Chapter 5: Dinner time

Clover's POV

"Mr. Quinn," Patricia said sharply, her eyes darting past me to Simon, who stood protectively behind me, silently hinting for him to leave us alone.

"Mr. Quinn, might I speak to my sister... a l o n e?" she emphasized each letter with deliberate venom, her gaze fixed on his unmoving feet, still rooted firmly to the ground as if challenging her authority.

I caught Simon's eye and shared a meaningful glance, offering him a subtle nod to assure him I'd be okay. 

Reluctantly, he turned and disappeared down the corridor, leaving me alone with her.

Once he was out of sight, Patricia began circling me slowly, like a predator assessing its prey, her sharp eyes raking over me from head to toe with undisguised contempt.

"These hickeys still look so fresh," she sneered, finally stopping in front of me, a smug, triumphant smile curling her lips.

 "Whose bed did you warm last night, huh? Tell me, little sister, who's been marking you up like their personal whore?"

"I'll let you entertain your silly ideas," I replied coolly, forcing my voice to remain steady as I made a move to step past her and escape this confrontation.

"I'm not done talking to you, maid," she uttered coldly, her words slicing through the air like a whip, forcing me to halt mid-step on the stairs.

"Oops, did I annoy you?" she mocked, her tone shifting to feigned politeness as a wide, insincere smile spread across her painted lips. 

"Relax, I'm your sister. Talk to me. We're family, after all."

"These are bug bites," I lied flatly, meeting her gaze without flinching.

"Bug bites... or man bites?" she probed further, tilting her head with mock curiosity, her eyes gleaming with malicious mischief.

That glint told me everything, this interrogation was far from over, and whatever game she was playing, it wouldn't end well for me.

 Her questions were daggers, each one designed to draw blood, to expose secrets I wasn't ready to bleed for.

"Patricia..." a deep voice called from behind us, interrupting the tension.

We both turned to see Calhoun, approaching. 

My heart skipped a treacherous beat, a mix of fear and forbidden thrill surging through me. 

This was my chance to flee.

"Good day," I murmured to Patricia, brushing past her as I hurried away.

"Can you believe it? Your maid now sleeps around," I overheard her say to him in that high-pitched, syrupy voice she reserved for flirting. 

"Be wary of her, love, so she doesn't seduce you too, okay?"

Laughable.

 I'd already seduced him, claimed him in ways she could never imagine, his mouth leaving those very marks she mocked. 

But dear sister, you'd never know the dark truth of it.

Deep down, her words cut deeper than I wanted to admit, a sharp ache blooming in my chest. 

She reduced me to nothing, a disposable slut in her eyes, and it hurt more than it should. 

But I didn't dare look back as I walked away, swallowing the pain like poison.

By the time I reached my cramped room in the workers' quarters, the tears I'd been holding back finally spilled over, hot and silent. 

I collapsed onto the narrow bed, clutching a worn pillow to my chest, muffling any sound that might escape. 

The walls were thin here; one wrong sob, and the whole staff would know.

I had only ten minutes before I had to return to work. 

Crying like this wasn't an option, I couldn't afford to be seen vulnerable, broken, in front of the Hanson family. 

They thrived on weakness, and I refused to give them more ammunition.

My mind raced, desperate for a solution, when a sharp knock sounded at the door. 

I scrambled up, wiping my face hastily, and flung it open.

There stood the butler, Simon, holding a large red box, his expression unreadable.

"Don't ask me how I got this, just take it," he muttered gruffly, already shoving the box into my arms.

I opened it right there in the doorway, my eyes widening at the array of high-quality makeup, concealers, foundations, and other cosmetics inside. 

Nestled among them was a tube of ointment labeled for "bug bites."

"There's also a bug bite ointment in there... just in case," he added with a knowing arch of his brow.

I blinked up at him in disbelief.

 How much did he know? What exactly had he seen or guessed?

 The implications sent a shiver down my spine, secrets in this house were dangerous currency.

"Why are you helping me?" I asked softly, a genuine warm smile breaking through despite everything as I stared at him.

 We weren't close, not really, yet here he was, risking his position for me.

He leaned in slightly, whispering to avoid eavesdroppers.

