Chapter 3 - Masks and Mirrors
By mid-afternoon, the Whitmore estate had transformed into a battleground of quiet rivalries. The five women had unpacked their luggage—designer trunks filled with couture clothing, expensive jewelry, and carefully selected gifts for an eight-year-old boy who wanted none of them.
In the formal library, Katherine Shaw sat on the velvet sofa, holding open a pristine leather-bound volume of classic literature. Ethan sat three feet away, his legs dangling off the edge of a mahogany chair, staring blankly at the floor.
“This is an original printing of The Secret Garden,” Katherine said, her tone melodic and exaggerated, as if reading to an audience rather than a child. “My grandfather bought it at an auction in London. A boy of your intellect should appreciate fine literature.”
“I like comic books,” Ethan replied plainly.
Katherine’s smile twitched slightly. “Comic books are fine for entertainment, Ethan, but a Whitmore heir needs to cultivate refined tastes. Don't you want to stand out among your peers?”
Before Ethan could answer, the door swung open, and Olivia Pierce walked in carrying a tablet. “Katherine, darling, don't bore the child to death,” Olivia said with a bright, performative laugh. “Ethan, I’ve set up a virtual tour of my family’s private resort in Aspen. We can take the helicopter there next weekend if your father permits.”
Ethan looked at the screen, then at Olivia’s manicured nails. “I get carsick. And helicopter sick.”
Across the hallway, in the main kitchen, Emily was preparing a light afternoon tea under the strict supervision of the head housekeeper, Mrs. Gable. Emily’s hand was tightly bandaged, making simple tasks like gripping the handles of silver teapots painful.
“Keep your distance from them, Emily,” Mrs. Gable warned in a hushed tone as she arranged porcelain cups on a tray. “Mr. Whitmore brought those women here for a reason. They are power players. If one of them becomes the mistress of this house, your position here will depend entirely on whether they like you.”
“I’m just doing my job, Mrs. Gable,” Emily replied quietly.
“Your job today includes serving tea in the library,” the older woman said, placing a plate of delicate cucumber sandwiches on the tray. “Take it in, be invisible, and come right back.”
Emily took a deep breath, picked up the silver tray, and walked down the hallway. When she pushed open the heavy oak doors of the library, the scene inside was tense. Katherine and Olivia were arguing over whose activity Ethan should participate in next, while Dr. Grant stood near the window, reviewing medical files on her phone, completely indifferent to the boy.
Ethan caught sight of Emily and immediately stood up from his chair. “Em!”
The room went dead silent.
Olivia’s expression hardened. “Ethan, we are having a conversation. It is rude to interrupt adult discussions for the staff.”
“She’s bringing the tea,” Ethan said, walking over to help Emily with the heavy tray.
“Ethan, leave that alone!” Daniel’s voice echoed from the doorway. He walked into the library, his posture rigid, his eyes scanning the room. He had been monitoring the interactions through the house’s security feed from his study. He saw the tension, the forced smiles, and the clear divide between the women and his son.
“Father,” Ethan said, turning around. “Em’s hand is hurt. She shouldn't be carrying heavy metal trays.”
Vanessa, who had just entered behind Daniel, let out a performative sigh. “Daniel, the boy’s attachment to the maid is becoming disruptive. It’s sweet, of course, but if he spends all his time worrying about the servants, how can he focus on building a connection with any of us?”
Daniel looked down at his son, then at Emily. Her face was pale, but her posture was steady. She kept her eyes lowered, adhering to the unspoken rules of her employment.
“Emily,” Daniel said slowly. “Take the rest of the afternoon off to tend to your hand.”
“I can finish my shift, Mr. Whitmore,” Emily replied firmly. “There is still work in the west wing.”
“That wasn't a request,” Daniel said, his voice softening slightly. “Go home. Rest.”
May you like
Ethan watched her leave, his small fists clenched at his sides. As soon as Emily disappeared down the hall, he looked up at the five women standing in the room—all beautifully dressed, all wealthy, and all looking at him as if he were a prize to be won rather than a boy who missed his mother.
“I don't want any tea,” Ethan said quietly, turning his back on them and walking out toward the garden.
