“IF SHE WANTS TO EAT, SEAT HER IN THE KITCHEN.” Celeste said it loudly enough for the woman to hear.

Everyone turned to look at me.

Sixty wealthy guests. Nico. Celeste.

I was still standing in the uniform they had just tried to fire me out of, holding a lukewarm baking dish of baked ziti.

My heart hammered violently against my ribs.

“Rosa,” I whispered, terrified. “What are you doing?”

Nico looked at me, then at Rosa. “What does Nora have to do with this?”

Rosa didn't look angry. She looked at me with the same deep, maternal sadness she had shown me for the last eleven months.

“Nora is a good girl,” Rosa said to the room. “She works hard. She pays for her mother’s medical bills. She takes care of her brother.”

Celeste wiped her eyes, stepping forward. “Rosa, why are you bringing the maid into this right now?”

“Because,” Rosa said softly, “Evelyn didn’t come to Chicago alone thirty years ago.”

Celeste froze.

Rosa walked slowly toward me. I wanted to back away through the kitchen doors, to disappear into the service hallway and never come back. But my feet wouldn't move.

Rosa reached out and gently touched my apron.

“Evelyn had a younger sister,” Rosa said. “A sister who was only fourteen years old when Evelyn died. A sister who was sent to an orphanage because the Bellini family refused to pay for her care after they covered up Evelyn’s murder.”

Nico stared at me. The realization hit him like a physical blow.

Celeste gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. She looked at my face, really looking at me for the first time tonight. Not as staff. Not as a nuisance.

“Oh my god,” Celeste whispered. “Your eyes. You have her eyes.”

My throat closed up.

I didn't want this. I never wanted this.

“Nora,” Nico said, his voice incredibly gentle. “Is your mother Evelyn’s sister?”

I looked down at the baking dish. My hands were shaking so hard the ceramic clinked against my rings.

“Yes,” I whispered.

The room erupted into quiet murmurs.

Celeste walked toward me. She stopped two feet away, her expensive gown contrasting sharply with my cheap black uniform.

“You knew?” Celeste asked. “You knew who I was this whole time?”

I shook my head, tears finally spilling over.

“No,” I said, looking up at her. “I didn't know you were Evelyn’s daughter. I thought you were just... some rich woman Nico met.”

“Then why are you here?” Nico asked. Not accusingly. Just desperately wanting to understand the puzzle pieces of his own life.

I swallowed hard.

“My mother is dying,” I said, my voice cracking. “She has late-stage kidney failure. The medical bills drained everything. My brother is trying to finish school.”

I looked at Nico.

“I didn't come here for revenge. I came here because this house owed my mother a life. And paying me twenty-two dollars an hour to clean the floors she used to scrub felt like the only way to get some of it back without Arthur destroying us.”

Celeste let out a broken sound. She reached out and grabbed my hand.

I flinched, expecting her to be angry.

Instead, she pulled me into a fierce, desperate hug.

“You’re my family,” Celeste cried into my shoulder. “You’re my blood.”

I stood there, frozen, as the woman who had fired me ten minutes ago wept against my cheap cotton uniform.

Nico walked over. He didn't say a word. He just placed one hand on Celeste’s back, and the other on my shoulder.

A unified front.

But Rosa wasn't finished.

“There is one more thing,” Rosa said.

We all looked at her.

Rosa reached into the pocket of her own coat and pulled out a small iron skeleton key.

“Arthur didn't leave empty-handed tonight,” Rosa said quietly. “He thinks he’s going to his office to destroy the trust documents. But he won't find them.”

Nico stared at the key. “What does that open?”

“A safety deposit box at First Chicago Bank,” Rosa said. “I put it there twenty-seven years ago.”

Rosa looked directly at Celeste.