”
The count stood immediately.
Harriet’s smile stiffened.
Too friendly.
That was worse.
‘Ever since yesterday, everything feels wrong.’
The count gestured.
“Tea?”
“No, thank you.”
Tea as well?
The unease deepened.
The count had never been this generous beyond status lines.
What is he planning?
She sat carefully, already ready to flee.
“I came after your telegram.”
“Yes. I was surprised you resigned.”
“Circumstances…”
He cut straight to it.
“Brown, I need you to keep working.”
Exactly what she wanted—but she didn’t trust it.
He sent a telegram just for that?
The count fidgeted, then smiled smoothly.
“Actually, this is a good opportunity. You’ll no longer work here.”
Harriet stiffened.
“…Then where?”
“The royal palace.”
Her mind went blank.
“…Pardon?”
“Yes. As a palace maid.”
Is he insane?
But before she could react—
“[Breaking] Elliot Dark—Villain Inspiration Is the Emperor!”
Her disaster of an article flashed in her mind.
And now—
The palace.
Why me?!
She tried to speak—
“I, I can’t—”
“You graduated second in the Royal Academy. And I am recommending you.”
That recommendation again.
She didn’t want it.
Above all, she didn’t want the palace.
If she was exposed as Elliot Dark, she was finished.
Her imagination spiraled.
“I heard they recruit regardless of status. I merely mentioned your name. Now it’s an opportunity. If you enter early under my recommendation, it will help when my daughter Seily becomes a palace maid.”
So that was it.
Family ambition.
Still—
It was a good opportunity.
And she needed money.
‘But I still don’t want it!’
The palace meant danger.
Before she could refuse, the count clapped.
“Good. You start tomorrow. Don’t embarrass me.”
“Wait—”
“I’m busy. Speak with Emily next time. She likes you.”
“My lord, I said I can’t—”
“And if you fail to arrive…”
The smile disappeared.
“I will skin you and throw you into the river.”
Cold voice.
Harriet froze.
Then the count smiled again, as if nothing had happened.
“Marsha has the details. Ask her. Take care, Brown.”
She was pushed out.
The door slammed.
Only then did Harriet fully register what had just happened.
‘This world is insane.’
She had done nothing.
And yet everything was being decided over her head.
If she refused, she died.
If she complied, she might die later.
Either way—
Trapped.
Life truly had dark clouds over it.
She walked home slowly, steps heavy.
Cold air burned her lungs.
‘If I run, the count will come after me.’
He valued reputation above all.
And his “skin you alive” threat was not a joke.
Trapped either way.
Harriet rubbed her face in the middle of the road.
If she could rewind time, she would stop herself from ever provoking the emperor.
She walked for hours.
By the time her fingers were numb, something finally settled.
A decision.
Not much of one—but the only one available.
The palace.
No choice.
‘I’ll survive. Earn money. Avoid getting killed.’
She clenched her fists.
Then she entered the palace.
“Your father? An accountant?”
“…I see.”
It was already a disaster.
The new maid, recommended by Count Pailen, became immediate gossip.
“Relatives? Any nobles?”
“No.”
“Siblings?”
“No.”
Judgment followed instantly.
Within a week, Harriet was labeled the lowest-ranking maid.
Ignored. Dismissed. Assigned only menial tasks.
She was sent to Sinea Palace—the quiet, forgotten annex.
Honestly, she had expected this.
Less attention meant safety.
So she tried to endure.
But even that broke quickly.
The palace itself was a disaster.
Cracked walls.
Overgrown gardens.
Harriet ended up inspecting repairs herself, pulling weeds, and forcing staff to do their jobs properly.
She was scolded for it.
“You’re not supposed to do that yourself!”
“They don’t do it!”
And then—
The dormitory.
“Need anything, Brown?”
“No, I’m fine.”
Why am I sharing a room?!
While others had private rooms, she shared hers with just one person.
No privacy. No writing at night.
‘What did I do in my past life?’
She folded clothes mechanically.
Then—
Her roommate spoke casually.
“Need help?”
“No.”
Grace.
Her so-called roommate.
A smiley tyrant.
Demanding water in the middle of the night.
Refusing to let maids enter her room.
Forcing Harriet to clean her mess.
Harriet’s conclusion was simple:
‘I joined as a maid… or as someone’s servant’s servant?’
