Chapter 4 - The Tables Turn
At 6:00 a.m. on the fourth morning, Mrs. Gibson stood in the kitchen with a blank resignation form ready, fully expecting to pack Narin's belongings. Instead, she found the quiet maid sitting calmly at the staff table, eating dry toast and sipping tap water.
Mrs. Gibson blinked, checked the wall calendar, and stared back down. "You're still here."
"My shift starts at seven," Narin replied smoothly.
"Did he fire you?"
"No."
"Did he throw anything at you?"
"No."
Stunned into absolute silence, Mrs. Gibson finally turned toward the coffee maker. "He wants his coffee. Black. No sugar. Take it up."
When Narin opened the heavy double doors of the east wing, a subtle shift greeted her. The heavy velvet curtains were pulled back just a few inches, letting a pale stream of gray morning light pierce the gloom, transforming the tomb into a room. Declan sat at his desk, wearing reading glasses and reviewing syndicate ledgers.
Narin placed the ceramic mug beside his hand. "Morning."
Declan took a slow sip, his eyes flicking toward the bookshelf. "You put the history section on the bottom shelf."
Narin paused, looking back at him steadily. "The history books are heavy. The shelf right above it was bowing. It would have snapped under the weight."
Declan looked over at the mahogany shelving unit, running a mental calculation. She was right. The structural integrity of the antique case had indeed been compromised.
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"Fine," he muttered, turning back to his papers.
It wasn't an apology, nor was it a warm thank-you. But coming from Declan Graham, it was a declaration of mutual respect. Later that afternoon, when Victor rushed in with a panicked report about the Rossi family calling an aggressive sit-down to plan an all-out turf war, Declan didn't dismiss Narin from the room. He simply lowered his voice, glanced at her sweeping the corner, and asked her opinion on a logistical detail regarding the estate's security gates. The maid had quietly become his most trusted confidante.
