Chapter 2 - The Mask of Civility
Alexander did not step back.
Instead, he subtly shifted his broad frame half an inch to the left.
The tiny movement placed him directly between Rose and his advancing uncle.
It was a deliberate, protective barrier that did not escape Richard’s sharp eyes.
Richard stopped three paces away, tilting his head with an air of mild amusement.
“I was wondering where our water glasses had gone,” Richard said, his tone light and conversational.
Rose kept her head down, clutching her wounded hand against her apron.
The fabric was rapidly soaking through with bright red blood.
Her pulse hammered behind her temples like a trapped bird beating its wings against a cage.
“She dropped a glass,” Alexander said coldly.
His voice gave away nothing, flat and level as a frozen lake.
Richard’s gaze flicked downward to the crimson stain on Rose’s white apron.
His gray eyes lingered on the blood for a second too long.
When he looked back up at Rose, the friendly smile on his lips didn't quite reach his eyes.
Something cold and predatory flickered in the corners of his mouth.
“A terrible shame about the cut,” Richard said softly.
“The crystal in the west wing is antique Bavarian.”
“The edges are razor sharp when they shatter.”
Alexander took half a step forward, cutting off Richard’s view of the girl entirely.
“What were you discussing in the study, Richard?”
The question dropped into the quiet corridor like a heavy lead weight.
Richard let out a soft, dismissive chuckle.
He reached up to adjust his silk tie, his posture loose and unbothered.
“Family business, Alexander.”
“Merely the quarterly allocations for the charitable foundation.”
“Nothing that requires your personal attention on an evening meant for rest.”
Alexander didn't blink.
He stood his ground, towering over the older man by two full inches.
“What truth was it that I can never know?”
Silence descended on the hallway once more.
The rain beat relentlessly against the high leaded-glass windows behind them.
Rose could feel the raw tension vibrating between the two men like an electric charge.
She desperately wished the floor would open up and swallow her whole.
Richard’s smile finally faded, replaced by an expression of weary disappointment.
He looked at Alexander as if he were an unruly child throwing a tantrum.
“Are you genuinely going to interrogate your own blood based on the hysterical ramblings of a clumsy housemaid?”
Alexander didn't flinch.
“Answer the question, Richard.”
Richard sighed, shaking his head with an air of practiced patience.
“Martin and I were discussing the estate tax restructuring in Geneva.”
“You know how fragile your mother's trust remains after the market downturn.”
“I told Martin that you shouldn't have to carry the burden of the shortfall until we have finalized the offshore buffers.”
“I said you didn't need to know the full extent of the liabilities until Monday.”
He turned his gaze toward Rose, fixing her with a gaze that felt like cold steel against her skin.
“Our poor little maid here caught five words out of context and let her imagination run wild.”
“Isn't that right, Rose?”
The way he spoke her name sent ice through her veins.
It was spoken with an intimate familiarity that chilled her to the bone.
Rose opened her mouth, but no sound came out.
Alexander looked over his shoulder at her.
His eyes were hard, calculating, and impossible to read.
“Go down to the kitchen, Rose,” Alexander ordered quietly.
“Have Mrs. Gable bandage that hand.”
Rose didn't wait for a second invitation.
She dipped her head in a hurried curtsy and stepped past Alexander.
She walked briskly, keeping her eyes fixed on the patterned floorboards.
As she passed Richard, she could smell his expensive cologne—sandalwood laced with something faintly medicinal.
She felt his eyes tracking her every move until she turned the corner toward the back servants' stairs.
Only when the heavy service door swung shut behind her did she allow herself to breathe.
Her heart was pounding so hard she felt dizzy.
She leaned against the cool drywall of the narrow staircase, trembling uncontrollably.
Her mind raced through the interaction with frantic clarity.
Richard Kane’s explanation had been smooth.
It had made total sense on the surface.
Taxes, trusts, financial burdens—wealthy families argued over such things constantly.
Perhaps she truly had misunderstood.
Perhaps she had panicked over an innocent scrap of conversation.
She wanted desperately to believe that.
It was safer to believe that.
Then, a sudden, horrifying realization hit Rose like a physical blow.
She froze on the bottom step of the staircase.
She looked at her bloodstained fingers in the dim emergency lighting.
She had only worked at Kane Manor for eleven days.
She had been hired through an external third-party staffing agency in central Manhattan.
Her employment packet was still processing in the estate’s human resources office.
There was no badge for her yet.
There was no photograph of her face in the staff directory board by the time clock.
She had never been introduced to Richard Kane.
She had only seen him from across a courtyard on her second day while he was getting into a limousine.
And according to the morning briefing given by Mrs. Gable just three days ago, Richard Kane had been in London for the past three weeks.
He had supposedly arrived back in the United States only this afternoon.
How did he know her name?
Not just her surname, but her first name.
May you like
Rose.
He had spoken it effortlessly, without a moment's hesitation, as if he had known her entire history before she ever set foot inside this house.
