The room hadn’t settled.
Even as the last notes of Alvin’s growl faded into silence, the air remained thick—charged with the kind of tension that couldn’t be dismissed with apologies.
The elderly maid who had entered with him took her place quietly against the far wall, moving with the practiced grace of someone used to being unseen. Her hands folded neatly at her waist. Her gaze lowered.
But I noticed the way her eyes flitted toward Alvin—nervous, worried. She wasn’t just a maid. She knew him.
Before I could dwell on it further, the door creaked open again.
Lupe entered.
Clad in her official uniform, polished and purposeful, her boots struck the floor with rhythmic command. Her presence pulled the tension even tighter, like a bowstring held just past breaking.
She moved toward Loui
