You Taste Better Than Your Brother-Heiress Turned Maid

I used to be someone—Livia Devereaux, daughter of a legacy family whose name was synonymous with wealth, power, and unshakable prestige. Our estate overlooked the city like gods watching over mortals. I grew up knowing that the world was mine for the taking. All I had to do was smile the right way, say the right things, and follow the rules laid out for me. I was groomed for perfection—an heir's daughter, a future wife to a man handpicked by my family. My life had been polished until it gleamed. Until it cracked.

The fall came faster than I could blink. One moment, I was trying on wedding gowns in Paris; the next, I was forced to sit in a cold, echoing room with my parents and their lawyers. The verdict was clear: I wasn't going to marry Nathan Carlisle. Not anymore.

My father's words were sharp enough to leave scars. "You embarrassed this family, Livia. You're lucky we're giving you a way out at all."

Lucky. That's what they called it. But I knew better. There were no second chances in families like mine. Not when the scandal hit so close to home.

It all started with a betrayal. Not Nathan's—no, his betrayal came later. It was my mother's. A secret that had remained buried for decades until one of her so-called friends dragged it into the light for sport. Turns out, I wasn't a legitimate Devereaux after all. My birth certificate was nothing but a piece of expensive fiction. My father was not my father. My mother had made sure of that.

To the outside world, it didn't matter that I hadn't done anything wrong. In their eyes, my mere existence was a stain on the Devereaux name. No one would marry into a family that had dirty blood—least of all Nathan Carlisle, the golden boy of the business world. We were engaged for almost two years, bound by family expectations rather than love. But the arrangement had suited me just fine. Or at least I thought it did.

Until the night Nathan ended it, taking whatever remained of my future with him.

I remember the conversation so clearly, like a wound that never quite heals.

We were in his apartment—a place I used to think would one day be our home. Nathan looked perfect, as always. Sharp cheekbones, a suit tailored to precision, and that charming smile people mistook for kindness. Except now, that smile was gone, replaced by the cold, calculated expression he reserved for boardroom deals.

"This isn't personal, Liv." He said it so easily, like a weather report. "I can't be associated with someone whose background is… complicated."

Complicated. That word hit me harder than any insult. "So that's it? You're just—what? Tossing me aside?"

He exhaled through his nose, his impatience barely veiled. "Our engagement was always about alignment, Livia. My family's business. Your family's name. Now that the Devereauxs are… compromised, the deal no longer benefits either of us."

I stood there, stunned. I wanted to slap him. I wanted to scream. But all I could do was stare at the man I thought I knew, realizing that I had never really known him at all. Nathan Carlisle didn't want me. He wanted the power that came with me. And now that power was gone.

"Just like that?" I whispered. "Two years, Nathan. We were together for two years."

He shrugged, as if those years were nothing more than lines on a ledger. "You'll land on your feet. You always do."

His words stung more than I cared to admit. And the worst part? He wasn't wrong. In the world I grew up in, we didn't fall—we adjusted, adapted, and survived. But something inside me broke that night, something fragile that I hadn't even realized I still possessed.

That was the last time I saw Nathan Carlisle. The next morning, my parents informed me that arrangements had already been made. There would be no public scandal, no press leaks. In exchange for my silence and cooperation, I would be given a generous allowance and sent away. Far away.

And just like that, Livia Devereaux ceased to exist.

My exile came in the form of a black car with tinted windows and a one-way ticket to a private estate in the countryside. I wasn't told who owned it or what I'd be doing there—only that I would be provided with accommodations and expected to keep a low profile.

When the gates of the estate loomed ahead, I felt like a prisoner arriving at her final destination. The mansion was vast and cold, all sharp angles and towering windows. Nothing about it felt like a home. It looked like the kind of place where secrets went to die.

The driver didn't speak as he opened the door for me. I stepped out into the crisp autumn air, clutching the single suitcase they allowed me to bring. The rest of my things—designer clothes, jewelry, and handbags—had been deemed "inappropriate" for my new life.

I was greeted by an older woman with iron-gray hair and an expression that suggested she had never once been impressed by anything. "Welcome to Carlisle House," she said without enthusiasm. "You'll report to the staff quarters at once. Mr. Carlisle is not to be disturbed under any circumstances."

Mr. Carlisle.

It wasn't until later, when I was shown to the small, spartan room that would be my new home, that I realized who owned this estate. Dominic Carlisle. Nathan's estranged older brother.

The black sheep of the Carlisle family, Dominic was known for two things: ruthless business dealings and an even more ruthless reputation. Where Nathan was polished and charming, Dominic was jagged and untouchable. They hadn't spoken in years—some family feud that no one dared discuss. All I knew was that Dominic lived far away from the social scene Nathan thrived in, and he preferred it that way.

Now, somehow, I was in his world. A maid in the house of the man my ex-fiancé despised.

The irony would've been amusing if it wasn't so tragic.

My first days at Carlisle House passed in a blur of chores and exhaustion. I cleaned floors, polished silver, and served meals without speaking unless spoken to. It was menial work—work I had never imagined doing in my life. But the hardest part wasn't the labor. It was the silence.

Back in my old life, silence had been a luxury. Now, it was a punishment. Each quiet moment was filled with thoughts of what I had lost, of the person I used to be.

The other staff kept their distance, either out of indifference or fear. It didn't take long to realize that Dominic Carlisle was not a man who encouraged familiarity. The staff whispered about him in hushed tones, trading stories about his temper and the people he had ruined.

I saw him only once, from a distance. He was standing by the large windows in his study, a glass of whiskey in hand, staring out at the sprawling estate as if it were both a kingdom and a cage.

He was nothing like Nathan.

Where Nathan's charm was a polished veneer, Dominic's presence was raw and undeniable. He looked like a man who had fought too many battles and emerged scarred but unbeaten.

And just like that, my world narrowed to the confines of Carlisle House.

I was no longer Livia Devereaux, the pampered heiress with a gilded future. I was Liv, the maid. A nobody. A ghost.

But ghosts have a way of lingering. And some crowns, once shattered, are destined to be reclaimed.

Even if it means burning everything down to get them back.