Page 52 of Merciless Daddy

Yelena picked up the largest piece of the broken cup. “Then we’ll be careful with your wages.”

“Miss, please don’t. If they think I complained—”

“They won’t.”

The housekeeper arrived with a broom and stopped at the sight of Yelena kneeling on the carpet.

“No money comes out of her pay,” Yelena said quietly. “The tray was my fault.”

“It wasn’t—” Lucia began.

Yelena looked at her.

The girl stopped.

It was not intimidation. It was shelter. Yelena had placed the lie over Lucia like a coat and expected her to keep it on.

The guard returned with towels. Yelena took them, blotted the coffee, and handed one to Lucia. She did not permit the girl to kneel alone. She stayed on the floor until every sharp piece was accounted for.

She stood and brushed one knee.

Her eyes met mine.

“What?” she asked.

I had been staring.

“You lied.”

“For a good cause.”

“You redirected an armed man with carpet-cleaning advice.”

“He was being useless.”

“You protected her wages.”

“She needs them.”

“So do most people.”

“Then perhaps most people shouldn’t have their salaries docked because a man with a pistol cannot enter a room like a normal human being.”

The guard found something fascinating near the ceiling.

I looked at Yelena and remembered the waiter. The driver. Every note in the file she had found and hated me for writing.

I had thought the interventions might be rebellion. Small acts performed because denying men pleased her.

I had been wrong.

Fear called to something in her. Anyone smaller, trapped, dependent, or braced for punishment became hers before she made a conscious choice. She placed herself between them and the blow even when it cost her.

Especially then.

Yelena had spent her life with nobody standing in front of her.

So she had become the person who stood in front.