Chapter 2 - THE WOMAN EVERYONE THOUGHT WAS INVISIBLE
Elena Rossi expected Adrian Moretti to fire her.
Instead, he looked at Mia.
Then at the empty bowl.
Then back at Elena.
“Why hasn’t she eaten?”
Elena blinked.
“I’m sorry?”
“Mia.”
Adrian leaned back in his chair.
“She fed me breakfast. Has she had hers?”
Mia answered for her.
“Mommy forgot.”
Elena closed her eyes.
“I did not forget.”
“You drank coffee.”
“That counts as something.”
Mia shook her head with the deep disappointment of a disappointed grandmother trapped in a three-year-old body.
“Coffee is not breakfast.”
Adrian’s mouth twitched again.
Elena felt heat climb her neck.
“I’ll take her downstairs.”
“No.”
That word again.
Quiet.
Final.
Adrian looked toward the steward.
“Thomas.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Bring another breakfast.”
“For Miss Rossi?”
“For both of them.”
Elena immediately shook her head.
“That isn’t necessary.”
Adrian’s eyes returned to her.
“You’ve been working since six.”
“I always work since six.”
“That wasn’t an argument.”
Elena felt something strange happen in her chest.
People rarely noticed whether she ate.
People noticed whether the silver shined.
Whether guest rooms were perfect.
Whether she had remembered fresh towels.
They noticed her body more often than they noticed her hunger.
Elena was thirty-two, five foot five, broad-hipped, soft through the middle, and heavier than the women who appeared at Moretti family dinners wearing dresses that looked designed for people who survived entirely on champagne and contempt.
She knew what they called her.
Big Elena.
The heavy maid.
Sometimes simply that woman.
She had spent years pretending she did not hear.
Adrian apparently heard something else.
“Mama,” Mia whispered, “sit.”
Elena gave her a look.
Mia pointed at the chair.
“Open.”
Adrian looked away because if he met Elena’s eyes, she would know he was trying not to laugh.
Elena sat.
Thomas returned with eggs, toast, fruit, and fresh oatmeal.
Mia immediately pushed the fruit toward her mother.
“You eat the strawberry.”
Elena did.
For the next five minutes, the most feared man in the Moretti family worked quietly at his desk while a housekeeper and her toddler ate breakfast in his study.
No one interrupted.
Until Cecilia Moretti arrived.
Adrian’s aunt never knocked.
She swept inside wearing cream silk and diamonds at eight in the morning.
Then stopped.
Her eyes moved from Elena to Mia.
Then to the breakfast.
Her expression changed.
“What is this?”
Adrian did not look up.
“Breakfast.”
“I can see that.”
“Good.”
Cecilia ignored the warning.
Her gaze settled on Elena.
“I thought staff meals were downstairs.”
Elena immediately pushed her chair back.
“I was just leaving.”
Adrian looked up.
“No, you weren’t.”
Cecilia stared at him.
“Adrian.”
“Aunt.”
There was history inside the single word.
Mia bit into a strawberry.
Cecilia looked at her.
“And whose child is this?”
Mia answered proudly.
“I’m Mia.”
“I gathered that.”
“You’re sparkly.”
Cecilia blinked.
Adrian looked down at his papers.
Elena saw his shoulders move once.
Cecilia’s voice sharpened.
“Why is a maid’s child in your study?”
“The maid has a name.”
The room went silent.
Cecilia looked at Adrian.
“What?”
“Her name is Elena.”
Elena stopped breathing.
Adrian continued.
“And Mia is here because her preschool closed.”
“This house is not a daycare.”
“No.”
Adrian looked at Mia.
“Apparently it is also a nutrition clinic.”
Mia nodded.
“He didn’t eat.”
Cecilia frowned.
“Elena, you should know better than to allow your daughter to interfere with Mr. Moretti.”
Elena stood.
“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“Sit down.”
Adrian’s tone changed.
Elena slowly sat.
Cecilia’s eyes narrowed.
“You’re encouraging this?”
“I’m eating breakfast.”
“You haven’t eaten breakfast in years.”
“Apparently I lacked adequate supervision.”
Mia looked delighted.
Cecilia did not.
Her gaze returned to Elena.
“You should be more careful. Some people become very comfortable the moment they receive attention.”
Elena knew that tone.
She had heard versions of it her whole life.
At stores.
At weddings.
At parent meetings.
Always wrapped in politeness.
Always sharp enough to cut.
Adrian put down his pen.
“Aunt Cecilia.”
“Yes?”
“Leave.”
The word landed like stone.
Her face changed.
