I tied on my apron and walked into the kitchen, pretending I hadn’t seen anything. I chopped vegetables and waited for them to finish. Then I stepped out to clean up the aftermath.
Damien Locke, as always, needed honey water afterward. His throat got dry.
I knelt beside him silently, offering the drink with both hands.
I felt like a servant from some ancient dynasty.
Celeste was doing her makeup. She glanced at me, her brows furrowing slightly.
“Plop!”
The cup hit the ground. Hot honey water splashed across the floor, scalding my skin.
“Hey! Gid, are you okay?” Damien rushed over, pretending to help.
He grabbed my arm—hard—digging his fingers into the flesh until I gasped.
His smile stayed pleasant, but he leaned in and whispered with veiled menace:
“Brother, why so clumsy? If you don’t want to serve me, just say so. No need to make a scene.”
I gritted my teeth, forced a smile.
“Why trouble you with something so trivial?”
I invited him to sit down, then knelt again to clean up the spilled honey.
My palms and knees burned with small cuts, and the sticky sweetness stung where it touched broken skin. But I didn’t let it show.
I even lifted Damien’s feet gently to wipe beneath them.