HAPPY ENDINGS WEREN'T MEANT FOR ME

Madison's pov 

Dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, he walked toward me with an air of effortless grace. His dark hair was neatly styled, his strong jaw cleanly shaven. He carried himself like someone who belonged here, unlike me.

But he was different.

The only one who didn’t look at me like I was worthless.

"I see you’re scrubbing the staircase," he said, his tone casual. "Nice work."

A small smile played on my lips, a rare, fleeting moment of warmth. "Mr. Samuel, welcome."

He sighed, shaking his head. "Madison, how many times do I have to tell you? Drop the ‘Mr.’ stuff. Just call me Samuel."

I swallowed hard, quickly checking over my shoulder to see if anyone was nearby.

He followed my gaze and let out a knowing chuckle. "Relax. No one’s here to scold you for talking to me."

That wasn’t entirely true. Someone was always watching.

Still, I let myself breathe just a little.

"I brought you something," he said, pulling a small package from his coat pocket.

Curious, I took it, my fingers trembling slightly as I peeled back the wrapping.

A book.

Not just any book—a romantic comedy.

My breath hitched.

"You remembered…"

His smile was gentle. "Of course. You told me once that romantic comedies were your favorite. Something about them making you believe in love again."

I hugged the book to my chest, warmth spreading through me in a way I hadn’t felt in years. No one ever gave me gifts. No one even acknowledged my likes and dislikes.

"Thank you," I whispered, meaning it more than he could ever know.

Samuel studied me for a moment, his expression shifting. "You know, you’re beautiful."

My heart stopped.

I jerked my head up, panic flashing through me. "Samuel, don’t—"

"You are," he insisted, his voice low but firm. "I don’t care what they say to you. What they make you believe. You are beautiful, Madison."

I shook my head, my fingers tightening around the book. "No. I’m—"

"Look at me."

I hesitated before meeting his gaze. His deep brown eyes held something dangerous—sympathy. Pity. Care.

I couldn’t afford that.

Not when I knew what would happen if they saw it.

"Samuel," I whispered urgently, glancing around again. "If they hear you say that—"

He exhaled sharply, as if frustrated. "Why do you let them treat you like this?"

I laughed bitterly. "Let them? You think I have a choice?"

"You do," he said softly. "You deserve more than this."

Deserve?

That word felt foreign to me. I had spent so long being told I was nothing, that I had forgotten what it felt like to be someone.

Samuel reached out as if to touch my hand, but at the last second, I pulled away.

I couldn’t.

If Savannah saw, if Jenny saw—God, what would they do to me?

"I should get back to work," I murmured, gripping the brush so tightly my knuckles turned white.

Samuel didn’t argue. But as he turned to leave, he hesitated.

"I wish things were different," he said quietly.

A sharp pain stabbed through my chest.

They could have been different.

Maybe if I had been born into another family. Maybe if I had never been adopted. Maybe if I had met Samuel before Savannah had claimed him as hers.

But reality was cruel.

Samuel belonged to Savannah now.

And I was nothing more than the girl who cleaned the floors he walked on.

He turned away, his footsteps fading down the hall, leaving me alone on the cold marble floor.

I clutched the book to my chest, fighting the tears that burned behind my eyes.

Happy endings weren’t meant for people like me.

After I'd finally cleaned the staircase, my body was as dry as a wrung sponge. My knees ache from kneeling on the hard marble, and my hands—especially the one which had been slashed beforehand—blistered like hot fire.

I smiled through, though. Not until the last step sparkled under the brilliance of the chandelier.

Stuff that no one could ever accuse me of slacking, I took the bucket and went to my room. The moment I closed the door, I let out a trembling sigh.

This room—if one could even call it that—was the only room in which I could pretend to live. It was a tiny, windowless storage room in the rear of the house, just big enough for a thin mattress and a wooden box that served as my nightstand.

I stretched on the bed, wincing as I extended my injured hand. The wound had healed, but it hurt horribly. I fetched the bottle of alcohol in my closet and applied it to the injury. It stung horribly, but I was used to it.

I fetched the book Samuel had left me.

It was nothing special, but to me, it was everything.

I ran my fingers over the cover, tracing the raised letters with my fingertips. A romantic comedy. My favorite.

I slowly opened the first page and let myself get lost in the world of make-believe.

I was not in this house for the first time in what felt like an eternity. I was not Madison, the unwanted orphan, the servant, the punching bag. I was someone else—someone free, someone loved.

I was happy.

Until the door suddenly opened.

I leapt upright, my heart practically flying out of my chest.

Savannah stood in the doorway, hand covering her nose as if the air itself insulted her. "Ugh, this place stinks."

It didn't.

But I didn't argue.

She came in, her perfectly styled blonde hair cascading down her shoulders, her blue eyes full of disdain. "What are you doing here? Mum's been ringing you for the past ten minutes. We're famished, and you're supposed to be cooking dinner."

I straightened.

Samuel's book was still open on my lap.

Before I could shift, Savannah's eyes fell upon it.

Her lips curled with distaste. "What's that?"

I desperately attempted to hide it behind my pillow, but she outmaneuvered me.

Savannah swooped down, snatching the book away from my fingers.

Her gaze flashed across the cover an

d narrowed threateningly. "Where did you pilfer this from?"

"I—I did not pilfer it," I stammered, my chest pounding. "It was given to me. A gift."