Chapter 1 - The Servant They Laughed At
The first rule of surviving the Aster Estate was simple:
Never make yourself memorable.
Khloe Hastings had followed that rule for two years.
She moved through the mansion like a shadow, carrying silver trays, replacing crystal glasses, polishing marble floors, and listening to conversations that powerful people assumed servants were too insignificant to remember.
That night, however, the rule was broken.
The Winter Solstice Gala had transformed the Aster Estate into a palace of wealth and danger.
Crystal chandeliers illuminated the enormous ballroom. Snow pressed against the tall windows. Men in tailored tuxedos discussed shipping routes, political favors, and millions of dollars as casually as other people discussed dinner.
Khloe stood near the entrance with a champagne tray balanced perfectly on one hand.
Her black-and-white uniform made her almost invisible among diamonds and designer gowns.
Almost.
“Move.”
Arabella, the head housekeeper, shoved past her.
“You're blocking the guests.”
“I'm sorry.”
“You're always sorry.”
Arabella leaned closer.
“Tonight is important. Nicholas Moretti is coming.”
Khloe's fingers tightened around the tray.
She already knew.
Everyone in the city knew.
Nicholas Moretti was thirty-two, ruthless, wealthy, and almost impossible to reach. In less than five years, he had transformed himself from an ambitious underworld lieutenant into the most influential criminal figure on the East Coast.
People feared him because he didn't shout.
He didn't threaten.
He simply made decisions.
And people disappeared.
“Do not look at him,” Arabella whispered.
Khloe lowered her eyes.
“I understand.”
“Good.”
She turned toward the ballroom.
“Then try not to embarrass us.”
Khloe swallowed her reply.
She had learned long ago that humiliation was cheaper than exposure.
She entered the crowd.
For twenty minutes, nothing went wrong.
Then Lorenzo Costa stepped backward.
Khloe saw it happen.
His shoulder moved.
His foot shifted.
His body was heading directly toward her.
She could have avoided him.
Easily.
But an ordinary servant couldn't move with the speed she had been trained to possess.
So Khloe did what ordinary people did.
She froze.
Lorenzo collided with the tray.
Crystal exploded across the marble.
Champagne splashed over his trousers.
The ballroom went silent.
Then Lorenzo turned.
His face became red.
“You stupid little—”
“I apologize, sir.”
Khloe immediately knelt.
She began collecting the broken glass.
Lorenzo looked down at her.
“Do you know how much this suit costs?”
“No, sir.”
“More than you'll earn in ten years.”
Laughter rippled through the room.
Khloe continued picking up glass.
A shard sliced her finger.
Blood appeared.
She ignored it.
“Look at her,” Lorenzo said. “She's shaking.”
“I am not.”
The words escaped before she could stop them.
The laughter died.
Lorenzo crouched slightly.
“What did you say?”
Khloe finally looked up.
Only for a second.
But that second was enough.
Something dangerous flickered in her eyes.
Lorenzo noticed.
“You've got an attitude.”
Arabella rushed forward.
“Mr. Costa, please. She doesn't understand—”
“Make her apologize properly.”
Khloe lowered her gaze again.
“I apologize.”
“Louder.”
“I apologize.”
“Pathetic.”
Lorenzo placed his shoe beside her hand.
“Maybe you should learn to crawl faster.”
Khloe's jaw tightened.
She could hear her heartbeat.
She could also hear something else.
Footsteps.
Slow.
Measured.
The ballroom changed before anyone announced his arrival.
Conversations stopped.
Men straightened.
Women turned.
The enormous doors opened.
Nicholas Moretti entered.
He wore a black tuxedo without a tie, his dark hair combed neatly backward. His expression was calm, almost bored.
Behind him walked Enzo Cortez, his closest lieutenant.
Nicholas took three steps.
Then stopped.
His eyes moved across the ballroom.
They landed on Khloe.
For one brief moment, neither moved.
Khloe lowered her head.
Nicholas continued walking.
But after passing her, he stopped again.
His gaze returned to the blood on her finger.
Something changed in his expression.
Barely.
But Enzo noticed.
“Boss?”
Nicholas didn't answer.
He simply walked toward the staircase.
Khloe released a breath.
Arabella grabbed her arm.
“Get out of here.”
Khloe stood.
“Yes.”
She carried the broken glass away.
Nobody noticed the small metal object that had fallen from beneath her uniform.
Nobody except Nicholas.
From the staircase, he watched as Khloe disappeared through the service door.
Enzo approached.
“What caught your attention?”
Nicholas looked toward the door.
“The maid.”
Enzo frowned.
“Which one?”
“The one bleeding.”
“She dropped a tray.”
“No.”
Nicholas's voice became quieter.
“She didn't.”
Enzo stared at him.
“What do you mean?”
Nicholas turned away.
“Someone hit the tray.”
He walked upstairs.
Enzo followed.
Five years earlier, Nicholas had nearly died in Palermo.
Six men had surrounded him.
He had been shot twice.
Then someone appeared from the darkness.
A woman.
He remembered almost nothing about her.
Only speed.
Only precision.
And the silver lighter she had dropped beside him.
For five years, Nicholas had searched for her.
Tonight, he had seen the same movement.
The same instinct.
The same controlled silence.
Downstairs, Khloe entered the dark pantry and locked the door.
She pressed her bleeding finger against a towel.
Then reached beneath her uniform.
The small object she had lost was gone.
Her blood turned cold.
Someone had it.
May you like
And if that someone was who she suspected—
her carefully constructed life was over.
