CHAPTER 2: THE WOMAN WHO WASN’T INVITED TO THE GAME
CHAPTER 2: THE WOMAN WHO WASN’T INVITED TO THE GAME
The maid didn’t move even after the child reached her.
Not immediately.
Her hands stayed half-raised, frozen in disbelief, as if she didn’t trust what was happening to be real.
Then the little boy—barely steady on his feet—grabbed her apron and pressed his face into it, laughing softly like the world had finally stopped being too big.
That sound changed the room more than anything else.
Because it wasn’t trained.
It wasn’t taught.
It was safe.
Across the chandelier-lit hall, the three women stopped smiling at the same time.
One of them lowered her arms first.
Slowly.
As if she was afraid the air itself would notice her failure.
The billionaire didn’t speak.
Not yet.
His eyes stayed locked on the maid.
Not in anger.
Not in confusion.
In calculation that was beginning to fracture.
CHAPTER 3: THE QUESTION THAT BROKE THE ROOM
He walked forward.
Each step quieter than the last.
The glass of untouched wine on the table trembled slightly as he passed.
He stopped a few feet away.
And finally spoke.
“How often,” he said, voice controlled, “does my son cry for you instead of me?”
The maid’s breath caught.
The child tightened his grip on her apron instinctively, like he understood something about danger even if he couldn’t name it.
She looked down at him first.
Then up at the man who paid every salary in this house.
And when she answered, it wasn’t dramatic.
It was worse.
It was careful.
“Not instead of you,” she said softly.
A pause.
“Before you arrive home.”
May you like
Silence.
Even the chandeliers felt too loud.
