The rain beat against the triple-paned, bulletproof glass of the dining room.

Inside, the air-conditioned silence of the Hawthorne Estate was thick with the scent of roasted rosemary lamb and expensive perfume.

I stood by the sideboard, the heavy silver serving tray balanced in my hands.

My uniform was pressed, my head bowed just enough to blend into the shadows.

Five women sat at the long mahogany table, each of them dressed in silks that cost more than my annual salary.

They were the chosen elite, brought here to compete for the role of Alexander Hawthorne’s new wife.

And, more importantly, for the role of mother to his ten-year-old son, Ethan.

“The lamb is slightly over-seasoned,” Vivian said, pushing her plate away with a manicured hand.

She looked up at me, her eyes narrow and cold.

“Make sure the kitchen knows for the next course, girl.”

“Of course, ma’am,” I replied softly.

I kept my voice low, the perfect picture of an obedient, invisible maid.

Across the table, Celeste smiled, though her eyes remained entirely still.

“Vivian, dear, we are guests. We should not badger the staff on our very first evening.”

Celeste looked at Alexander, her posture immaculate.

“The estate is beautiful, Alexander. It feels so secure.”

Alexander Hawthorne sat at the head of the table, his dark suit tailored to his broad frame.

He did not touch his food.

His gray eyes were fixed on his son, who sat directly opposite him.

Ethan looked small in the high-backed leather chair.

He was ten, but his eyes carried the heavy weight of a boy who had seen his mother die too young.

“Ethan,” Alexander said, his voice deep and quiet. “You have been very quiet tonight.”

The table went still.

All five women leaned in slightly, their expressions shifting into practiced masks of warmth.

Vivian smoothed her diamond necklace.

Celeste offered a soft, encouraging smile that did not reach her eyes.

“I am just watching,” Ethan said.

He picked up his water glass, his small fingers tracing the cold condensation.

“Your father wants to know your thoughts,” Celeste said, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “We all want to get to know you, Ethan.”