ty radiated from her like heat. Each perfectly manicured nail seemed to be like a weapon, poised to notice any imperfection. "You must be Emily," she said, he

h of Emily's chipped mugs and mismatched cutlery back in her apartment. Just as Emily was about to excuse herself, a commotion downstairs broke the fragile peace. Angry shouts and a woman's panicked scream pierced the silence. Emily's heart started hammering in her chest. "What's going on?" She gasped. Alexander slammed down his newspaper, his face a mask of fury. "Just a minor inconvenience," he said angrily, already walking out of the room. Hesitantly, Emily followed. The commotion led her to the grand foyer, where the scene that unfolded before Emily sent a jolt of terror through her. Isabella stood at the top of the grand staircase, her face a mixture of rage and fear. Below her, a young woman, dressed in a simple blue uniform, stood frozen, tears coming down her face. It was Clara, a maid Emily had briefly met the day before. "You clumsy idiot!" Isabella screamed, her voice filled with venom. "You spilled wine all over the priceless antique rug!" Clara whimpered, shaking her head in denial. "I... I didn't mean to, Miss Isabella. I slipped..." Ignoring Clara's pleas, Isabella leapt forward, her perfectly manicured nails digging into the younger woman's arm. A harsh red mark showed on Clara's pale skin. "Get out!" she shouted. "You're fired!" Clara flinched, a sob escaping her lips. Her eyes went around the room, searching for escape, but there was none. The air filled with a tension that could be cut with a knife. Alexander's entrance silenced the room. The fury in his eyes was a storm Emily hadn't witnessed before. "That's enough, Isabella!" he shouted,his voice echoing through the vast foyer. The force of his command sent shivers down Emily's spine. Isabella jumped back, her eyes wide with surprise. It was the first time Emily had seen her composure falter. In the blink of an eye, Alexander was at the bottom of the stairs, taking Clara into his arms with surprising gentleness. "Are you alright?" he asked the trembling woman, his voice a stark contrast to his earlier anger. Clara stammered, tears still streaming down her face. He turned towards the stairs, his gaze fixed on Isabella. "You will apologize to Clara," he commanded, his voice low and dangerous. "And you will clean the rug yourself." Isabella's face flushed red with anger, but she dared not defy him. She mumbled a half-hearted apology to Clara, who scurried away, clutching her arm. As Alexander helped Clara to her feet, his eyes met Emily's. For a brief moment, a flicker of something similar to...gratitude? No, it couldn't be. This was