Chapter 2
Moving with seamless, quiet grace through the bright, airy room was Lydia Mercer. At twenty-seven, the housemaid was exceptionally beautiful, resembling a movie star with her softly oval face, delicate cheekbones, and expressive brows. Her fair, rosy skin was flawless, and her hair was gathered meticulously into an elegant low chignon. She wore a sophisticated black maid dress featuring a cinched waist, a slim fitted silhouette, and a short A-line skirt. A neatly tied white apron, paired with a crisp white collar and cuffs, completed her polished appearance.
Lydia navigated between the champagne velvet chairs, her slender figure and graceful posture allowing her to move without disturbing the wealthy guests. However, despite her professional exterior, a deep, gnawing anxiety twisted in her stomach. She was terrified of losing her highly coveted position at the estate, but a fierce, protective morality prevented her from turning a blind eye to the silent cruelty unfolding at the head of the table.
Seated directly beside Gabriel was his mother, Helen Rook. The seventy-four-year-old matriarch wore a refined evening dress draped with a soft cashmere cardigan. Pearl earrings rested against her earlobes, and a simple gold wedding band adorned her frail, trembling hand. Despite her age, her memory was perfectly clear. Yet, as the exquisite courses of the engagement dinner were served, Helen had not taken a single bite.
A prime cut of steak rested untouched on the gold-rimmed porcelain plate before her. Helen kept her lips gently, tightly closed. Her movements were careful and hesitant. She was profoundly embarrassed by her sudden, manufactured inability to eat the meal, desperately trying to conceal her physical and emotional distress from the prying eyes of the surrounding syndicate members.
Earlier that afternoon, Helen had quietly objected to Serena’s harsh, degrading mistreatment of Lydia in the hallways. In retaliation, Serena had stepped into the elderly woman's private suite and viciously confiscated her dentures, leaving the matriarch defenseless.
Lydia had seen the tears in the older woman's eyes. She knew the consequences of defying the future bride, but she absolutely refused to let Helen go hungry at her own son's engagement dinner.
Slipping away to the kitchens, Lydia had quietly requested a modification to the menu. Now, she returned to the dining hall, carrying a small, silver tray.
"Excuse me, Mrs. Rook," Lydia murmured softly, her American accent warm and respectful as she approached the matriarch's chair.
May you like
"Oh, Lydia," Helen whispered, her voice a fragile breath that barely disturbed the air.
With meticulous care, ensuring she did not disrupt the flow of the conversation around them, Lydia quietly placed a small, elegant porcelain bowl of rich, creamy soup directly beside Helen’s untouched steak. It was a meal the elderly woman could consume with dignity, without the need for the dentures that had been stolen from her.
