Chapter 2 - The Scent of Old Pine
Clara’s hand instinctively snapped up to tuck the antique filigree locket beneath her white collar. ""It belongs to me, sir. It belonged to my mother.""
Damian stepped closer, casting a towering shadow. He was no longer just the calculating billionaire; an raw, unhealed scar flickered behind his icy demeanor. Before he could demand another answer, Eleanor gasped, clutching her chest as dizziness swept over her.
""Mother!"" Damian caught Eleanor in his arms before she swayed, his attention ripped away. ""Clear the foyer! Someone call Dr. Alvarez to the east wing right now!""
The ballroom erupted into chaotic chatter as guests were swiftly guided by butlers toward the exit. Clara knelt quietly, helping Damian support Eleanor's trembling shoulders. For a fraction of a second, Clara’s fingers brushed against Damian’s leather-bound watch cuff. A strange jolt of familiarity coursed through her, sharp and electric.
""Thank you, child,"" Eleanor murmured weakly, her clouded eyes locking onto Clara’s with uncanny warmth. ""You smell like wild honeysuckle and old pine. Just like home used to.""
""Take her to the library suite,"" Damian ordered his head of staff, picking up his mother with surprising gentleness. As he moved past Clara, he halted. His jaw remained clenched tight. ""You. Clara, isn't it? Don't leave this estate tonight. My driver will take you to the guest quarters after you finish your shift. We aren't done speaking.""
Clara swallowed dryly, nodding once.
An hour later, the grand hall was empty. Armed with a broom and dustpan, Clara swept up the shattered crystal from Victoria's champagne flute. Her thoughts raced back to her childhood in the rundown hollows of West Virginia. Her mother, Sarah, had died of untreated pneumonia when Clara was only twelve, leaving behind two things: a mountain of predatory medical debt, and the silver locket inscribed with the initials E.V.
May you like
Eleanor Vance.
Clara dropped the dustpan onto the marble with a hollow clatter. Her hands shook violently. All these years, she had taken catering gigs across elite Manhattan just to survive, never guessing that the woman whose name was carved inside her only heirloom lived in the very mansion she was hired to serve.
