The Maid Dying to be His Heir

Sophia and I fought over who would wear that emerald ring to change our fate.

In my first life, I claimed the emerald ring, thinking I would become a billionaire heiress.

That was until late at night, when I accidentally opened that underground iron door and he strangled me to death with a piano wire: "Your pathetic wailing isn't her at all."

Given a second chance, I backed away and let Sophia take it.

A few days later, she died in the ice cellar with her tongue severed. Right before she died, she let out a blood-curdling whimper: "A true devil is hiding behind that door!"

Waking up for the third time, we trembled in sheer terror as the ring was offered to us once again.

Just who exactly is the daughter he is looking for?

——

"Whoever recognizes this ring left by my late wife is my lost daughter. And she will inherit everything I own."

Alistair stood in the center of the hall. The emerald rested in his gloved palm, its deep green facets catching the dim chandelier light. Dark, crusted rust lined the silver prongs.

A brutal phantom pain sliced straight through my windpipe.

This was my third time standing here. The memories of my shattered trachea and Sophia's severed tongue crashed into my mind, making the room spin.

"Don't be afraid, children," he smiled, those ice-blue eyes never leaving us. "Come home to me. I'll show you the most exquisite love this world can offer."

Sophia's legs gave out. She collapsed, scrambling backward against the pillar.

"No," she gasped, her chest heaving violently. "That is not my ring. It is hers. Go find her."

I snapped my gaze toward her. The terror in her eyes was unmistakable—she knew.

Alistair’s smile tightened slightly. He tilted his head, shifting his focus to me.

I bit the inside of my cheek hard enough to draw blood, using the sharp copper taste to steady my shaking limbs. "No, sir. I have never seen that ring before."

"Insolent brats." The head butler stepped out from the shadows, his face twisted in disgust. "Mr. Alistair offers you a chance to leave your pathetic class behind, and you act like ungrateful pests."

Alistair raised a single hand. The butler instantly silenced.

"It is quite alright," he murmured, slipping the emerald into his vest pocket. "Traumatized orphans from the slums always have their defenses up. Have them stay in the manor for now. One of them will surely remember."

Sophia shook her head frantically. "No. We want to leave. Let us out, he is a—"

I dropped to my knees and clamped my hand viciously over her mouth.

"Thank you, Mr. Alistair," I forced the words past the tight knot in my throat. "Thank you. We finally have a home."

Alistair offered a benevolent nod and turned away.

I knew his rules. Screaming for the police now would completely bypass the selection and trigger an immediate death. We had to stay. We had to pretend to be his prey until we found his weak point.

Ten minutes later, I shoved Sophia into the servants' quarters and threw the deadbolt.

Sophia clawed at her own hair,. "Abigail, you remember too! This place is a slaughterhouse. We need to break a window and run. The police—"

A crisp, sharp slap echoed in the narrow room.

My palm connected hard against her cheek. She froze, staring at me as her chest heaved.

"Are you calm now?" I kept my voice just above a whisper. "We are two nameless maids. He owns half the politicians in this state. You think the cops will not deliver us right back to him?"

Sophia sank onto the edge of the iron bed. A single tear cut through the grime on her face.

"Tell me exactly what you saw before you died last time," I demanded.

"There is a door. A rusted iron door down in the lowest level of the cellar. He only opens it when the midnight mass bells chime." She wrapped her arms around herself, shivering.

"During my first time here, I was exploring his study, I found the architectural blueprints for the estate."

"Did you see what is behind it?" I asked.

"No. But later I went down to the cellar corridor. The entire hallway was choked with thick cobwebs. Except for the floor right in front of that one door. It was spotless."

Someone went in and out of that iron door every single day.

"He doesn't care about anything else," I murmured, pacing the narrow space.

I remembered breaking a priceless vase once. He hadn't even blinked—just smiled and asked if I'd cut my hands. But that iron door... that was different.

Sophia squeezed her eyes shut. "Right before his men dragged me away from that door... I smelled something."

I stopped pacing.

"The exact same heavy floral perfume Alistair wears on his collars," she whispered.

A shadow fell over the sliver of light beneath our bedroom door.

"Kids?" Alistair’s voice drifted through the wood. "Evening Vespers are about to begin. It is time we let my wife know there is new family in the house."

I grabbed Sophia’s icy hand. We unlatched the door.

Alistair walked ahead of us, a dark silhouette against the gas lamps of the corridor. We trailed ten paces behind, navigating the labyrinthine halls of the west wing.

Sophia’s legs gave out slightly near the end of the hall. I caught her waist, pinning her against the wall right beside a massive stained-glass window to keep her upright.

"Breathe," I mouthed.

As I steadied her, my eyes drifted out the window. From this height, the layout of the manor’s west courtyard sat in plain view beneath the moonlight. The private chapel jutted out over a steep stone ridge.

I traced the architectural lines downward into the dark earth.

My blood ran cold.

The grand altar of the chapel was built directly on top of the deepest level of the cellar. Directly over that rusted iron door.

"Abigail. Sophia."

Alistair's voice came from the chapel ahead. He stood at the altar, lighting candles.

"Come closer," he whispered, gesturing to the velvet kneeling pads on the floor. "She is eager to meet you."