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They take me up the back stairs of the club and through a set of double doors that lead to a small hallway. In the dim space, the eldest fumbles to unlock the apartment, and I follow them inside, tumbling into bed with them and throwing caution to the wind.
The next morning, I’d woken up at the crack of dawn, and after realizing what I’d done, I crept away, hoping to never see them again.
But here they are, and a gnawing sense of unease grips my chest. Their indifferent gazes brush past me, leaving me to wonder… do they even remember that night we spent together, or do they simply not care?
2
THEO
"Why on earth did you hire a maid for this place?" I rumble, slamming my fist on my desk.
Leaning back in my leather armchair, my piercing gaze fixes on Fitz, a silent demand for an explanation etched into my features. The afternoon sunlight filters through the window, casting intricate shadows from the wrought-iron designs.
Fitz, ever the picture of composure, meets my stare with an unwavering gaze. “It has been three years since the unfortunate incident that took Mr. Marcus’s life, sir. This place continues to fall into greater and greater disrepair. Mr. Marcus would not have wanted to see it like this. Hiring a maid is just the first step in my plan to restore this place to its once-former glory.”
My lip curls in disdain. “It wasn’t your place, Fitz. I am in charge, not you.”
His voice remains steady, despite the tension crackling in the air. “I believe that you would have opposed my plan, but you must understand, sir, that I can no longer sit idly by and watch the three of you undo all that your father has accomplished.”
I open my mouth to respond, but he cuts me off, peering over his tiny, round spectacles. “If I’m to be so bold, you and your brothers have let what happened hold you back in more ways than one, sir.”
“You had no right!” I exclaim. “Whatever our father wanted for this place, he’s long dead. This is our estate to do with as we please. If you’re so desperate to hire more staff, you should have told me.”
Fitz fixes me with a level gaze. “I understand, sir,” he says in a way that lets me know he plans to ignore my demands. “I assure you, the maid will do her work unobtrusively. You will not even notice her presence.”
My gaze remains steely, but Fitz shakes his head as though I’m an insolent child and leaves, letting me fume in silence.
Though bitter at being pushed into the situation, something in his words strikes a chord. Perhaps he’s right. Maybe it’s time we moved past the pain to honor our father’s legacy.
As I stride through the halls lost in thought, a sudden crash echoes around me, immediately drawing my attention to the commotion. The new maid is standing amid a large pile of broken porcelain, a guilty expression on her face.
“What happened here?” I ask, voice calm but tinged with irritation as I survey the mess before me.
The girl trembles as she explains herself, words barely audible over the pounding in my heart. That vase belonged to my great-grandfather, the last piece of our homeland that he owned.
“It was an accident,” she stammers out, looking up at me with apprehension. “I didn’t mean to knock it over. I was just dusting, and it wasn’t very well secured to the spot, and…”
Despite my efforts to remain composed, I can’t get past the surge of anger threatening to boil over and I cut her off. “Well, well. It seems we have a clumsy maid on our hands.”
My words hang in the air as her cheeks flush pink with embarrassment. “Clean this up,” I order her. “And see to it that you’re more careful in the future, or you’ll be fired.”
“Of course, sir. I’m sorry, sir,” she says, apologizing as she bends to sweep up the mess.
“And when you’re done, fetch me a glass of water,” I add.
With a dismissive wave of my hand, I sweep out of the room, leaving her to manage alone. As I exit, a twisted smile plays at the corners of my lips, some sinister sense of satisfaction coursing through me at putting the little brat in her place. This could be fun.
When she arrives with my glass of water, I let my hand purposely knock into it, spilling the entire contents all over the floor of my study. “Look at this mess!” I exclaim, a stern expression on my face. “Clean this up immediately.”
The girl’s eyes meet mine briefly, shock and hurt in them before she sinks to the ground and starts mopping up the puddle, shoulders tensed. A moment of guilt tugs at my conscience. Am I overreacting? Am I being too harsh?
My father’s words echo in my head. “A man's strength lies in his ability to command respect.”
I clench my jaw, straightening my shoulders. Weakness is a luxury we can ill afford in a world such as ours. She needs to learn that, quickly.
And so continues our little game, the satisfaction of making things difficult for the girl growing inside until coming up with new ways to push her buttons becomes my new obsession.
Cornering her in the laundry with a stern expression, I hold up a shirt. “What did you do to this?” I interrogate her. There’s a large black spot on the pocket from an ink stain.
