Chapter 3
The clatter of crystal glasses and the low hum of affluent conversations provided a rhythmic backdrop to the Christmas Eve festivities. Molly stepped into the bright, airy light of the dining salon. The golden reflections offered absolutely no place to hide her disheveled appearance. She kept her head down, navigating the carved walnut furniture and velvet dining chairs with agonizing care. Every step felt like wading through deep water, her body screaming for basic sustenance.
She approached the dining-room entrance, where a low marble ledge served as a temporary resting place for cleared dishes and serving trays. Molly’s vision blurred slightly as she reached out to collect a stack of fine porcelain plates.
From the corner of her eye, she saw the champagne satin of Scarlett’s gown approaching. Scarlett had excused herself from Julian's side, her predatory instincts locking onto the vulnerable maid.
"You look absolutely pathetic, Molly," Scarlett whispered, her voice dropping into a quiet, venomous register meant only for the housemaid.
Molly did not answer. She kept her eyes fixed on the marble ledge, her hands shaking as she tried to stack the plates.
Resting on the far end of the marble ledge was a heavy silver dog bowl, engraved with the name 'Biscuit'. It contained a small, unappetizing portion of leftover meat scraps and rice. Molly’s stomach cramped violently at the sight of it, the biological urge to survive warring with her shredded dignity.
Molly tentatively reached her trembling hand out toward the silver bowl, intending to move it to the service cart to take back to the kitchens.
Scarlett’s polished smile remained fixed on her face for the benefit of the guests, but her eyes burned with malicious triumph. With a smooth, calculated motion, Scarlett reached out and slammed her hand against the side of the silver dog bowl. She forcefully slid the heavy metal dish along the low marble ledge, pushing it entirely beyond Molly’s reach.
Molly’s hand stopped short in the empty air, hovering over the cold marble. She froze, her breath catching in her throat as the humiliation washed over her like a tidal wave.
Scarlett leaned in slightly, ensuring the angle shielded her face from the main room. She looked directly at Molly, her ruby earrings swaying.
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"The dogs haven’t finished yet," Scarlett stated.
The cruelty of the words, spoken with such casual, affluent elegance, hit the air like a physical blow. Molly pulled her trembling hand back, pressing it tightly against her rumpled white apron, her expressive eyes filling with hot, shameful tears. She was entirely trapped, starving in a room full of unimaginable wealth.
