CHAPTER 94: CURSED

Chapter 94

Katya’s POV

The kettle hissed. The knife clinked against the cutting board. Miss Stella hummed an old song under her breath as she diced herbs beside me.

Everything looked normal.

But nothing felt normal.

I hadn’t slept a second since leaving the elevator. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw metal fingers glinting under the elevator light, heard the way Adelasia said remembering like it was a knife pressed against my throat.

I thought helping Miss Stella with dinner would ground me — peel potatoes, stir sauces, focus on something simple.

But now, standing in the kitchen for hours, I could barely keep my hands steady as I peeled vegetables.

Time didn’t feel real anymore. The kitchen should’ve been a safe space — warm light, simmering pots, Miss Stella’s calm singing voice. But every sound scraped at my nerves, every movement made me flinch.

My skin prickled — like eyes were on me. And they were.

"—that’s her?" I didn’t need to turn to know who they were referring to. The words drifted from somewhere near the pantry.

Low, hushed, but not low enough. I picked up a knife to start chopping the vegetables, but their words still reached me.

"She’s the one. She now feels she’s better than everyone since Mr. Salvatore is in a coma." My grip on the knife tightened.

Miss Stella seemed not to have heard them as she was far away from us.

"Was it true that she was the cause for him cutting off his own cousin’s fingers?"

The words slid through the air like poison. I froze.

Fingers. Cousin. Mr. Salvatore.

The dots started connecting — and suddenly, it wasn’t just whispers in the kitchen. It was a storm roaring in my head.

But they weren’t done.

"Look at that sundress she’s wearing," one of them snickered. "While the rest of us are stuck in uniforms."

"Yeah," another voice chimed in, dripping with disdain. "I heard Nonna’s treating her like a guest now, not a maid. She feels like she’s unstoppable now that Mr. Salvatore is in a coma."

"What does she even have that makes her feel special?"

The knife slipped in my grip. It didn’t fall, but my hand was shaking so badly I had to set it down before I hurt myself.

Their words looped over and over, louder with every repetition.

What does she have? What makes her feel special?

I stared down at the half-cut carrots on the board, the bright orange blurring and doubling until they didn’t look like carrots anymore — just meaningless shapes and colors.

They hated me.

They all hated me. I had noticed it from the beginning, but it had never come to them talking where I could hear. It seemed everyone had grown balls since Romeo went into a coma.

But maybe they were right to.

Because what did I have?

What was I even? A past I don’t want to remember? Their enemy’s blood running through my veins?

A monster upstairs who might have seen me standing over his bed, ready to—

My chest tightened, breath catching in my throat. The room tilted slightly, like the ground had shifted beneath my feet.

"Katya?" Miss Stella’s voice broke through the noise, soft and distant, as if she were calling from the other side of a wall. "Are you alright, dear?"

I blinked. Once. Twice. My lips parted, but no sound came out.

Maybe if I disappeared, they’d all breathe easier. Maybe they’d forget I was ever here.

"Katya," Miss Stella said softly again, walking over to me while the others quickly shut their mouths.

I forced myself to look up, but the kitchen felt like it was spinning too fast for me to keep up. Her face blurred for a second, kind eyes swimming in and out of focus.

"I—I’m fine," I croaked, saying the most unbelievable words again. They weren’t true — never had been and never would be.

Nothing about me was fine.

Miss Stella didn’t look convinced. She wiped her hands on her apron and rested a warm palm on my trembling shoulder.

"Why are you always pale as a ghost, dear? Sit for a moment, would you? Before you drop right here."

I shook my head. "I’m okay. I can keep going." My voice cracked halfway through, betraying the lie.

The murmurs from the pantry hadn’t stopped echoing. Even though the maids had gone quiet, I still heard them — in my messed-up head, in the walls, crawling under my skin.

What does she have?

Guest, not maid.

She caused it. I always do.

She thinks she’s better than us.

My stomach twisted. My chest felt too small for my lungs. I pressed the knife harder into the board just to feel something solid.

"Katya," Miss Stella said again, firmer this time. "Drop the knife and sit."

I didn’t realize until she spoke that I’d been gripping it so tight my knuckles were bone white.

The blade clattered onto the board when I let go, and I staggered back a step, air catching painfully in my chest.

Maybe I was the problem. Father had said it before. Maybe he... no... they were right. Maybe every terrible thing that had happened — Frank, Aria, Adelasia’s hand, even Romeo’s coma — circled back to me. Maybe I was the center of all of it.

Maybe I was truly cursed from birth. I should have known when my mother died giving birth to me that I was a cursed child.

I stumbled toward the chair Miss Stella was pointing at, the room warping around the edges.

My legs didn’t feel like they belonged to me anymore. My heart was beating too fast, too loud.

"There, now. Breathe," she murmured, crouching slightly so she was eye-level with me.

"In... and out. Nice and slow." I tried.

God knows I tried. But my breaths kept snagging, shallow and broken, like my body didn’t remember how.

From the corner of my eye, I saw the other maids pretend to focus on their tasks — chopping, stirring, scrubbing — but I could still feel their eyes on me.

Judging.

Hating.

Wishing I was dead.

I wanted to scream at them. Or cry. Or disappear.

Instead, I pressed my palms against my knees, digging my nails into the fabric of the sundress they’d mocked.

I hated this dress. I hated how soft and pretty it looked. I hated that it made me stand out when all I wanted was to blend into the background and vanish.

"Do you want me to fetch Nonna?" Miss Stella asked gently.

"No." The word came out too fast, desperate. Why was she suggesting such a thing? Nonna was nothing to me, and I was nothing to her.

And the last thing I needed was Nonna’s worried eyes, her pity. I didn’t deserve her kindness — not after everything I’d done.

Not after me trying to kill her grandson. Even the thought of it now made me sick to my stomach.

Miss Stella’s brows knitted together, but she didn’t push. "Alright. But you’re taking the rest of the evening off. No arguments."

I opened my mouth to protest. She shouldn’t treat me differently — that would only confirm what these maids were saying.

But she raised a hand, silencing me with a look that brooked no argument.

"Up," she said, patting my shoulder once more. "Go. Rest. Before you fall apart right here."

I already had. My brain had given up on me — nothing was functioning well.

Because when I rose from that chair and stumbled toward the door, I realized I couldn’t even remember how I’d gotten here in the first place.

All I knew was that my chest still felt too tight, my thoughts too loud — and somewhere, underneath all of it, was a cold, heavy truth I couldn’t shake.

Adelasia wasn’t finished with me.

And neither was this house.

††

Thoughts?