Chapter 3: Morning Lines in the Kitchen
The heavy scent of roasted coffee beans and burnt toast filled the grand kitchen long before the sun had fully cleared the estate's iron gates. I stood at the marble island, wiping down the surface with a damp cloth, trying to steady my hands before the morning staff arrived for breakfast prep.
The heavy oak door swung open, and Marcus Sterling, the estate's chief legal counsel and the patriarch's right hand, walked in. He wore a crisp charcoal suit, his silver tie pinned straight. His cold, gray eyes locked onto me instantly.
"Clara," Marcus said, his voice dripping with forced warmth that didn't reach his eyes. "A word, if you please."
I kept my hands flat on the marble, gripping the edge. "I have breakfast service to prepare, Mr. Sterling."
"Breakfast can wait." Marcus stepped closer, leaning against the adjacent counter. He didn't bother sitting. "Vince Keller has been spending a lot of time below stairs lately. And you seem to be accommodating him. You're a smart girl, Clara. You’ve worked here five years. You know how things operate in this house. People who forget their place tend to find themselves out on the highway with nothing to their name."
"I don't know what you mean," I said, keeping my tone flat and submissive, the way I had learned to survive in this gilded cage.
"Vince is an outsider," Marcus continued, his voice dropping into a low, threatening murmur. "A dark horse brought in to manage the legacy investments, but he thinks he's a savior. If he digs into matters that don't concern him—matters concerning family trusts and unfortunate accidents—he will fall hard. And anyone standing near him when he drops will be crushed under the debris."
Before I could answer, the kitchen door swung open again. Vince walked in, carrying a fresh stack of linen napkins. He didn't look at Marcus immediately; instead, he walked straight past the lawyer, tossing the napkins onto the sorting table with deliberate slowness.
"Mr. Sterling," Vince said smoothly, turning around with a faint, dangerous smile. "Early riser for a man who doesn't live here."
Marcus straightened his jacket, glaring at Vince with undisguised contempt. "Just reminding the staff of their duties, Keller. Some people need instruction on loyalty."
"Loyalty goes both ways, Marcus," Vince replied, stepping into the lawyer's personal space until Marcus was forced to take a half-step back. "Usually, it starts at the top and rolls down. But around here, it seems folks are terrified of what's hiding at the bottom."
Marcus's face flushed a mottled red. He adjusted his cuffs, shot one last venomous glance at me, and turned on his heel, marching out through the servants' corridor.
The heavy door clicked shut. The kitchen was silent again, save for the hum of the industrial refrigerator. Vince turned to me, his dark eyes searching my face for any sign of breaking.
"Did he threaten you?" Vince asked quietly.
May you like
"He doesn't have to," I murmured, finally letting my shoulders drop. "The whole house knows what happens to people who ask questions."
Vince reached out, his hand hovering for a second before his fingers gently brushed my wrist. The touch was unexpected, warm and steady against my cold skin. "Then it's a good thing we're done asking questions," he said softly. "Now, we start taking evidence."
