Chapter 2
The ambient hum of the crowded Christmas reception flowed seamlessly around the room, masking the quiet, desperate exhaustion radiating from the young maid. The clinking of crystal glasses and the soft scraping of polished shoes continued across the vast foyer. Eliza paused beside an unfinished evergreen garland, her fair hands trembling slightly as she rested a hand lightly on the sweeping staircase rail just to keep herself upright. Her breath hitched in her chest, a terrifying, wheezing sound that she desperately tried to suppress. She had been working for sixteen hours straight, driven to the point of collapse by Sabine’s relentless, punishing demands, but the physical labor was nothing compared to the cruel game the fiancée was currently playing.
"Are you quite alright to finish that, Eliza?" a passing guest asked, noting the dark shadows beneath the maid's expressive eyes and her pale complexion.
"I am perfectly fine, sir," Eliza whispered, forcing a polite, submissive tone while suppressing a painful cough. "Thank you for asking. I just need a moment."
Eliza looked across the room. A few feet away, Sabine stood holding a glass of champagne. The fiancée was holding court with a group of powerful lieutenants, her ruby earrings catching the light. Eliza’s prescribed inhaler, the small plastic device that kept her lungs functioning, had been confiscated an hour ago. When Eliza had simply requested a short, five-minute rest from decorating the massive staircase to catch her breath, Sabine had snatched it from her apron pocket.
Eliza pushed away from the railing, her vision swimming slightly. She walked toward Sabine, entirely terrified of disobeying the future lady of the house in front of the entire syndicate, but she could not physically endure another minute without her medication. Her lungs were burning.
Eliza stopped a respectful distance away, waiting for a break in the conversation. When Sabine finally turned, Eliza looked directly at her.
"Please," Eliza begged, her voice cracking, her delicate fingers gripping her rumpled white apron. "I need my inhaler back."
Sabine did not lose her polished composure. She simply turned her head slowly, the rubies swaying. She looked directly at Eliza, her gaze sweeping over the ruined, creased black maid dress and the askew ruffled headband with absolute, freezing disgust. Sabine briefly glanced toward a nearby burgundy velvet cushion before meeting Eliza’s desperate gaze.
A dismissive, cruel smile tightened on Sabine's lips. She lowered her voice so only the maid could hear the venom in her American accent.
"Finish the garland," Sabine commanded coldly. "Stop pretending. You are not dying, you are just lazy. Do your job."
Eliza swallowed hard, her chest heaving as she struggled for air. She backed away, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs. She didn't know how she was going to survive the rest of the shift.
Before she could turn back to the stairs, a small, cheerful voice broke through the unbearable tension.
Three-year-old Ben Marlowe stepped out from behind a carved walnut chair. The toddler was a vision of innocence, with round rosy cheeks, soft curls, and a little dimple. He was dressed impeccably for the holiday in a red knitted sweater with a smiling penguin, cream corduroy overalls, and tiny brown boots.
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Ben approached Eliza, completely oblivious to the dangerous syndicate politics swirling around them. He walked proudly, his small hands cupped together as if he were carrying a precious treasure. He had watched Sabine hide the object behind the velvet cushion earlier, and in his innocent mind, he assumed it was a fun Christmas game of hide-and-seek.
He held the familiar blue plastic inhaler carefully in both hands, offering it directly toward the gasping maid.
