Chapter 2 - The Mask Shatters
In the stifling darkness of the monitoring room, the blue glow from the bank of monitors bathed Chadworth’s face in a ghostly light. His pulse drummed heavily in his ears, a slow, suffocating rhythm that synchronized with the knot twisting in his stomach.
On Screen Three, the living room scene unfolded in agonizing clarity.
Sabina took a sharp step toward Rosamund, her manicured finger pointed like a blade. "I have told you repeatedly, Rosamund: when Chadworth is not in this house, I am the authority here. You do not speak unless spoken to. You do not interject. And you certainly do not tell me how to handle these spoiled little brats."
Chadworth’s knuckles turned white where he gripped the arms of his leather chair. Spoiled little brats. The phrase hit him like a physical blow. In his presence, Sabina called them "my precious angels" or "our sweet little girls." She bought them silk dresses they didn't want and stuffed animals they never played with, all while beaming at Chadworth as if asking for a gold star for her maternal affection.
On the screen, Rosamund kept her eyes lowered, her posture humble yet strangely unyielding. She stood like a shield between Sabina and the two young girls cowering near the coffee table.
"Miss Sabina," Rosamund’s voice came through the high-definition microphone, clear and composed. "Mr. Prescott asked that the girls finish their reading before lunch. I am only ensuring his instructions are followed."
"Do not use Chadworth’s name to lecture me!" Sabina spat, her voice dropping into a harsh, grating register that Chadworth had never heard before. "Chadworth does what I suggest. He listens to me. If I tell him tomorrow that you’ve been stealing from the linen closet, or that I caught you speaking disrespectfully to the children, you will be thrown onto the street without a reference. Do you understand me?"
Gemma, barely six years old, pressed her face into Lorelai’s shoulder. Lorelai, eight, wrapped her thin arms tightly around her sister, her little body trembling. Yet, despite her fear, Lorelai’s eyes weren't fixed on Sabina—they were fixed on Rosamund.
It was a look of profound, desperate trust.
"I understand, ma'am," Rosamund said softly. "I will take the girls to the playroom now so you can have your morning tea in peace."
Sabina let out a cold, bitter laugh, crossing her arms over her expensive cashmere sweater. "Yes. Get them out of my sight. Their sniveling gives me a headache. And make sure they don't leave a mess. If I find one crayon on the floor, I’m throwing their art supplies in the trash."
Without another word, Sabina turned on her heel and strode toward the French doors leading to the garden patio, her posture rigid with irritation.
The moment the doors closed behind her, the atmosphere in the living room shifted dramatically.
On the screen, Rosamund immediately dropped to her knees. She didn't look around to see if anyone was watching. She simply opened her arms.
May you like
Lorelai and Gemma threw themselves into her embrace.
Chadworth watched, his breath catching in his throat, as his youngest daughter buried her face in the maid’s simple cotton uniform. Rosamund didn't utter grand words of comfort. She simply held them tight, swaying gently, kissing the top of Gemma’s head and whispering soft, soothing words that the microphone barely caught.
