Chapter 4 - Morning Coffee
The pale gray light of dawn offered no warmth as I stood by the massive copper counters of the grand kitchen, pouring boiling water into a silver French press. The night had brought no sleep, only a grinding loop of choices: take Clara's envelope and run into the cold dawn, or stay and face whatever Julian's relentless scrutiny had in store. My fingers felt stiff as I adjusted the collar of my black uniform, making sure the left sleeve fell low enough to obscure the junction of the black glove.
Footsteps echoed sharply on the Italian tile floor—heavy, unhurried steps that I would have recognized anywhere. Julian walked into the kitchen before the rest of the domestic staff had even finished setting out the morning pastries. He wore a dark wool turtleneck under an unbuttoned gray blazer, the heavy ink of his tattoos visible along the back of his hands where they rested casually in his pockets. He didn't look at Mrs. Gable or the junior cook; his eyes locked onto me with the quiet gravity of a predator finding its mark in an empty clearing.
"No coffee for the others," Julian said, his voice cutting through the morning clatter of silverware. "Bring a cup to the breakfast nook. Just you."
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Mrs. Gable paused by the pantry door, her expression tightening into a mask of silent warning, but she said nothing as she drifted back into the scullery, leaving me alone in the open kitchen with him. My throat went dry. I lifted the heavy silver pot, my hands trembling ever so slightly as I poured the dark roast into a delicate porcelain cup. Every instinct screamed at me to turn around and walk out the back doors, but the weight of his gaze pinned me to the floorboards.
I carried the tray across the expansive kitchen toward the adjoining glass-walled breakfast nook, where the morning mist clung to the estate's sprawling lawns outside. Julian sat at the head of the dark wood table, watching my approach with unsettling patience. As I set the porcelain cup down, the silver edge of the tray ticked sharply against the rim, sending a dark splash of black coffee spilling across the starched white tablecloth. I gasped, snatching my left hand back, but the dark stain was already spreading like ink across paper. Julian stood up slowly, stepping directly into my path as I tried to retreat toward the pantry.
