Chapter 2
Moving with quiet, desperate grace through the bright, airy room was Rhea Collins. At twenty-seven, the housemaid possessed a beauty that rivaled any movie star in the grand dining hall. She had a softly oval face, delicate cheekbones, and expressive brows that were currently drawn together in deep concentration. Her fair, rosy skin was pale tonight, reflecting an internalized anxiety. Her thick hair was gathered meticulously into a neat low twist. She wore a fitted black maid dress featuring a cinched waist, a slim silhouette, and a short A-line skirt. A neatly tied white apron, paired with a crisp white collar and cuffs, completed her polished, elegant appearance.
Rhea navigated the maze of polished walnut tables, carefully maneuvering toward the head table. Her primary duty tonight was serving the Ashford family, a task made exponentially more difficult by the heavy secret she carried. Just a few hours prior, little Jonah had finally confided the horrifying truth to her, a truth that could burn the entire syndicate to the ground.
She approached the space directly to the right of Jonah’s chair, holding a silver water pitcher.
"Excuse me, Master Jonah," Rhea whispered, her American accent soft and respectful.
With meticulous care, she leaned down and began pouring ice-cold water into the crystal stemware resting before the seven-year-old boy. Jonah sat rigidly in his velvet chair, his eyes glued to the white damask tablecloth. He had not spoken a word since he entered the dining hall.
Across the table, Lucinda Vale watched the exchange. Her polite, reassuring smile remained fixed, but her sharp eyes tracked the maid's every movement.
"Make sure he drinks his water, Rhea," Lucinda instructed, her voice smooth and melodic. "It is important for children to stay hydrated during these long, overwhelming dinners."
Rhea finished filling the glass and took a slight step back, keeping her graceful posture intact.
Before Jonah could reach for the glass himself, Lucinda reached across the polished walnut table. Her diamond engagement ring flashed violently in the golden light. She grasped the stem of the crystal glass and deliberately lifted it, moving it slightly closer to the boy's plate, as if offering it to him directly.
"Here you go, Jonah," Lucinda murmured, her eyes locking onto the child.
The reaction was instantaneous. Jonah did not reach for the glass. Instead, his small hand shot out sideways. He gently caught Rhea’s wrist as she stood beside his chair. His tiny fingers gripped the black fabric of her sleeve with a desperate, trembling urgency.
Jonah looked directly at Rhea, entirely ignoring the glass and the beautiful woman offering it. His lips barely moved as he whispered a single, fragile command, audible only to the housemaid.
May you like
“Not from her.”
Rhea froze. She felt the violent trembling in the child's small hand. The sheer, unadulterated terror radiating from Jonah was palpable. She looked down at him, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs.
