Chapter 3
The clatter of polished silverware against gold-rimmed porcelain provided a rhythmic backdrop to the overlapping conversations at the banquet table. Alice walked through the velvet dining chairs, her steps agonizingly slow. She carried a silver water pitcher, her hands shaking so badly the ice clinked loudly against the metal. Jamie walked quietly beside her, his small hand holding the edge of her creased apron.
The entire space was flooded with warm golden light, offering absolutely no place for the housemaid to hide her disheveled appearance. As she approached the head of the table, the proximity to the mafia boss made her heart hammer violently against her ribs.
"Ah, there is our clumsy little servant," Rosalind noted, her voice carrying a sweet, poisonous lilt that only Alice could truly decipher.
Damien turned his head, his naturally swept-back hair catching the light. He looked at Alice, his cold, observant eyes immediately registering her rumpled uniform, her disheveled hair, and the dark, puffy shadows beneath her eyes. He then noticed his son standing protectively by her side.
"Ensure my glass is filled, Alice," Damien said, his deep voice unexpectedly gentle.
"Yes, Mr. Ashford," Alice whispered.
She stepped into the medium wide space beside his chair. As she carefully poured the water, ensuring not a single drop spilled, a sudden, deliberate movement caught her attention.
Rosalind reached beneath her chair. With a smooth, calculated motion, she placed a sleek, open shoebox directly onto the polished walnut table. She slid the box forcefully across the wood, stopping it directly in front of Alice. Inside the box rested a pair of elegant, expensive flat shoes.
Alice froze. Her hands gripped the silver pitcher tightly as she stared down at the footwear.
Rosalind leaned back in her velvet chair, looking directly at Alice. The socialite maintained her polished, flawless public smile, but her eyes burned with malicious triumph.
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"Try them on," Rosalind commanded, her American accent dripping with condescending superiority. "A Christmas gift."
The words hung in the bright, luminous air. Alice felt a suffocating wave of terror wash over her. She knew the woman sitting across the table was a monster. She stared at the elegant flats, her mind racing, entirely unsure of what cruel trap was waiting inside the pristine leather.
