The dinner party

The day began with the steady hum of the estate waking up, doors opening, distant voices exchanging clipped greetings, the faint scent of bread baking from the kitchen. Maya had just finished polishing the silver in the main salon when Mrs. Carbone appeared in the doorway.

“You’re wanted in the library,” she said briskly. “The windows need polishing.”

Maya nodded, gathering her supplies, but before she could make it halfway down the hall, Georgia appeared at the top of the stairs, her crimson silk robe trailing like a banner.

“Oh, Maya,” Georgia’s tone was sweet enough to rot fruit. “Lucien’s office is in dreadful shape. Go and clean it at once. You’ll find it… quite the challenge.”

Maya hesitated. “Mrs. Carbone asked me to—”

"Don't worry, Mrs. Carbone won't object if my request precedes hers." Georgia's smile was a thin knife, and her eyes flashed with something far more deadly than irritation.

In minutes, Maya stood in the office of Lucien, engulfed by a desk loaded with ledgers, papers strewn about, and the acrid whiff of smoke. The work was tedious, on the verge of being impossible to finish within the time she had been given. Mrs. Carbone's lips were set in a disapproving line by the time she returned to the library.

"Late again," she growled, without asking a question.

From across the hall, Lucien stood in the doorway of the dining room, pockets in his hands, eyes fixed on her. He said nothing, but the intensity of the look made her flesh creep, as if he had watched the whole exchange and was deciding whether or not to intervene.

By mid-afternoon, the sun had sunk low enough to cast warm stripes on the tiled floors, but Maya couldn't enjoy the beauty of it. Every step along the corridors seemed to catch Georgia's attention like a hawk catching wind of prey.

She was returning from having fetched fresh linens when a quick hand clamped around her elbow, halting her in mid-step.

"Careful, darling," Georgia drawled behind her. "You nearly pushed past without saying hello to me."

Maya retreated, still politely speaking. "Good afternoon, Signora."

Georgia's smile was slow, feral. "You're timely with the deference, aren't you? Good. It means that you have a sense of your place." She moved closer, her perfume spilling into the little space between them.

Maya tried to retreat unobtrusively, but Georgia's fingers locked around her wrist just tightly enough to make Maya realize she wasn't going anywhere yet.

“You’re new here, so let me offer some advice,” Georgia continued, her voice lowering into a velvet threat. “Lucien is… complicated. And he doesn’t need distractions from people like you.”

“I don’t—” Maya began, but Georgia cut her off with a raised brow.

“I wasn’t finished.” Her lips curved, but the expression didn’t reach her eyes. “If you’re smart, you’ll keep your head down, do your work, and stay out of rooms you’re not invited into. Because accidents happen in houses like this.”

The silence that followed was heavier than the words themselves. Finally, Georgia released her arm, patting it as if she’d just shared a harmless secret.

Maya forced herself to keep moving, but her heart hammered in her ears. The threat had not been an exaggeration, it was an oath.

Maya went into the laundry room, putting the clean sheets onto the large wooden table, but her hands lingered on the sheets longer than necessary. Her heart was still racing from Georgia's grip, the tiny ache on her elbow a reminder of it.

She tried to control her breathing, telling herself she'd done nothing wrong. And still, when she glanced in the direction of the open door, she caught the glint of dark eyes looking back at her from the other side of the hallway.

Lucien.

He stood half-hidden in shadow, his shoulders broad enough to block out the narrow hallway. His eyes were not cold today, they were sizing her up, cutting as if he'd seen more than she'd wanted him to.

Problem?" His voice was deep, slow, but it left no room for evasion.

Maya nodded her head, hurrying back to folding the sheets. "No, sir."

Lucien did not move, did not even blink. "Georgia is. possessive."

The words hung heavy, filled with unspoken implication. He knew something.

"I maintain my position," Maya said cautiously, her eyes on the fabric in her hands.

Lucien's silence lengthened, heavy on the air. Then he came forward, each step slow until he filled the doorway. "Good. Keep it that way."

He'd no more than turned and gone, his quiet shoes muffled down the hall, before she could speak.

Maya let out the held breath she hadn't even realized she was holding. Whether it was a warning, a guardian, or both—she had no idea. But one thing was for sure: Georgia wasn't her only watcher in this place.

The main dining room was filled with the soft murmur of voices and the soft clinking of crystal glass. Above, a golden, warm light from the chandelier shone upon polished mahogany and silverware, soft shadows falling across the walls.

Maya moved through the tables with quiet efficiency, her hands steady even as her brain remained alert. This was no ordinary dinner–a few of the top men had accompanied Lucien, their shiny suits and watchful eyes marking them as something more than business associates.

Georgia was there, draped in a midnight-blue gown that glittered with each measured movement. She sat to Lucien's right, her hand floating near his wine glass, her smile laser-focused on him like an arrow. Her eyes would sometimes flicker to Maya, cold and calculated, as if a reminder of her standing.

Lucien had leaned in toward a guest on his left for a second, angling away from Georgia. Seizing the chance, Georgia's fingertips brushed against the rim of his glass before she grasped it and took a sip, a taunting thing that made Maya's stomach tighten for reasons she wasn't about to explore.

"Wine," Mrs. Carbone whispered, nudging Maya into action with the bottle.

As Maya poured for the man to Lucien's left, she felt Georgia's eyes on her, the faint tug of laughter at her mouth.

And then, softly enough that others might not overhear, Georgia said, "Be careful, little maid. You may find yourself in waters you can't swim.".

Maya did not look at her. She finished pouring, cocked her head, and backed away. But inside, the words stuck like a splinter.

The dinner went on, but beneath the circle of silver and polite conversation, something electric thrummed between the three Lucien, Georgia, and Maya, an undertow that warned the night was just getting started.

The echo of the last of the guests' footsteps faded down the corridor, the smell of roasted meat and red wine hanging in the air. Maya loaded plates into the kitchen, but her ears were still attuned to the hushed voices drifting in from the private lounge behind the dining hall.

Lucien's voice was low, but tinged with irritation. "You went too far tonight, Georgia.".

A strained laugh came after, cracked around the edges. "Which line, Lucien? Drinking from your glass? Or reminding your little maid she's in over her head?"

Maya froze in mid-motion, porcelain plate hovering over the sink. The clang of a pot on the other side of the kitchen muffled the sound of her breathing.

"She's here to work," Lucien stated, his voice tightening. "Not to be a target for your games."

Georgia's heels clicked on the marble, slow, measured steps. "You forget, caro, I know how you work. A lost look in one direction, a flash of compassion in another… you're leading her somewhere you don't even know. And when you do." She left the sentence unfinished, the threat hanging like a knife.

Lucien didn’t respond immediately. The pause was heavy, and when he finally spoke, his voice was a shade darker. “You’re mistaking me for someone who answers to you.”

Maya heard the door open abruptly. She ducked her head, pretending to be busy, but Georgia swept through the kitchen without so much as a glance, the click of her heels slicing the air like a verdict.

Lucien's shadow lingered in the doorway behind her—silent, still—before he disappeared down the other hallway.

Maya's grip on the dish towel tightened. Something had changed again… and this time it felt dangerous.