Lady Dimitrescu x female reader

36 - rejection

That evening, after Lady Dimitrescu had finished with a phone call from Mother Miranda, I stood outside her chambers with the letter in hand, my heart pounding in my chest. The girls had given me encouraging smiles as I left them, their confidence in the letter boosting my own. But now, standing here, the reality of what I was about to do felt daunting. Taking a deep breath, I knocked softly on the door. When she called for me to enter, I stepped inside, finding her standing by the window, her tall figure framed by the fading light of the evening. She turned to look at me, her expression angered and stern.

"What is it?"

she asked, her voice cold and commanding. For a moment, I hesitated, the words catching in my throat. But then I remembered the encouragement from the girls, the way they had helped me put everything I felt into that letter, and I gathered the courage to approach her.

"I... I have something for you,"

I said softly, holding out the letter. My hand trembled slightly as I extended it toward her, but I forced myself to stay steady, to see this through. She took the letter from me, her eyes briefly flickering with curiosity before she unfolded it and began to read. The silence in the room was deafening, and I stood there, every second feeling like an eternity as I watched her expression change. At first, her brow furrowed slightly, but there was something else there—something I couldn't quite place. When she finished reading, she looked up at me, and the warmth I had hoped to see in her eyes wasn't there. her expression grew colder, her eyes hardening as she read each word. When she finally looked up at me, there was no trace of the tenderness I had come to cherish in her gaze. Instead, her voice was stern, almost harsh, as she spoke.

"I do not feel the same way, and I never will. You've misunderstood my intentions, and I cannot allow you to continue thinking that there is something more between us."

Each word was like a dagger to my heart, and I could feel the hope I had held onto so tightly begin to crumble. I had poured everything into that letter—my feelings, my fears, my hopes—and now, piece by piece, she was shattering all of it.

"I care for you as a member of my household, nothing more,"

she continued, her voice unwavering, as if she were delivering a simple fact rather than crushing my heart beneath her words.

"This... infatuation must end. I will not tolerate it disrupting the order of this castle."

I had convinced myself that maybe, just maybe, there was something more between us. But now, standing here in front of her, I realized how wrong I had been.  I stood there, stunned into silence, unable to process the pain that was tearing through me. I had expected many things, but never this. Never the cold rejection that left me feeling like a fool for ever thinking she might have felt something more. But even as the tears threatened to spill from my eyes, I refused to let her see me break. I forced myself to stand tall, to nod as if I understood, even though every part of me wanted to collapse.

"It's for the best," she said, her tone final. "You should go now."

Without another word, I turned and left her chambers, my heart shattering with each step. The moment I was out of her sight, I broke into a run, the tears finally spilling over as I fled to the only place where I could let the pain consume me—my room. Once inside, I locked the door behind me and collapsed onto the bed, burying my face in the pillows to stifle the sobs that wracked my body. The rejection was more than just a denial of my feelings; it was a complete and utter devastation of everything I had hoped for, everything I had allowed myself to believe might be possible. I had thought... I had thought there was something there, something real between us. The way she had cared for me, the way she had looked at me, the way we had shared those moments of closeness—I had let myself believe that it meant something. That she might care for me in the same way I cared for her. But I should have known better. I should have known that someone like her, someone so powerful and untouchable, could never feel the same way about someone like me. I was just a member of her household, nothing more. A maid. A tool. The pain was unbearable, a crushing weight on my chest that made it difficult to breathe. I curled up on the bed, clutching the pillows as if they could somehow hold me together as I fell apart. I had been so foolish to let myself fall for her, to let myself believe that there could be something more. The tears flowed freely now, and I didn't try to stop them. I cried for the love I had lost, for the hope that had been so cruelly dashed, for the vulnerability I had shown only to be met with cold indifference. I cried until there were no more tears left, until my body was exhausted, and my heart felt numb. When the sobs finally subsided, I lay there in the darkness, my body trembling with the remnants of the pain. I felt hollow, empty, as if the rejection had stripped away a part of me that I would never get back. The pain of rejection had lingered long into the night, refusing to let me find any peace. I had tried everything to push it away—to forget the harshness of her words, the cold finality with which she had dismissed my feelings. But every time I closed my eyes, I saw her face, heard her voice, and the ache in my chest only deepened. I had thought that maybe, if I could just rid myself of the letter—the tangible evidence of my vulnerability and foolishness—it would help ease the pain. The letter that I had poured my heart into, the letter that had been met with such cold rejection. But each time I tried to throw it away, the girls stopped me. They would find it wherever I hid it, pull it from the trash, or snatch it from my hands before I could tear it to pieces.