The first sapphire struck the marble hard enough to bounce.

Thursday evening brought a bitter, howling blizzard that wrapped Barrington Hills in a blinding blanket of white.

Inside the Vale Manor, the fires blazed in every fireplace, lighting up the grand dining room where a table for six was set with pristine white linen, antique sterling silver, and heavy crystal goblets.

Claire stood near the carved walnut sideboard, wearing a simple, elegant dark navy dress that Mrs. Gable had insisted she purchase using the household administrative wardrobe account. Her hair was pinned up neatly, her posture erect, her tablet tucked under her arm.

At 7:00 PM, the heavy double oak front doors swung open, letting in a gust of freezing wind and the loud, high-pitched laughter of a woman.

Vanessa Vale Arden stepped into the grand marble foyer.

She was thirty-four years old, wrapped in a dramatic, full-length white mink coat that dripped melted snow onto the pristine Italian marble. She had sharp, fox-like features, heavily bleached blonde hair styled in a severe bob, and brilliant, predatory blue eyes.

Behind her walked her husband, Julian Arden—a slick, pale man in a tailored suit who looked perpetually exhausted, carrying three heavy leather luggage bags.

"God, Adrian!" Vanessa shrieked, her loud voice bouncing off the marble walls like a whip cracking. "You live like a mountain hermit out here! The driveway was a skating rink! Why haven't your servants salted the stone?!"

Adrian walked slowly down the grand staircase, dressed in a black suit with a crisp open-collared white shirt. He looked like an emperor surveying a minor, annoying vassal.

"Welcome, Vanessa," Adrian said flatly, not making any move to hug her.

Vanessa tossed her dripping white mink coat directly onto the mahogany bench near the entrance, not caring that the wet fur was staining the wood. Her sharp eyes scanned the foyer, immediately landing on Claire, who stood quietly near the entrance of the dining room.

Vanessa stopped in her tracks. Her eyes narrowed into dangerous slits as she appraised Claire from head to toe.

"And who is this?" Vanessa asked, her tone instantly dropping into an icy, patronizing drawl. "Did you finally hire a new nanny, Adrian? I hope this one isn't selling house photos like the last trash you brought in here."

"This is Claire Harlow," Adrian introduced, his voice low and dangerous. "She is the Domestic and Administrative Coordinator for the estate."

Vanessa let out a sharp, mocking laugh. "Coordinator? Oh, darling, please. She's a maid with a fancier title."

Claire didn't move an inch. She kept her face completely neutral, her eyes fixed calmly on Vanessa's face. She had spent seven years listening to Grant Mercer and his snobbish mother talk down to her—Vanessa Arden was using an old script, and Claire knew every line.

"Good evening, Mrs. Arden," Claire said smoothly, her voice cool and pleasant. "Dinner will be served in six minutes. If you would like to wash your hands, the powder room is down the west hall."

Vanessa’s laughter died instantly. Her jaw tightened as she registered the total lack of deference in Claire’s voice.

"Listen to it," Vanessa sneered, turning to her husband. "The servants are giving instructions now."

Julian cleared his throat nervously, looking away. "Vanessa, let's just sit down..."

"Shut up, Julian," Vanessa snapped. She stepped closer to Claire, her high heels clicking loudly against the marble floor until she was standing less than two feet away. She pulled off her leather gloves, revealing a massive, blazing sapphire and diamond bracelet wrapped around her right wrist.

"Make sure the wine is real French Burgundy tonight, girl," Vanessa whispered, her breath smelling of heavy perfume and gin. "Not the cheap domestic garbage Adrian usually tries to feed us."

"The wine selected for tonight is a 2015 Domaine de la Romanée-Conti," Claire replied without beating a heart. "I verified the cellar temperature myself twenty minutes ago. It will be served at exactly sixteen degrees Celsius."