CHAPTER EIGHT: ...I ended up testing my own.

Tall, lean, and wearing a smile that was either amused or curious—maybe both. His jacket was half-zipped and his hand was tucked casually into his pocket.

“Looking for Ace?” he asked.

I stared at him. This had to be Bob—the half-brother. The one Ace tolerated but didn’t trust to accomplish anything. The one who lingered in the shadows, watching everything.

“And you are?” I asked.

He stepped closer. “The brother he doesn’t talk about.”

Bingo.

“Well, brother or not, I need to see him,” I replied, folding my arms.

“He’s out. Cosa Nostra business,” he said, then paused, tilting his head like he was studying me. “You’re not like the other girls.”

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Most of them just cry or complain. But you—there’s fire behind those eyes,” he said with a grin. “It’s interesting.”

I didn’t know whether to punch him or thank him. So I said nothing.

He chuckled and leaned against the wall. “You won’t find him tonight. But I’m here if you want to talk... or plot revenge.”

I turned on my heels without another word.

Bob was dangerous—but not the same kind of dangerous as Ace. He was clever, charming, and unpredictable. And maybe—just maybe—that made him even more dangerous. And the fact that I didn't want to admit how handsome he was... being good looking might be a thing in the family.

*******

It was almost ironic how life twisted on itself. A few weeks ago, I was seated on a velvet couch in the Master’s house, forced into glittery clothes and heels for strangers to ogle. Now, I was standing in front of a steaming pot, trying not to burn rice.

Well… not literally. My job was to assist the kitchen maid. She was still frail, but something about her had shifted. She had a bit more flesh on her cheeks now, and that haunted look in her eyes had dulled to something... calmer. Confident even.

Her name was Beatrice, but she insisted on Bee.

“You’re lucky, you know,” Bee said without looking at me, lifting a spoonful of sauce to taste. “The boss doesn’t let just anyone stay here. Especially not on the top floors.”

“I don’t stay there anymore,” I replied, a little too quickly.

She smirked like she already knew. “Right. They moved you. Worker’s quarters. Bet it stings.”

I didn’t respond. It did sting. And I was still debating whether I’d confront Ace for the downgrade or not. Part of me thought he didn’t even notice I’d been moved. The other part… suspected it was deliberate.

After all, Bob had caught me wandering the hallways. He was charming, too charming. The kind of man who laughed with you but mentally took notes. Maybe he tattled.

Later that evening, after hours of scrubbing, folding, and pretending not to eavesdrop on whispering staff, I finally slipped into the room I shared with Bee. She was out doing something in the pantry, and I seized the moment.

I dug out the button burner phone I’d hidden beneath the lining of my small suitcase.

This was it.

The call.

My hands trembled as I dialed the secure number. One ring. Two. Then—

“Agent Hope,” the voice said. It was my handler. The one who’d sent me into this madness. “It’s about time.”

“I’ve been gathering intel. Slowly. The Masons… there’s more to them than we thought.”

“Is Ace suspicious?”

“No. Not yet. But someone else might be. I think I’ve been moved on purpose.”

“Keep your head down. Get closer. We need something concrete.”

A sound behind me made me spin around.

Bee.

She stood there, one hand still on the doorknob, staring at me. Her expression... unreadable. Had she heard anything?

I ended the call instantly.

“You always this jumpy?” she asked casually, walking over to her side of the room.

“I thought you were in the pantry,” I said, trying to sound unbothered.

She didn’t answer. Just removed her shoes and flopped on the bed. I lay down too, but my heart wasn’t resting.

Had she heard?

If she had, would she report it?

Morning came, and my nerves hadn’t settled. When another maid came to fetch me, I was too dazed to ask questions.

“Ace wants to see you,” she said.

I blinked. “Me?”

She nodded. “But… you’re no longer allowed on the top floors. He’ll meet you in the main lounge.”

I knew it. Something changed. The restriction to the upper floors wasn’t random. It had Bob written all over it—or Bee.

Either way, I was being watched.

And I had a feeling Ace wasn’t calling me down to exchange small talk.

******

ACE

She took the downgrade without a word.

That surprised me.

Most women would’ve screamed, cursed, or sulked. Especially the ones who looked like her—like they’d been built for soft hands and luxury. But Hope took the change like it was expected. That alone made her stand out.

I watched from the office security feeds as she trailed behind Bee, quiet but calculating. There was no complaint on her face, only purpose in her stride. It amused me. And intrigued me more than I wanted to admit.

She had no idea I noticed everything—how she memorized routes, how she lingered just long enough near conversations that weren’t meant for her, how she asked the kind of questions that never sounded nosy but always got answers. That kind of brain wasn’t meant for scrubbing floors or ferrying towels. It was meant for desks, strategies, and pressure.

I wanted to test her patience. I ended up testing my own.

She had the makings of something dangerous. Not the gun-wielding kind—but the sharp kind. The kind you bring close because you’re not sure if she’s going to stab you or save your life. And I didn’t care which one it was yet. Either way, I wanted her close.

By the time I called her up—well, not up, because she was no longer allowed to access the top floors without permission, thank Bob for that—she walked in with a straight back and steady eyes.

“You’ve adjusted well,” I told her simply.

“I had no choice,” she replied.

Good. No lies. No begging. No fake modesty.

“You’re not meant to be pushing laundry carts, Hope. I’m assigning you to a better role—my assistant.” I didn’t miss the flicker in her eyes, but she held it in well.

“You’re smart. Quiet. Observant. That’s more than I can say for half the idiots in this house.”

I slid the folder Clara left behind across the desk.

“Your first assignment: finish this. It's the protester case. Clara left it halfway. Someone’s been leaking our product designs to outsiders, and they’re using it to push counterfeit electronics on the market under our name.”

I leaned back in my chair, watching her take in the gravity of the job.

“You’ll talk to Bob and Clara—she’s the new HR Manager now. And if Bob gives you trouble, tell him I said to shut up and cooperate.”

I paused.

“Don’t screw this up.”