Chapter 2 - The Mask Slips Further
By 6:00 AM the following morning, I was already in the kitchen. My right leg was stiff, purple bruise blooming across my hip, but I forced myself to move. I wasn't cooking out of submission anymore; I was observing my target.
Derek walked into the kitchen at seven, wearing an Italian suit he clearly couldn't afford on his base salary. He glanced at me with disgust, completely ignoring the visible limp I had developed.
"Where's my black coffee?" he demanded, snapping his briefcase shut on the island counter. "And don't mess up the roast like you did yesterday. Some of us actually work for a living."
Allison hovered behind him in a pale silk robe, her hands clutching a mug of tea. She looked exhausted, her eyes rimmed with red. She caught my eye for a fraction of a second, then quickly looked away, staring at the floorboards.
"Your coffee is on the counter, Derek," I said softly, keeping my head bowed to play the part of the meek, broken mother-in-law.
He took a sip, grimaced, and slammed the cup down, spilling black liquid across the white quartz counter. "Bitter. Unpalatable. Just like your attitude." He stepped closer, leaning over me so his face was inches from mine. "Remember who feeds you, Margaret. You're a guest here because of my generosity. My home, my rules. One more mistake, and I'm sending you to a state-run home in the mountains."
I didn't flinch. I looked him dead in the eye. "Is that so, Derek?"
He sneered, caught off guard by the absence of fear in my voice. "Yes, that's so. Allison, tell your mother how things work."
Allison swallowed hard. "Mom... just... please do what he says. It's his place. He pays for everything."
A cold smile touched the corners of my lips beneath my downward gaze. If only you knew, my dear.
"Of course," I murmured. "I wouldn't want to disrupt your home."
Derek snorted, adjusting his tie. "That's what I thought. I have a dinner meeting here tonight with Mr. Sterling, the managing partner of my firm. I expect a four-course meal ready by seven sharp. Real food this time. Clean the floors on your knees if you have to. I want this place spotless."
May you like
He picked up his briefcase and walked toward the private elevator. Before the doors closed, he shot me one last warning glare.
As soon as the elevator departed, I pulled my phone from my apron. I texted Arthur Vance: Initiate Phase One. Send the corporate compliance team to his office at noon.
