Chapter 3: The Ultimatum in the Staff Quarters
Midnight had barely struck when I finished clearing the last of the crystal and silver from the ruined dinner party. The guests had long since departed, their luxury sedans crunching over the gravel driveway and vanishing into the rainy night. The mansion was dead silent now, save for the grandfather clock ticking heavily in the main foyer.
I climbed the narrow spiral back stairs to the third-floor staff quarters, my legs heavy with exhaustion. Pushing open the heavy oak door to my small room, I froze.
The woman in red stood by my narrow iron bedstead. She had discarded her formal jacket, but the red silk dress still clung to her frame, her diamond necklace catching the moonlight pouring through the small dormer window. She was holding my small canvas duffel bag, looking down at its meager contents with a look of supreme disgust.
"Leaving so soon, Olivia?" she asked smoothly, not bothering to turn around.
"I'm off duty," I said, keeping my voice level, stepping firmly into the room and closing the door behind me.
She spun around, her red silk rustling sharply. The polished facade of the dining room was completely gone; her face was twisted into a mask of pure, bitter venom. She took two sharp steps toward me, her heels clicking angrily against the floorboards.
"You think because some dangerous animal in a tailored suit looks twice at you, you've suddenly become important?" she hissed, stopping inches away from me. The scent of expensive perfume and expensive wine washed over her. "You are nothing. You are dirt we pulled off the streets and gave a uniform to. If you open your mouth about what happened tonight—if you breathe a single word to the police, to that man, to anyone—I will make sure you never work another day in this state. You'll be back in the gutter where we found you."
I looked down at her. For the first time, I didn't feel the shrinking, cowering fear that had defined my months in this house. The bruising on my face throbbed in time with my pulse, a physical reminder of the hands that had put me here.
"You didn't pull me from the gutter," I said quietly, my voice startling even myself with its calm clarity. "I came looking for honest work. You turned it into a prison."
Her hand flashed out, a sharp slap aimed directly at my uninjured cheek. But my reflexes were sharper than she expected; I caught her wrist mid-swing, my fingers clamping down around her delicate bone with surprising strength.
May you like
She gasped, her eyes widening in genuine shock as she stared at my hand gripping her wrist.
"Don't touch me again," I whispered, releasing her arm as if it were contaminated. I walked past her, picked up my duffel bag from the bed, and slid the brass keycard from my pocket into my coat sleeve. "I'm leaving. You won't have to worry about my face ruining your dinner parties ever again."
