Chapter 3 - The Secret in the Service Wing
Down in the vast, subterranean service kitchen of Hawthorne Estate, the atmosphere was thick with anxiety. Grace Carter sat at a scarred wooden prep table, holding a glass of cold water while Lily colored quietly with a pack of crayons on a brown paper placemat.
The other kitchen staff whispered nervously near the massive commercial ovens, casting sideways glances at the doorway. Word had spread like wildfire: A gun in the bridal suite. The wedding’s off. The Boss is furious.
Grace’s hands were still shaking.
She had worked at Hawthorne Estate for three years. As a single mother trying to raise a four-year-old in a city controlled by men like Adrian Cross, the housekeeping job was a lifeline—low pay, long hours, but steady, and crucially, away from the violence that plagued the streets.
She had learned early on that the first rule of working for the Cross syndicate was invisibility. See nothing. Hear nothing. Clean everything.
If Lily hadn't wandered up the private service staircase while chasing a stray butterfly that had flown in through the conservatory doors, none of this would have happened.
“Mommy?” Lily asked softly, looking up from her drawing.
“Yes, sweetie?” Grace forced a gentle smile, stroking her daughter’s dark curls.
“Is the angry man going to yell at us?”
“No, baby. Mr. Cross doesn't yell. We’re going to pack our things and go home very soon.”
Before Grace could stand up, the heavy metal door of the kitchen swung open.
Marcus Hale walked in, followed by two armed guards. The kitchen staff immediately fell silent, backing away from the counters.
Marcus’s eyes scanned the room and landed directly on Grace.
“Grace Carter?” Marcus asked, his tone neutral.
Grace stood up, placing herself instinctively slightly in front of Lily. “Yes, Mr. Hale? We didn't mean to go upstairs. Lily got lost, and—”
“Relax, Grace,” Marcus said, holding up a placating hand. “You’re not in trouble. In fact, Mr. Cross wants a word with you.”
Grace’s stomach dropped. “With me? Why?”
“Just a few questions about what the little one saw in the hallway,” Marcus said smoothly. “Upstairs. In his private study.”
Grace swallowed hard, her heart pounding against her ribs. Entering the private quarters of Adrian Cross was something house staff only did when rooms needed to be scrubbed after business had been conducted—business that usually left permanent stains.
“Can she come with me?” Grace asked, pointing down at Lily.
“She’ll be safe with Mrs. Gable in the pantry,” Marcus assured her gently.
May you like
Grace looked down at Lily, who offered a brave little nod. “Go ahead, Mommy. I’ll draw a picture for you.”
With a heavy heart, Grace followed Marcus out of the kitchen, her mind racing with worst-case scenarios.
