Chapter 7 - The Invitation
The atmosphere in the catering kitchen of Sterling Manor on Thursday afternoon was a chaotic whirlwind of shouting chefs, clattering silver, and steaming prep ovens.
Elena wiped her brow with the back of her wrist, her uniform damp with sweat as she polished a seemingly endless row of crystal champagne flutes. She hadn't slept more than four hours a night all week; Mrs. Gable had systematically doubled her workload as punishment for the incident at the gate, assigning her to deep-clean the terrace marble before dawn and assist the catering team until midnight.
"Rostova! Stop daydreaming and get those flutes boxed for the ballroom!" Mrs. Gable barked, marching into the kitchen with her clipboard pressed against her chest. "Mr. Sterling is arriving from New York tomorrow morning, and if a single glass has a water spot, I will personally deduct it from your paycheck!"
"Yes, Mrs. Gable," Elena murmured, carefully placing a polished flute into the velvet-lined transport box.
Just then, the heavy double doors of the kitchen swung open, and Marcus Trent strode in, flanked by two uniformed security officers. He looked uncharacteristically nervous, his eyes darting around the room until they landed on Elena.
"There she is," Marcus said, pointing a gloved finger at her. "Get her away from the glassware. Mr. Pendelton from the New York legal office just arrived on site. He wants her in the formal library right now."
The kitchen went dead silent. The head chef stopped slicing truffles; the dishwashers paused their scrubbing.
Mrs. Gable’s face drained of color. She grabbed Elena by the arm, her nails digging into the girl's skin. "What did you do?" she hissed in a venomous whisper. "Did you complain to the corporate office about your wages? If you said one word about the domestic budget—"
"I didn't say anything to anyone," Elena said truthfully, her heart pounding against her ribs like a trapped bird. Why would Julian Sterling’s chief legal counsel want to speak to a third-tier maid? Had Marcus discovered the missing Cabernet bottles and framed her for the theft?
"We'll see about that," Marcus sneered, grabbing her other arm and practically dragging her out of the kitchen and into the grand marble hallway.
They escorted her down the long, portrait-lined corridor toward the east wing. Elena’s mind raced with panic. If she was fired today with cause, she would lose her domestic bonding insurance. The memory care clinic in Providence required payment by the first of the month; without her wages, her mother would be transferred to a state-run ward within seventy-two hours.
Marcus stopped in front of the towering mahogany doors of the formal library and knocked twice.
"Enter," a crisp, authoritative voice called from within.
Marcus pushed the doors open and shoved Elena stumble-stepping onto the priceless Persian rug inside. "Here she is, Mr. Pendelton. If there's been any theft or breach of contract, my security team is ready to escort her to the local precinct immediately."
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Arthur Pendelton sat at the massive antique writing desk, dressed in a sharp three-piece suit, reading a legal brief. He slowly raised his head, his gray eyes sweeping over Marcus with a look of profound, freezing judgment before settling warmly onto Elena.
"That won't be necessary, Mr. Trent," Arthur said smoothly, closing his folder. "In fact, you and Mrs. Gable can leave the room and close the doors behind you. My business with Miss Rostova is entirely private, and highly confidential."
