Chapter 14
The concrete steps of the service stairwell felt cold beneath the thin soles of Elena's evening shoes. The bright fluorescent light of the kitchen hummed softly as she pushed the heavy wooden door open and stepped inside. Mrs. Gable was wiping down the stainless steel counter, while Clara stood by the locker area with her coat zipped up and her canvas bag slung over her shoulder. The room went entirely silent the moment the door clicked shut. Clara froze, her hand resting on the zipper of her bag, her eyes widening as she recognized the woman standing in the doorway. Elena stopped three feet inside the kitchen. The contrast between her high-fashion burgundy gown and the utilitarian white-tiled walls was stark. For a long moment, neither woman spoke. Elena looked at the young girl—really looked at her—not as a piece of staff or an inconvenience, but as a person who had been deeply wronged under her roof. Elena took a slow step forward, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. "Clara," Elena said, her voice uncharacteristically steady, stripped of all its usual sharp edges. The girl didn't answer, but she didn't run either. She simply stood her ground, waiting to see what else the wealthy world had to demand of her.
