Chapter 2 - THE TRAY AND THE TENSION
The crystal chandelier in the grand dining room of our home cast a dazzling, ruthless light over the gathering. Every corner buzzed with the suffocating energy of corporate ambition—men in bespoke charcoal suits talking loudly about market shares and regional takeovers, and women wrapped in designer silk laughing on cue. Standing near the marble pillars, I adjusted the stiff white collar of the maid uniform Laurent had forced me to wear. The fabric felt coarse against my skin, a stark reminder of the humiliation he intended to inflict. A silver tray rested heavily on my left palm, laden with flutes of vintage Dom Pérignon.
From across the room, Laurent spotted me. He was standing beside Camille, his arm possessively slung around her waist. She was practically glowing under the light of the chandelier, the green fire of my grandmother's emerald necklace flashing against her bare collarbone. Every time she turned her head, the heirloom caught the light, a silent testament to stolen history and monumental arrogance. Laurent gestured sharply at me, signaling that his glass was empty. He didn't even bother to look me in the eye; to him, I was merely background furniture, a functioning prop designed to make his evening look opulent.
I walked over, keeping my head bowed just enough to play the part. As I approached, Camille laughed loudly, pitching her voice so the surrounding executives could hear. "Oh, look, the temp is here. Honestly, darling, you should find someone more coordinated. She walks like she's carrying the weight of the world."
Laurent chuckled, taking a champagne flute from my tray without a glance. "You get what you pay for, sweetheart. The employment agency swore she was reliable." He turned his attention back to his colleagues, leaning in to whisper, "Just make sure you don't spill anything on the rug, girl. It costs more than you’ll make in a year."
The corporate climbers around him laughed on cue, eager to please the newly minted Vice President of Sales. I kept my expression blank, my fingers steady against the silver tray. They thought they were mocking a nameless servant. They had no idea that beneath the white apron beat the heart of the sole majority shareholder of the corporation paying their salaries.
"Is everything to your satisfaction, Monsieur Dubois?" I asked, my voice smooth, controlled, and carefully stripped of any personal inflection.
May you like
Laurent waved a dismissive hand, not even turning around. "Yes, yes. Just keep the glasses full and stay out of the way when the CEO arrives. We wouldn't want you ruining the biggest night of my life."
"Understood," I murmured, turning on my heel. As I walked away toward the kitchen, I reached into the pocket of my apron and pressed my thumb against the cool metal of my burner phone. The screen lit up with a single incoming message from Marcus Vance, my chief of security and executive secretary: The private transport has cleared the gates. He is entering the courtyard now. A cold, sharp smile touched the corners of my lips. Let them celebrate a little longer. The higher they climbed, the harder they would fall.
