Chapter Nine #2
A rush of defiance surged through me, and I smiled.
I returned things to their normal positions and rushed out before anyone could stop me.
I had calculated the timing. Artur always took about an hour to finish his dinner.
It meant I had to disappear for an hour.
I could pretend I had a running stomach and lock myself in the bathroom until he was done.
As I approached the quarters, I heard the familiar sound of claws on marble. The bulldog barked, bounding toward me playfully. It tempted me to kneel and cuddle it, to let his warmth melt away my frustration.
But I saw Artur seated at the kitchen table, hunched over a newspaper. My heart skipped. I swallowed the urge to touch his dog and approached him instead. He wasn’t supposed to be here. I had to leave immediately.
Though my hands trembled, I kept my voice steady. “I’ll set your dinner, sir.”
Once I finished, I turned to leave, but Artur stopped me with a single order. “Sit.”
I froze.
The command came from nowhere, as if he expected me to obey without question. I hesitated, unsure if this was a joke or another power play. What if he was talking to his dog? But there was no dog in sight.
He slammed the newspaper down, the sound like a whip cracking through the air. “Should I repeat myself?”
My body obeyed before my mind could catch up. I sank into the chair across from him, my heart racing. The dog came back running and padded over to my side, curling up on the floor beside me, but I kept my gaze focused on Artur.
Artur didn’t speak. Without a word, he pushed the bowl of soup in my direction.
My pulse quickened. My gaze remained fixed on the bowl of soup before me.
Steam rose in delicate tendrils, each twist of vapor mocking the situation.
This was the soup Artur was supposed to enjoy.
I prepared it for him, though not in the way he would have liked.
“Take it.”
Whoever said karma would come around knew what they meant.
I chewed on my lower lip, trying to avoid looking up, but my eyes betrayed me.
Slowly, I raised my gaze. Artur sat across from me, leisurely chewing his steak.
I ruined his starter, and now he went straight to the main course, letting me take the poison meant for him.
His gaze was on me, though he didn’t break his rhythm.
He had figured it out, hadn’t he? Did he even taste it?
“You’re not eating,” Artur’s voice sliced through the air, calm but laced with a hidden threat. He knew what he was doing, and I could feel it in the pit of my stomach.
“Matvet said you eat alone,” I murmured, desperate for an escape.
“And I say you eat,” Artur replied with a command in his voice.
My heart raced, and I hesitated. “Sir, I already had my dinner.” I hoped he would buy my excuse, but deep down, I knew it was futile. The amount of salt I added could strip the taste buds of anyone. “I’m not hungry.”
Artur’s eyes never left me. His stare was so intense it felt like he was peeling away every layer of me.
“I’m starting to think you poisoned my food,” he said, placing his fork and knife down. “Is that the case, Alessia?”
My body stiffened, and I shook my head vehemently. “Of course not,” I snickered to cover the unease in my voice. “Why would I do that to my boss?”
In truth, poisoning him didn’t sound like such a terrible idea.
Artur’s gaze darkened, his hand moving behind his back with practiced ease. When it reappeared, he rested a gun beside his glass of water. The cold steel gleamed under the dim light.
“Eat,” he ordered. “Enjoy your meal.”
Taking a deep breath, I grabbed the spoon. My fingers trembled as I stirred the soup. I scooped a spoonful, glancing at Artur as I slowly brought it to my lips.
“If you think I poisoned your soup, I hope this proves you wrong,” I said, forcing a calmness I didn’t feel.
As soon as I shoved the spoon into my mouth, a rush of unpleasantness flooded my taste buds. The salt hit me like a punch to the gut, and my face contorted.
Why did I put that much salt? I stared at the bowl, my brows furrowing, lips tight from the assault on my senses. My throat burned, and I fought back the urge to cough.
I strained a smile as I spoke, my voice rough and hoarse. “See,” I rasped. “No poison.”
Artur’s lips curved into a twisted, almost mocking smile.
“My bad,” he murmured. His eyes glinted with something darker as he picked up his glass.
He sipped while watching me over the rim.
When he set the glass down, he waved his hand dismissively.
“Enjoy the rest, Alessia. And pay better attention to your work as my maid.”
What? The burning sensation in my throat made it hard to think. I could use a sip of that water or a slice of bread, something to soothe my taste. But here I was, trapped with him. He wanted to see me suffer, I was sure of it.
“Stay away from my room,” he said, his voice growing cold. His eyes focused on mine, as if expecting me to take notes on his orders. I poked at the soup with my spoon, trying to stay calm. “The dog’s room, and the storage.”
Knowing better than to argue, I nodded. “Yes, sir.”
But he had more to say. “Serve my meals at the right hour. I don’t entertain lateness.”
Already overwhelmed by the demands, I told him, “Yes, sir. Understood.”
“You’re not drinking your soup, Alessia,” he observed.
This man couldn’t be human. Seeing he was watching me, I reluctantly lifted the spoon again, the salt burning my throat with each sip. The wince that followed was involuntary. I cursed silently, tasting the bitter saltiness.
“Are you enjoying your soup?” he asked, lifting his glass for another sip. His eyes never left mine.
Asshole.
“Are you trying to say something?” His voice was calm, but a hidden menace lurked within it.
“No.” I swallowed my irritation. “No, sir.”
Artur leaned forward. “The rules might be few, but trust me, you wouldn’t want to make a mistake.” He pushed his seat back and stood. “Finish your soup. And clean the table. Make sure you clean the dog’s plates well, too.”
Before I could protest, he picked up the untouched plate of garlic bread, carrying it toward me. He placed it beside my soup with a grin that was nothing short of cruel.
“Enjoy your dinner, Alessia. Now I know you love salt.”
The words stung like a slap to the face. A proof that I was powerless. My fists tightened, but before I could say a word, he placed a hand on my shoulder. It was almost as if he were trying to mock me, to remind me of my place. Without warning, he left, his footsteps echoing as he exited the house.
“Son of a bitch.” I muttered under my breath and pushed the chair back. I stormed to where he had sat, grabbed the glass of water, and downed it in one gulp.
The burn in my throat eased, but the salt still lingered, refusing to leave.
I leaned over the table, my hands pressed against its edge as I took deep, steadying breaths.
My eyes shot daggers at the door he had exited through.
I was losing my patience. My time in this house would be short-lived, especially if I followed through on the urge to poison him.
The steak may be a good place to start. He seemed to love it.
Mara couldn’t possibly have fought to work in a place like this. She had to have had some serious issues to deal with.
My eyes scanned the massive dining room, the luxurious space feeling more like a gilded cage.
The minibar caught my attention, with bottles of various alcohols and wines gleaming in the low light.
After a moment’s hesitation, I took a few steps toward it, promising myself I would only glance.
Until I saw the red wine Marco and I shared on his birthday.
The bottle was half-empty. The temptation was overwhelming, but I pushed it aside. There was no way I would dare to drink that bottle of expensive Italian wine.
Still, I couldn’t shake off the thought.
A glass wouldn’t hurt, would it? Just a sip to forget about the hell I was living in. To numb the frustration and weariness that had taken root deep inside me. Artur’s cold eyes burned into my mind. They dared me to try.
And I tried. I did.