Chapter 1 - The Maid Who Was Ordered to Stay on Her KneesEmily had been kneeling on the marble floor for thirty-seven minutes when Adrian walked into the penthouse.
Her gray housekeeping dress was damp at the knees.
Dark tea spread beneath her white cleaning cloth, seeping between shattered porcelain cups, broken saucers, and fragments of a white teapot.
A tiny red mark showed beneath her lower lip.
She was crying.
But she kept wiping.
Because Margaret had told her not to stand until every stain was gone.
High above her on the floating white staircase, Margaret calmly held the only unbroken floral teacup.
Cream satin blouse.
Cream trousers.
Perfect blonde hair.
Not one trace of guilt.
Adrian stopped in the doorway with a black leather duffel bag in one hand.
His dark coat fell motionless around him.
He looked first at the broken porcelain.
Then at Emily's face.
Then at his mother.
Emily immediately lowered her eyes.
That was what disturbed him most.
Not the crying.
Not the blood.
The instinctive submission.
As though she had already learned that people in expensive homes preferred their workers silent, invisible, and grateful.
“I'm sorry,” Emily said through tears. “I tried to clean it.”
Margaret smiled faintly.
“She should learn her place.”
Then she took a slow sip of tea.
Adrian's jaw tightened.
“What happened here?”
Before anyone answered, his phone rang.
He glanced at the unreadable screen and answered.
He listened.
His expression changed.
“Are you certain?”
A pause.
“Understood.”
He ended the call.
Margaret's smug smile vanished.
Her teacup lowered.
Fear crossed her face so quickly that Emily almost wondered whether she had imagined it.
Then Adrian crossed the marble floor.
He stopped in front of Emily.
Bent down.
Gently placed one gloved hand beneath her chin.
“Stand up.”
Emily stared at him.
Margaret's voice came sharply from above.
“Adrian, don't.”
He looked toward the staircase.
“Why?”
Margaret's lips parted.
Adrian continued.
“Are you afraid she might finally realize she's been cleaning a home that doesn't belong to you?”
Emily stopped breathing.
Margaret gripped the teacup.
And Adrian revealed the first secret from the mysterious phone call.
“The penthouse was never inherited by the Whitmore family.”
Then he looked directly at Emily.
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“It was held for someone else.”
And Margaret already knew exactly who.
