Chapter 6 - Shadows Across the Parlor
The afternoon light filtered through the tall, mullioned windows of the parlor, casting long, gray angles across the Persian rug. I sat on the edge of the velvet settee, my hands folded tightly in my lap to keep my fingers from trembling. Only an hour had passed since I slipped back from Dominic's study, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. I had managed to replace the key and return to the main hallway without drawing notice, but the cold weight of what I had seen—and what remained hidden in the maid's modest canvas bag—stayed with me like a physical burden.
Outside, a steady drizzle slicked the stone balustrades of the terrace where our nightmare had nearly spilled over days ago. The sound of a heavy oak door latching shut echoed through the foyer, followed by the measured, unhurried click of leather-soled shoes on hardwood. Dominic.
He didn't enter the parlor immediately. I heard him pause by the umbrella stand, shedding his damp wool overcoat with deliberate slowness. When he finally stepped into the doorway, his dark tailored suit was immaculate, his tie knotted with sharp precision. His expression was not angry; it was worse—blank, smooth, and chillingly composed.
"You're quiet today," Dominic said, his voice carrying an effortless resonance that filled the room. He walked over to the sideboard and poured two fingers of amber whiskey into a heavy crystal glass, not offering any to me. "Housekeeping has grown slipshod lately. Standards have fallen off entirely."
My throat tightened, but I kept my voice level, forcing my shoulders to drop. "The staff does what they can, Dominic. It's a large house."
"A house requires order," he replied, taking a slow sip. He turned his gaze toward the windows, watching the rain streak the glass. "And I am terminating the maid's employment. Effective immediately."
The words dropped into the quiet room with the finality of a gavel. I froze, the breath catching in my throat. "Terminating her? Why? She's only been here a few months."
"Incompetence," Dominic said smoothly, swirling the liquor in his glass. "She lacks the discretion required for an estate like this. I found carelessness in the west wing quarters. Things misplaced. Details overlooked. There is no room for mistakes under this roof."
He knew. Or at least, he suspected enough to purge the board of any weak pieces. Panic flickered hot and sharp beneath my ribs, but I forced my expression to remain dull, a mask of passive acceptance. "It seems rather sudden, don't you think? Surely a warning—"
"I don't issue warnings for basic failures," Dominic interrupted, his tone hardening just enough to signal the boundary of the discussion. "She is packing her things now. I've instructed the driver to take her down to the main road. She'll be gone before dark."
Before I could frame a reply, footsteps sounded in the hallway. Through the open parlor doorway, I saw the maid carrying a single, worn canvas duffel bag. Her blue dress and white collar were neatly pressed, but her face was pale, her eyes fixed straight ahead with a quiet, terrified resolve. Tucked deep inside the lining of that bag was the ledger page we had managed to salvage—the physical evidence that could unravel everything Dominic had built.
Dominic set his glass down on the mahogany table with a sharp clink. He stepped into the hall, blocking the path toward the grand staircase, turning the exit into a bottleneck under his watchful gaze.
"Make sure you didn't leave anything behind," Dominic said, his voice dropping an octave as the maid approached. "We wouldn't want any misunderstandings."
"No, sir," the maid said, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. She clutched the strap of her bag tighter. "I have everything."
As she passed the parlor threshold, her head turned slightly. For one fleeting, desperate second, our eyes met. There was no theatrical pleading this time, no dramatic gesture—just a shared, silent acknowledgment of the danger closing in around us. She looked away instantly, keeping her posture rigid as she walked toward the front doors.
Dominic followed her with his eyes, a silent sentinel ensuring the garbage was taken out. The heavy oak front door swung open, letting in a gust of cold, wet wind from the driveway.
May you like
I stood slowly from the settee, walking toward the window just in time to see the maid step out onto the gravel drive. Without a car waiting to pick her up, she began walking on foot down the long, winding highway toward town, the rain immediately soaking through her coat, carrying the hidden evidence away into the gray dusk.
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