Lily had taken the serving job three weeks earlier, desperate for steady work after months of struggling to make ends meet, never once imagining that the household she'd been hired to serve belonged to the very family she'd spent years searching for. She moved carefully through the crowded ballroom, balancing her tray with practiced precision, weaving between elegantly dressed guests who barely acknowledged her presence at all. She'd noticed Victoria earlier that evening, something achingly familiar in the shape of her face, the particular way she laughed, though Lily had told herself it was simply coincidence, that grief and hope had a way of making strangers look like the people we'd lost. She hadn't meant to get close enough to serve her directly, hadn't meant for her hands to shake slightly as she approached, the tray tilting just enough at exactly the wrong angle to send champagne splashing across the front of Victoria's gown. The apology died in Lily's throat the moment she saw the fury igniting behind Victoria's eyes, a fury that felt disproportionate to a simple accident, the kind of anger that came from someone who'd never once had to apologize for their own mistakes. Lily barely had time to brace herself before Victoria's hand connected sharply with her cheek, the impact ringing through the sudden silence that had fallen across the nearby guests. Pain bloomed instantly across her face, mixing with older, fading bruises she'd been carrying for weeks from an entirely different, unrelated hardship. Tears sprang to her eyes immediately, though not entirely from the slap itself, but from the crushing, bitter irony of finally standing this close to her sister after all these years, only to be struck down like a stranger who meant nothing at all.