Chapter 5:A knife between courses
765 Words
The dining room was a theatre that night—lit like a stage, humming with tension. Ellie stood just out of sight, adjusting the final plate on the cart, her palms slick with sweat.
She wasn’t nervous about the food.
She was nervous about her.
Celeste.
Salvador’s favorite indulgence, from what Beatrice had warned. Older. Elegant. Poison in perfume form. The woman had walked into the mansion wrapped in silk and smirking like she owned it—and from the way Salvador kissed her cheek, she just might have.
Now, Celeste lounged at the head of the table in a deep violet dress, legs crossed, red wine in hand, eyes sharp enough to slice.
Ellie stepped forward with the first course—seared scallops on a bed of lemon beurre blanc.
“Dinner is served,” she said, keeping her voice level, gaze fixed just over their heads.
Celeste didn’t move at first. Then she peered at the plate, nose wrinkling. “Seafood? How… quaint.”
Ellie ignored her and placed the next dish.
One of the guests—a silver-haired investor named Drayton—nodded approvingly. “Impressive presentation.”
Celeste twirled her fork between her fingers. “If I wanted something from the ocean, I’d have gone diving. This smells like saltwater and desperation.”
A ripple of uncomfortable laughter followed. Ellie’s hand tightened on the tray.
Salvador didn’t react. Not at first.
Only when Ellie moved to place his plate did he speak.
“She was trained in Paris,” he said flatly. “Where you once claimed to eat well.”
Celeste smiled without warmth. “Darling, even Paris has its street vendors.”
Ellie stepped back before her tongue could get her killed.
⸻
She returned to the kitchen, pulse raging.
Celeste was baiting her. And Salvador? He let it happen. Watched it, even. Like he wanted to see what Ellie would do under pressure.
Well, she wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction.
Not yet.
She wiped her hands on her apron and glanced toward the corridor behind the wine cellar.
That was the plan.
She’d mapped it all week: the service tunnel behind the dining room. Narrow, unlit, and rarely used. At the end was an access hatch—padlocked from the outside but rusted and old.
She had stashed a bent spoon under the baseboard two days ago. Tonight, if all went well, she’d use it.
Ellie looked at the clock. Three courses to go.
Two more hours.
⸻
By dessert, Celeste had picked apart the entire menu—called the sauce “sloppy,” the meat “too rare,” the sorbet “common.”
But the worst moment came when Ellie returned to clear the table.
Celeste extended her glass—then let it fall from her hand as Ellie reached for it.
The stem shattered at Ellie’s feet.
“Oh, clumsy girl,” Celeste purred, voice dripping with false sweetness.
Ellie didn’t flinch. She bent down, gathered the shards silently, and turned to leave.
She didn’t see Salvador’s eyes narrow.
But she felt it.
⸻
Later that night, after the guests had gone and the house returned to its quiet luxury, Ellie crept from her room.
No guards in the east wing.
She padded barefoot down the service corridor, heart in her throat. The spoon pressed against her palm like hope.
She reached the hatch. Crouched.
The lock was old. Flaky.
She worked the bent spoon into the gap.
Minutes passed.
Sweat dripped into her eyes.
Click.
Her breath caught.
It gave.
She pulled the door.
It moved—
But only two inches before—
“Going somewhere?”
Salvador’s voice slid into the dark like a knife through silk.
She spun.
He was standing in the hallway, no jacket, sleeves rolled, hands in his pockets.
Watching her.
Again.
Always.
She said nothing.
“I’m disappointed,” he murmured.
“I’m not,” she snapped.
He stepped forward. Slowly. Like a lion playing with prey it hadn’t decided whether to kill or cage.
“I told you before,” he said, “I like bite. But this?” He gestured to the door. “This is stupid.”
“Let me go,” she whispered.
“No.”
She shoved the spoon into his chest, not hard enough to stab—just enough to make a point.
“I’m not your prisoner,” she hissed.
He leaned in, gaze sharp, voice low.
“Then stop acting like one.”
And with that, he turned… and walked away.
Leaving the door open.
And Ellie shaking.
- Writer
