Chapter 3: A Quiet Retreat to the Service Quarters
The heavy silence in the dining room hung suspended between the polished marble floors and the warm crystal chandeliers overhead, thick enough to muffle even the sound of our breathing. For a long moment, the man in the tailored black suit stood frozen over us, his dark slicked-back hair catching the amber light, his jaw set so tightly that the muscles beneath his neck tattoos flexed in a sharp, rhythmic pulse. His eyes remained locked on my face, searching for any trace of defiance or deceit, before they flickered down to the tiny toddler in the white high chair wearing the blue dress and bib.
"Take them to the back service suite," he said, his voice dropping into a low, flat register that brooked no argument. He didn't raise his voice, yet the command carried an absolute weight that left the three guards by the grand doorway shifting instantly into motion.
I didn't hesitate. Bending quickly, I scooped the small grey baby bowl and the silver spoon off the tray, slipping them into the deep canvas pocket of my beige maid uniform. My fingers trembled slightly against the cool metal of the spoon, but I forced my hands to steady as I unlatched the safety bar of the high chair. I lifted the toddler into my arms, resting her small weight against my hip. She didn't cry or fuss; she simply curled her small fingers into the collar of my apron, her bright eyes remaining fixed on the man in the black suit with an unnerving, quiet composure.
"Move," one of the black-suited guards muttered, stepping up beside us with a heavy, deliberate tread. He gestured with a gloved hand toward the grand doorway, steering us away from the dark wood dining table and out into the wider expanse of the estate's main interior corridors.
The walk was measured and silent. Our footsteps made a dull, muted thud against the runner rug that covered the polished marble of the hallway, a stark contrast to the echoing sound we had made earlier. As we rounded a wide corner near the secondary pantry, the guard momentarily broke his stride to check a wall-mounted intercom, leaving me standing beside a mahogany side table beneath a heavy brass sconce.
My gaze dropped to the polished surface of the table. Lying half-hidden beneath a stack of leather-bound guest ledgers was a discarded sheet of heavy bond paper. It wasn't folded neatly; one edge jutted out, displaying a jagged tear and a line of crisp, typed numbers that caught the dim light of the hallway. Without thinking, I shifted the toddler slightly higher on my hip, reached out with my free hand, and slid the paper off the edge, tucking it swiftly into the front pocket of my apron just as the guard turned back around.
"Keep walking," he ordered, his hand pressing firmly against the small of my back, guiding us down the final narrow corridor that led to the service quarters.
The air grew cooler here, smelling faintly of old linen and lemon polish. The guard unlocked a heavy oak door at the end of the hall, gesturing for us to step inside. We entered a modest, windowless sitting room attached to a small bedroom, the space sparse and functional compared to the opulent rooms we had just left. The only source of natural light came from a single high, barred window that looked out onto the stone courtyard below.
May you like
"Stay inside," the guard said, his voice flat as he pulled the heavy wooden door shut. I heard the sharp, definitive click of the deadbolt sliding into place from the outside, followed by the heavy thud of his boots retreating down the hall.
We were locked in, but inside the deep pocket of my apron, the crisp edge of the stolen paper pressed firmly against my hip.
