Chapter 2 - The Silent Interrogation
The silence in the dining room was absolute. Forty of New York’s most powerful people held their breath, their eyes darting between the billionaire at the head of the table, his stunning fiancée, and the maid standing frozen with a silver tray in her hands.
Julian Vale was not a man who accepted evasions. He had built his empire by reading the micro-expressions of ruthless negotiators, and right now, his gaze was fixed entirely on Mara. The ivory silk scarf hid her features, but her eyes—wide, startlingly intelligent, and shadowed with a deep, unspoken panic—were completely exposed.
"I asked a question," Julian said, his voice dropping into a low, commanding register that sent a shiver down the length of the long mahogany table. "Who told you to wear that scarf?"
Celeste’s polished laugh echoed a little too sharply against the crystal chandeliers. "Julian, darling, it’s really not a big deal. The agency sent her over, and she was feeling deeply insecure about a... well, a rash. I was simply trying to be accommodating."
"She wasn't hiding yesterday," the little girl repeated. It was Lily, Julian’s seven-year-old niece, who had been staying at the estate since her parents passed away. Lily sat three chairs down, her chin resting on her hands, staring directly at Mara. "Yesterday she showed me how to fold napkins into swans. She didn't have a rash."
Mara’s heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. She could feel the crushing weight of Celeste’s glare burning into the side of her head. If she spoke the truth, Celeste would ensure she was blacklisted from every domestic staffing agency on the East Coast. Her sister, Chloe, would lose her spot at the university.
"I apologize, Mr. Vale," Mara forced the words past the tight knot in her throat, her voice muffled slightly by the silk. "Ms. Ashford is right. I requested the scarf. I didn't want to make the guests uncomfortable."
Julian didn't look convinced. His eyes narrowed, studying the way Mara’s hands trembled against the silver tray. He looked at Celeste, then back at Mara, a dark, calculating intelligence turning behind his gaze.
"Take it off," Julian commanded softly.
"Julian, honestly, you're making a scene over the hired help," Celeste snapped, her flawless composure slipping for a fraction of a second.
"Take the scarf off," Julian repeated, his voice leaving no room for argument.
Mara’s breath hitched. She slowly reached up, her trembling fingers catching the edge of the knot at the back of her neck. The silk slipped away, pooling onto her shoulders and revealing her face.
There were gasps from a few of the guests. Not because of a rash or a scar—but because the maid was breathtakingly beautiful. Her cheekbones were high and elegant, her lips full, her skin flawless. But more importantly, there was a striking, uncanny familiarity to her features.
Julian stared at her, an unreadable expression passing over his face. He looked like a man trying to catch a ghost. "What is your name?"
"Mara, sir," she whispered.
May you like
"Mara," Julian repeated, the name tasting foreign yet inexplicably familiar on his tongue. He held her gaze for three agonizing seconds before looking away. "Go back to the kitchens, Mara. Your shift is done for the evening."
As Mara turned and practically fled through the swinging doors, she didn't see the absolute, venomous fury contorting Celeste’s face, nor did she realize that Julian’s eyes followed her until she disappeared from sight.
