Chapter 2
The small service room felt suffocating despite the bright, airy light filtering in through the high transom window. Juliet stood up, her plain flat shoes making no sound on the floorboards. The shock of learning her husband was alive was slowly being eclipsed by a cold, sharp clarity. Amara had stolen her life, her husband, and her freedom, spinning a web of monstrous lies to secure her own position as the mafia boss’s wife.
"Amara always made me cook for her," Juliet said, her voice growing steadier as she looked at the small hotplate resting on a wooden table in the corner. "She knew Alton loved my cooking. She used to take the dishes I made and present them to him as her own, to win his affection while he was grieving."
"She claimed she learned all his favorite recipes to comfort him," Celia confirmed, her elegant features tightening with disgust. "She ordered the kitchen staff to serve a specific dessert tonight. An orange-and-clove rice pudding."
Juliet’s breath hitched. "That is his favorite. I perfected that recipe for him on our first anniversary. There is a specific blend of spices I use that no one else knows. Not even the estate chefs."
"Can you make it?" Celia asked, stepping closer to the makeshift kitchen. "If I bring you the ingredients from the main pantry, can you prepare it before the dessert course is served?"
"Yes," Juliet nodded, a fierce spark igniting in her eyes. "If he tastes it, he will know. He is too observant to miss it. It will force him to ask questions."
"I will sneak the ingredients down here immediately," Celia said, her sophisticated black uniform rustling as she turned toward the door. "You make the pudding. I will arrange for the head chef to be distracted, and I will substitute your dish for Amara's. When the time is right, I will bring you into the dining room."
"Celia, if Amara catches you helping me, she will kill you," Juliet warned, her fair, rosy skin pale with genuine concern for the young housemaid.
"I am not afraid of her," Celia replied, her chin lifting defiantly. "Mr. Crowne has always been fair to the staff. He deserves the truth, and you deserve your life back. I will return in ten minutes."
Celia slipped out of the room, locking the door behind her to maintain the illusion of Amara’s security. She moved swiftly through the bright, luminous corridors of the mansion, the warm golden highlights of the chandeliers reflecting off the pristine ivory wall panels. The house was alive with the chaotic energy of the impending banquet, making it easy for Celia to slip unnoticed into the massive main kitchen.
She gathered the oranges, the cloves, the rice, and the fresh cream, concealing them beneath a stack of clean linen napkins. Returning to the service wing, she found Juliet waiting, her sleeves rolled up, a look of quiet, unyielding determination on her face.
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"Do exactly as you always do," Celia whispered, setting the ingredients on the table. "I will be waiting right outside this door when it is time to serve."
Juliet took a deep breath, the scent of the citrus and spices already filling the small room. "Thank you, Celia. I will not let this chance slip away."