“You’re throwing me out because of her?”
“I’m throwing you out because you walked into my study uninvited and insulted someone eating breakfast.”
“She works for you.”
“That does not make her available for humiliation.”
Cecilia’s cheeks colored.
She turned toward Elena.
For one ugly second, Elena expected something worse.
Cecilia only smiled.
Thin.
Dangerous.
“Of course.”
Then she walked out.
The door closed.
Elena looked at Adrian.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“Yes, I did.”
“You created a problem.”
“The problem existed before breakfast.”
He looked at her.
“You simply became visible enough for me to notice it.”
The sentence hurt in a way Elena had not expected.
She looked down.
Mia leaned toward Adrian.
“My mommy is pretty.”
Elena nearly dropped her fork.
“Mia.”
“What?”
Adrian’s gaze remained on Elena.
“Yes.”
Her breath caught.
He said it casually.
Without hesitation.
Like it was obvious.
Elena stood too fast.
“I really should get back to work.”
This time Adrian let her.
She gathered Mia.
At the door, he said, “Elena.”
She turned.
“Yes?”
“Cecilia will not be the last.”
Elena understood immediately.
“The last what?”
“The last person who thinks embarrassing you is a safe way to provoke me.”
My God.
He knew his family.
“Then maybe I should keep my distance.”
Adrian’s expression became unreadable.
“Maybe.”
That should have been the end.
It was not.
By lunch, three staff members already knew Cecilia had been removed from Adrian’s study.
By two, his cousin Bianca knew.
By four, someone had placed a box of expensive pastries in the staff kitchen with a handwritten note.
FOR ELENA. TRY NOT TO EAT THEM ALL.
The room went quiet when Elena found it.
No signature.
It did not need one.
Two younger maids looked away.
Thomas the steward appeared furious.
Elena picked up the box.
Then carried it toward the trash.
“Stop.”
Adrian stood in the doorway.
Nobody had heard him enter.
His eyes settled on the note.
“Who did this?”
Silence.
Elena said, “It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me.”
“Please.”
She lowered her voice.
“I don’t need you fighting every battle for me.”
His gaze shifted to her.
“Is that what you think I’m doing?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
He stepped closer.
“I’m finding out what happens in my house when people think I’m not watching.”
No one breathed.
Adrian lifted the note.
“Security cameras.”
Elena froze.
“What?”
“There’s a camera in the corridor outside this room.”
He looked at Thomas.
“Pull the footage.”
Twenty minutes later, they knew.
Bianca Moretti.
Adrian’s thirty-year-old cousin.
Beautiful.
Wealthy.
Engaged to a state senator’s son.
And smiling directly at the hallway camera while she placed the box.
As though daring anyone to challenge her.
Adrian watched the footage once.
Then called the family attorney.
“Cancel Bianca’s access to every Moretti property I control.”
Elena stared.
“Adrian.”
He turned.
It was the first time she had used his name.
Everyone noticed.
“So did he.”
“She wrote a stupid note.”
“She made a choice.”
“She’s family.”
“So?”
That answer revealed something deeper than anger.
Adrian looked around the staff kitchen.
“If anyone working in this house receives another message about their body, accent, age, background, family or anything else unrelated to their work, bring it directly to Thomas.”
His eyes hardened.
“And if Thomas hides it, bring it directly to me.”
Thomas nodded.
“Yes, sir.”
Adrian looked at Elena one last time.
Then walked away.
Mia tugged Elena’s sleeve.
“Mama.”
“Yes?”
“Mister Adrian mad.”
“He is.”
“At bad people?”
Elena looked toward the doorway.
“Yes.”
Mia nodded approvingly.
“Good.”
That night, long after the mansion became quiet, Elena entered the library to return a tray.
Adrian sat alone beside the fireplace.
Untouched whiskey in front of him.
A folder open on his lap.
He looked tired.
More than tired.
Hollow.
Elena set down the tray.
“You didn’t eat dinner.”
His eyes lifted.
“Are you reporting me to Mia?”
“I’m considering it.”
His mouth moved.
Almost a smile.
Then Elena noticed the photograph inside the folder.
A man.
Early thirties.
Dark hair.
Familiar eyes.
Her body went cold.
The tray nearly slipped from her hands.
Adrian noticed.
“What?”
Elena stared at the photograph.
“That man.”
Adrian’s expression sharpened.
“You know him?”
Her voice disappeared.
Because she did.
The man in the photograph was Marco Rossi.
Her dead husband.
And according to the document beneath his picture, he had not been a construction electrician like Elena had always believed.
He had worked for Adrian Moretti.
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