 "I'm helping myself, really. Do you have any idea how many workers get fired in this place in a single day? It's an absolute nightmare keeping up with hiring and training new ones over and over. The turnover is brutal. Plus... I don't really want to see you go just yet." 

His explanation was patient, almost rambling, but there was an undercurrent of something darker, perhaps he'd seen too many fall victim to the family's whims.

I couldn't help but giggle softly at his yapping; he was quite the excessive talker when he let his guard down.

"Come to the kitchen after you're done, alright?" he said finally, before striding off down the hall.

I watched his retreating figure until he vanished around the corner, a deep sigh of relief escaping my lips as I closed the door.

 Thank goodness he was thoughtful, or perhaps just shrewd enough to cover for potential scandals that could upend the household.

Fifteen minutes later, I was done.

 The makeup had worked miracles, perfectly concealing the bruising hickeys with shades that matched my skin tone flawlessly. 

It was eerie how compatible everything was. In the short time he'd taken to fetch this, he couldn't have ordered it online... so did that mean he always kept such things on hand?

Shaking it off, I cleared my mind and headed to the kitchen, where I was immediately tasked with setting the plates and cutlery on the grand dining table before the family arrived.

Working swiftly alongside two other kitchen staff, we arranged everything meticulously, then retreated to prepare the appetizers on silver trays.

Soon after, we carried the trays into the opulent dining room as the Hanson family members took their seats, the air thick with unspoken tensions and old grudges.

As I served the appetizers, I felt eyes on me, intense, burning, following my every movement. Calhoun's gaze, no doubt, possessive and hungry even in this public setting.

"I'll have more of these strawberry cupcakes," Mrs. Hanson said pleasantly, and I nodded, retreating to the kitchen to fetch another tray.

But as I returned, Patricia's voice cut through the room like a knife. 

"Mrs. Hanson, you should really be more cautious of your favorite employees," she said sweetly, sneering directly at me the moment our eyes met.

I knew this was coming; I expected nothing less from her venomous nature.

Ignoring the remark, I approached to serve Mrs. Hanson.

"Are you trying to say my mother is careless?" Aaron, Calhoun's sharp-tongued younger brother, countered immediately, his voice laced with disdain.

I faintly smiled inwardly, if there was anyone else in this family who openly despised my stepsister, it was him. 

I wondered why, though; rumors whispered of old slights, perhaps something cruel she'd done in the past that festered like an open wound.

"Of course not, don't misunderstand me," Patricia replied, narrowing her eyes at him with barely concealed irritation.

"Then please explain, so we may all better understand," Aaron pressed, his brows furrowed as he stared at her with feigned cluelessness, though his tone dripped with sarcasm.

"Actually, what I was trying to say is that a certain maid here is blatantly defying the rules of this household," she stated, her gaze shifting pointedly to me, cold and accusatory.

I froze in place, standing a respectful distance from Mrs. Hanson's side, my eyes lowered to the floor. 

My pulse thundered in my ears, I hated these people's endless drama, the way they weaponized words over a simple meal. 

Couldn't they just eat in silence, like normal families?

"Please be more precise," Aaron continued relentlessly. "A lot of workers here defy the rules in one way or another..."

I risked a glance upward and caught Calhoun staring at me intently as he ate, seated at the head of the long rectangular table. 

He and his mother sat at opposite ends, presiding over the rest like distant monarchs, while everyone else occupied the sides.

Mrs. Hanson's husband had passed years ago, leaving the company in her capable hands and his vast assets divided among the children, including Jessica, the illegitimate daughter, she used to be my very best friend back in high school.

 She was always the silent observer at these dinners, speaking only when Aaron or James dragged her into the fray with their banter or arguments.

Remarkably, no one ever casually mentioned her status or belittled her for it, perhaps because Morgan Hanson was genuinely kindhearted, treating all her children, legitimate or not, with equal warmth. 

"Just today," Patricia announced triumphantly, her voice rising for all to hear, "I saw Clover and the butler kissing so intimately in a corridor."

My blood ran cold as eyes turned toward me, the room falling into a heavy, expectant silence. 

Calhoun's fork paused mid-air, his dark gaze sharpening with something dangerous and unfathomable.