Chapter 1 - The Golden Fork
The grand luxury dining room was an absolute masterpiece of intimidating wealth. Glowing crystal chandeliers cast warm light over the tall, flickering candles, illuminating the large white floral centerpieces and the formally dressed guests murmuring in the background.
But the atmosphere at the head of the mahogany table was completely suffocating.
Clara, a twenty-four-year-old maid with her dark hair pulled back neatly, stood quietly in her classic black and white uniform. She held a heavy gold knife and fork, carefully and elegantly cutting the chicken on the plate of the seventy-year-old matriarch, Eleanor.
Eleanor wore a beautiful dark blue dress and a classic pearl necklace, but her hands were trembling so violently she couldn't hold her own utensils.
Suddenly, Victoria, the thirty-two-year-old hostess and soon-to-be bride of the house, stepped behind them. She wore a stunning dark burgundy strapless evening gown and a blinding diamond necklace. She glared at Eleanor with pure, toxic disgust.
"Move the chair," Victoria commanded coldly, waving her manicured hand dismissively. "She can eat upstairs."
Clara paused, her hands gripping the gold silverware. She didn't cower. "She asked me to help," Clara replied quietly, her voice perfectly respectful but resolute.
Victoria’s expression instantly turned harsh and threatening. "Then pack your things."
Sitting at the opposite end of the table was Dante, Eleanor’s son. The towering, late-thirties billionaire wore an all-black suit jacket and an unbuttoned black shirt that revealed dark, lethal neck tattoos. He slowly lowered his glass of red wine, looking steadily at his mother with deep, agonizing concern.
"Mom," Dante asked calmly, his voice serious. "Do you want to leave?"
Eleanor looked up with wide, terrified eyes. She reached out and tightly gripped Dante’s muscular arm in absolute desperation.
"Don't let them take me," Eleanor pleaded, her voice trembling and panicked.
Victoria’s face violently dropped into an expression of sheer, unadulterated panic. The wealthy guests in the background completely froze.
Dante held his mother's frail arm. His dark eyes narrowed dangerously as he processed the horrific implication.
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"Take you where?" Dante whispered, his voice vibrating with a cold, demonic danger.
👉 Victoria frantically tried to laugh off the question, but the maid was about to detonate a bomb in her dining room.
