Chapter 3 - The Price of Curiosity
The door swung open before Marin could take a step back.
Cassius Vain wheeled himself out into the hallway, his powerful arms driving the wheels with terrifying speed. His face was a mask of cold fury, the veins in his thick neck straining against his collar. When he saw it was Marin standing there holding her breath, the anger in his eyes didn't subside—it shifted into something darker, something dangerous.
"Did I invite you onto this floor, Miss Holloway?" he demanded, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper.
"I... I was bringing Mrs. Edith her tea, sir," Marin stammered, holding up the tray as if it were a shield against an oncoming storm. "I heard a noise, and the door was open. I only wanted to make sure—"
"You wanted to see what the monster keeps hidden in his cage," Cassius interrupted, cutting her off cleanly. He rolled closer, stopping mere inches from her toes. Up close, his presence was overwhelming—a wall of heat, raw muscle, and coiled tension. "People who look too closely in this house tend to disappear, Marin. Sylvio didn't tell you that?"
"Sylvio told me the rules," Marin said, her chin lifting as a spark of stubborn defiance flared up inside her. The fear was still there, cold and heavy in her stomach, but it was mixed with a sudden surge of anger. She wasn't Mrs. Prescott. She wasn't some trembling maid he could intimidate into submission just by raising his voice. "If you wanted this door locked, you should have turned the key. Don't leave an invitation open and then punish people for walking past."
Silence dropped over the hallway like a falling anvil.
For three terrifying seconds, Cassius just stared at her. No one spoke to him like that. Not his capos, not the city councilmen who groveled at his feet, and certainly not the frightened young women hired to wipe his floors.
Then, unexpectedly, a dry, humorless chuckle escaped his lips.
"You really have no sense of self-preservation, do you?" he muttered, shaking his head slightly. He reached out and tapped a finger against the silver teapot on her tray. "Take Edith her tea. And if I ever catch you lingering near this door again, I won't fire you. I'll make sure you never cook another meal as long as you live."
He spun his wheelchair around with practiced ease, rolling back into the dark study and slamming the heavy oak door shut behind him. The loud thud echoed down the corridor, rattling the glass in the antique sconces.
Marin exhaled a breath she felt like she'd been holding for a lifetime. Her hands shook as she picked up the tray cart and hurried down the hall toward Mrs. Edith’s room.
When she entered, the old woman was sitting by the window as usual, her gaze lost in the gray chop of Lake Michigan. Marin set the tea down on the side table and gently knelt beside the armchair, just as she had done on her first day.
"Good morning, Mrs. Vain," Marin said softly, pouring a cup of tea.
The old woman didn't turn her head, but after a long moment, her withered hand reached out and lightly brushed against Marin’s sleeve. Her lips parted, dry and cracked.
"He... he looks like him," Edith whispered, her voice like dry leaves scraping across pavement.
Marin frowned gently. "Who, Mrs. Vain?"
"My boy," the old woman murmured, her cloudy eyes finally turning to look directly into Marin’s. "Before the fire. Before the blood. He used to love the smell of rosemary in the kitchen. Just like you."
Marin’s heart skipped a beat. The fire. That was the first time anyone in this house had ever mentioned what happened to the family. Before she could gently prompt the old woman for more, the door behind them clicked open.
Sylvio stood in the doorway, his expression grave.
"Miss Holloway," Sylvio said quietly. "Mr. Vain requests your presence in the dining hall immediately. He has decided to change lunch."
Marin stood up, smoothing down her apron. She knew what that summons meant. The tension from the hallway incident hadn't dissipated; it was merely simmering, waiting to boil over.
When she entered the large commercial kitchen, she found Cassius waiting for her—not at the head of the dining table this time, but sitting right at the center island, a heavy butcher knife resting beside a cutting board loaded with raw cuts of beef.
He looked up as she walked in, his dark eyes locking onto hers with a challenging glint.
May you like
"You think you know food, Marin?" Cassius asked, his voice low and steady. "Let's test that theory. You have twenty minutes to prepare a meal using only what is currently in this kitchen. No menu planning. No prep time. If I like it, you keep your job. If I don't..." He picked up the butcher knife, testing its edge with a calloused thumb. "...you walk out those iron gates tonight with nothing but the clothes on your back."
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