Bound by Revenge, Saved by Love

Ada

I've spent years preparing for this moment, but standing in the grand foyer of the family who destroyed mine, I wonder if I'm truly ready to play the role of the dutiful maid.

"This way, Miss Johnson," the housekeeper, Mrs. Danes, says to me as we continue through the house. Well, it's more of a palace, but whatever.

"Your work will be done on this lower part of the house," she informs me as she looks over her shoulder at me through her thin, round glasses. "You'll need a valid reason if you're found upstairs. You're expected to follow your schedule strictly, as any deviation will lead to you being asked to leave. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mrs. Danes," I reply shyly, but even that is an act. I'm going to have to find a way to make it upstairs because I'll have to look into the face of Reynold Loxley, the man who killed my father and brother many years ago, ruining my life forever.

She continues showing me around, telling me to do this and that, and explaining how they want things to be cleaned. It's a rigorous process, and it makes me immediately think that they want their home spotless like this to cover the blood on their hands. They're so filthy from the inside that they need the exterior to tell a different story.

"We'll also expect you to help serve breakfast, lunch, and dinner," she goes on. "You've been accepted to work for the family, but this first week will be a kind of trial. If you succeed, then your position here will be more fixed. I take it service has never been a problem for you before?"

"No," I lie. I've certainly never done this professionally before, but how hard can it be to pour some water or wine into a glass and pile some mashed potatoes onto a plate?

Well, I should have taken this question more seriously because right now, the whole table is in shock as I step back with a half-empty pitcher of water in my hand.

And it's half-empty because I've just spilled part of it on my new employer's lap. 

Not Reynold Loxley himself, but his son. I know this because I've thoroughly researched his family before I came here in an almost obsessive way. I know as much as there is to know about them, and his son, Maximilian Loxley, is known to have a bad temper because of how he treated a reporter once. 

And now, that anger is directed at me. 

I should have been calmer. When his eyes meet mine, his gaze seems to pierce through my soul, as if he can see through all my plans. My hands involuntarily tremble. The man stands up with an outraged cry, the chair nearly toppling behind him. The crotch of his dress pants is wet, making him look like he peed himself, and the rage in his eyes is enough to make even my skin crawl. 

“What’s this?” he asks, angry. “Look at what you’ve done!”

Mrs. Danes appears from out of nowhere, a cloth in hand. “Mr. Loxley, will you allow me to help you get dry?”

“Get this incompetent person out of my sight!” he hisses. He’s not even looking at me. “Never in all my life has anyone spilled water on me like this! Do you know how much this suit costs?”

“I’m so sorry,” I say, stepping back and giving him and Mrs. Danes space. Dammit. What have I done? What the hell is wrong with me? How could I mess up something I’ve worked so hard to accomplish? The endless interviews? The fake CV and ID?

He finally looks at me then, his eyes narrowing like he’s assessing whether I even deserve to be in the same room as him. His eyes are a crystal blue, and I have to admit that they’re terrifying and extremely intimidating. “Are you always this careless, or is it a special skill of yours?”

The words slice through me, and I feel my chest tighten. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Oh, you didn’t mean to.” He lets out a sharp, humorless laugh, running a hand through his dark hair. “Well, that makes it so much better. I’ll just inform the dry cleaner that this was all a misunderstanding.”

I bite my lip, fighting the urge to cry, but he’s not done.

“You’re a maid. Cleaning up is your entire job. How hard is it to not create more messes?” He takes a step closer, his imposing figure towering over me. “If this is the standard of work I’m paying for, maybe I need to reconsider who’s on staff. Mrs. Danes, I don’t want this creature working here anymore. We don’t need people who make our lives more difficult, yes?”

Mrs. Danes glances at me, disappointment and exhaustion written all over her face. I’m rooted to the spot, unable to believe that I’ve just been fired on my first day after the months I spent investing on this plan.

It can’t be.

The man’s eyes meet mine again, and this time, he appears almost startled. “Don’t tell me what it’s deaf, too?”

"I apologize, Mr. Loxley," Mrs. Danes says as she makes her way to my side. Her hand on my shoulder grounds me and makes me realize that this is really happening. I'm so shocked that I could vomit right here, in front of everyone seated at the table. "This will not happen again."

She nudges me forward, and my feet move before my mind can catch up. I'm surprised the pitcher hasn't fallen from my hands entirely. When we reach the kitchen, she takes it from my hands gently. "I'm sorry, Miss Johnson. I'll have to ask you to leave. Please exit the building through the back door that leads to the garden."

"But...it was an accident and..."

"We can't afford to let those happen," she replies firmly, yet sympathetically. "I understand that maybe you were nervous because it's your first day, but that won't matter. Leave your uniform in the changing room. Good day."

I find myself standing in the middle of the kitchen, my hopes and dreams shattered. Tears blur my vision, and the silence all around me suggests that it's because of me. When I look up, I realize I'm right. The kitchen staff is looking at me, their eyes wide and inquisitive. They probably heard his yells. My ears are still ringing from how loudly he yelled at me. 

I head toward the changing room. My mind is a spinning mess, and violent thoughts have taken them over entirely. As the uniform slips down my body, I ask myself how easy it would be to grab a kitchen knife and race upstairs to where Reynold Loxley is sleeping. He's sick, if the news is to be believed. A cancer diagnosis. But he isn't dead, not yet, and his financial position will get him the best treatments and doctors, and he'll find a way to live longer. I'm sure of it. 

Why should he live, while my father and brother, Theo, lie in eternal rest? How will I avenge them once I've been fired on my very first day here? Am I just supposed to give up?

"No," I say to myself in the empty room. "I won't give up."

I've never been a quitter. Not once. 

Since I didn't have time to find evidence against him now, I'll find a way upstairs instead, even if it'll kill me. And I'll make sure that man pays for the sins he committed against my family. 

I walk out of the changing room and head to the kitchen. I see a small steak knife among other cutlery above a stack of plates, and reach for it without being seen. I head outside, knowing that there's a separate entrance that will lead to the inside of the house, particularly to the sitting room. From there, I'll take the stairs up to the killer's room, and afterward, who knows? Tears fill my eyes once more, but I can't stop now. 

My initial plan was to find evidence against him and bring justice to the family he took from me, but it'll have to change. I won't have time for that now. 

I step out into the garden, grabbing the handle of the knife until my knuckles turn white, and that's when I hear it.

"SOMEONE, HELP!"