Chapter 5
The cinematic, golden light of the chandeliers caught the flawless perfection of Sabrina’s makeup, illuminating her fair, rosy skin as she looked directly at Rafael. She did not flinch under the suffocating weight of his silence. Her polite, practiced smile remained firmly fixed on her lips, a mask of aristocratic composure designed to dismiss the trivial concerns of the working class.
However, as Sabrina spoke, her eyes briefly, imperceptibly narrowed toward Elodie—a sharp, venomous glint of pure malice that betrayed the rotting core beneath her elegant exterior.
"Servants don't replace mothers, darling," Sabrina stated, her American accent dripping with condescending superiority.
The words echoed off the gilded wall panels, an arrogant deflection meant to re-establish the hierarchy of the room. Sabrina kept her gaze locked on Rafael, her tone light and conversational, attempting to frame the entire incident as a necessary disciplinary measure for an overstepping employee.
"The boy is confused," Sabrina continued, her voice projecting just enough for the nearest capos to hear. "He spends too much time with the help. It breeds inappropriate attachments. I merely had to remind the maid of her proper place in this household while you were away. Discipline is required to maintain order."
Rafael did not return her smile. He did not acknowledge her justification. His broad shoulders remained perfectly still beneath his tailored suit. He was a man who traded in violence and strategy on a daily basis; he knew the difference between household discipline and sadistic cruelty.
"Are you defining broken fingers as an acceptable form of household discipline, Sabrina?" Rafael inquired slowly, his deep voice dropping into a dangerous, gravelly register.
Sabrina’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second. She reached for her crystal wine glass, her diamond rings flashing in the light. "Accidents happen when people refuse to listen, Rafael. She was insubordinate. You cannot possibly be upset over a clumsy maid when we have guests."
The fifty guests surrounding the tables held their collective breath. The tension was a physical, vibrating force. To openly challenge the fiancée of the boss was dangerous, but Sabrina had just admitted to maiming a woman in Rafael’s own home without his permission.
Rafael ignored Sabrina completely. He slowly turned his head back to Elodie. The housemaid was still standing beside his chair, her graceful posture rigid with suppressed pain and terror.
"Elodie," Rafael said, his tone shifting, shedding the lethal edge and replacing it with a quiet, undeniable demand for her voice. "Speak to me."
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Elodie looked at the man who commanded empires. She felt the heavy, judgmental stares of the wealthy donors and ruthless capos burning into her back. But then she looked down at the small, taped-together gold paper star in her uninjured hand. She looked at six-year-old Miles, who was watching her with absolute, innocent trust.
She could not lie. Not to the boy, and not to the man who was looking at her as if she were the only person in the room.
