She did not look at me, but she leaned back in her chair, blocking my path to her father’s bowl.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” I murmured, holding the heavy tray balanced on one hand.

Vanessa ignored me, turning her head to whisper something to her father.

The Senator glanced up at me, his eyes cold and dismissive.

“Julian,” Vanessa said loudly, ensuring the entire table could hear. “Where did you hire this woman? She smells of cheap soap and wet wool.”

A sudden silence fell over the table.

The clinking of silver cutlery stopped instantly.

“Vanessa,” Julian said, his voice quiet and low. “That is enough.”

“I am only pointing out the decline in standards,” she said, her lip curling as she looked at my uniform. “The service in this house used to be impeccable.”

I stepped forward to place the soup bowl in front of the Senator.

As I lowered my arm, Vanessa’s hand darted out.

She did not slide her hand; she actively struck the edge of my silver tray.

The hot lobster bisque sloshed over the rim of the bowl, spilling directly onto the white lace tablecloth and the sleeve of her red silk dress.