Ethan set the glass down with a sharp click against the wood.

He looked at Celeste, then at Vivian, and finally at the other three women.

“None of you,” Ethan said.

Vivian gasped softly, her cheeks flushing.

“Excuse me?”

“Ethan,” Alexander said, though his tone was not angry. It was curious. “Be polite.”

“I am being polite, Father,” Ethan said, his voice steady. “I am saving them time. None of them belong here. None of them care about you, and none of them care about me.”

“That is highly disrespectful,” Vivian muttered, looking at Alexander for support. “An undisciplined child is—”

“He is allowed to speak his mind in this house,” Alexander interrupted, his voice dropping an octave.

The room went cold.

Vivian immediately silenced herself, her knuckles turning white against her napkin.

Ethan turned his head slowly, his gaze bypassing the five wealthy suitors.

He looked directly at me, standing in the shadow of the velvet curtains.

“If Father must choose someone,” Ethan said, pointing a finger toward me, “it should be Elena.”

My heart hammered against my ribs, loud enough that I feared they would hear it.

I kept my face completely blank, though my fingers tightened on the edge of the silver tray.

“The maid?” Vivian laughed, a sharp, ugly sound. “Alexander, surely you won’t tolerate this joke.”

Alexander did not laugh.

He looked at Ethan, then turned his slow, searching gaze toward me.

“Ethan,” Alexander said. “Why Elena?”

“Because she is the only one who keeps her promises,” Ethan said. “And she is the only one who was here when Mother died.”

The mention of Eleanor Hawthorne hung in the air like a sudden drop in temperature.

Alexander’s jaw tightened.

The five suitors looked between Alexander and me, confusion turning into sharp resentment.

I knew the time had come.

I set the silver tray down on the sideboard with a deliberate, quiet touch.