Chapter 164
When I reach the kitchen, Mrs. Turner, the housekeeper is already there, setting down a tray of freshly baked bread.
“Good morning,” I say softly.
She looks up, polite as always. “Good morning, Miss Sierra p>
“Could I get my breakfast packed today?” I ask. “I have two appointments this morning p>
“Of course,” she says. “I’ll have someone wrap it up for you p>
“Thank you p>
I linger a little, watching her arrange the food. She’s changed these past two weeks. The coldness in her eyes has faded, replaced by something calmer. Maybe even understanding. Time softens even the hardest edges, I guess. I wouldn’t say we are close or even talk beyond what’s necessary, but she isn’t as cold and distant as she was when I first got here. I’ve mostly been minding my business as she minds hers.
A few minutes later, my breakfast is ready and packed neatly in a brown paper bag.
“Here you are,” she says.
“Thank you. Have a lovely morning,” I reply with a small smile.
I turn toward the main corridor, clutching the bag, but stop when I hear it. Faint voices drifting from around the corner, near the back stairs.
“I’m telling you, she’s pregnant,” one of the maids whispers. “Why else would she still be here? She’s trying to trap Mr. Wood p>
My breath catches.
“I fucking knew it!” another voice scoffs. “Shameless, isn’t it? Acting all sweet and innocent. Everyone knows what she’s after p>
My stomach goes cold.
The first one giggles. “I heard from Miss Brook that she and Madam Chloe were friends once, but their friendship broke when she started coveting her husband. Can you believe that? Some friend she is p>
I hate this Hate how apparently everyone here thinks I’m out to take Chloe. I hate the whispering, the looks, and the silent comparisons I can feel even when no one says a word.
Fuck it all to hell. The air feelsthick with judgment and ghosts I can’t escape. I press my lips together, swallowing the lump in my throat. Because no matter how much I tell myself I don’t care, it still stings.
“That’s disgusting,” the other mutters. “I bet she was just waiting for Madam to die so she could take her place. Vicious woman. I always knew. You can never trust the type of women with innocent looks. They have the ugliest hearts p>
Something in me snaps and I step forward, pulse pounding in my ears.
“If you have something to say,” I say quietly, my voice low, “say it to my face p>
They freeze. The taller one turns, eyes widening, then narrowing with a smirk.
“Well,” she says, “look who decided to show up p>
“You don’t know me,” I say evenly. “So don’t pretend you do p>
Her smirk deepens. “Oh, we know enough. We know what kind of woman clings to a man who doesn’t want her. What kind of woman uses a baby to get her way.
My hands clench at my sides. “That’s enough.” i
“Or what?” the other snaps. “You’ll cry about it? You might fool the boss with your sad little act, but not us. You’re nothing but a gold–digging whore p>
The words hit like a slap.
I swallow hard, heat burning behind my eyes, but I refuse to look away. The audacity they had to spew so much nonsense pisses me off so bad.
I clench my fist, my nails digging into my palm and I use that pain to ground me otherwise I’m afraid I might just hit someone.
The first one steps closer, arrogance in her gaze, while she looks at me like I’m beneath her.
“You’ll never be Mrs. Wood,” she says. “No matter what you try. You’ll always be nothing p>
I open my mouth to respond, to let the flow of words burning inside my brain out, when a sharp voice cuts through the air behind them.
“What’s going on here p>
We all turn to find Mrs. Turner. The maids stiffen instantly. Her usually calm face is dark with anger as she looks between them.
“I asked what is going on?” she demands.
The maids stammer. “W–We were just-
“Enough,” the housekeeper snaps. “You were gossiping about a guest of this house. And from the sound of it, you’ve forgotten every bit of decency expected under this roof p>
I stand frozen, my heart still hammering, as I watch everything unfold in a way I didn’t expect.
She turns to them, voice sharp as a blade. “Pack your things. Both of you. You’re done here.” 1