CHAPTER FIVE — The Fiancée’s Arrival
1153 Words
Mornings at the Alexandro residence had their own rhythm — purposeful and immaculate. Cleaners moved through the halls with practiced precision, and in the kitchen, the chef worked with the quiet confidence of someone who understood that what he produced was not merely food but an experience.
The sound reached the kitchen before she did.
Heels. Sharp, deliberate, announcing every step.
The staff recognized the sound immediately. Anyone who had spent more than a week in this house knew it. Stacy walked like someone who had already inherited everything.
“Where is everyone?” Her voice rang down the hallway, carrying that particular brand of impatience that expected the world to stop and account for itself.
She appeared in the kitchen doorway, eyes sweeping the room. She didn’t greet anyone. Nobody was surprised.
“Chef.” She folded her arms. “Why isn’t Alexandro’s breakfast ready?”
The chef swallowed his irritation slowly. He was an international chef — not a houseboy, not someone’s errand runner. Mr. Alexandro had paid a significant amount of money to bring him here, and that fact alone deserved more respect than this woman had ever shown him.
When he didn’t respond, Stacy’s voice sharpened.
He set down what he was holding and turned to face her. “Miss Stacy , Mr. Alexandro comes downstairs for breakfast at 8:30. It is currently 6:47. I won’t be setting a table at this hour, and if you knew anything about this household, you’d know that Mr. Alexandro takes his meals hot. Please allow me to do my job.”
Stacy’s face went rigid. “You! I will have you fired the moment I become the lady of this house!”
She turned and stormed out.
“I doubt that day is coming,” the chef said quietly, once the heels had faded down the hallway. The kitchen assistant pressed her lips together to keep from laughing out loud.
Cassandra had already showered and changed into the clothes the chief maid had laid out for her. Her long hair was combed neatly back the way she always wore it. She looked prettier than she probably realized, even without a trace of makeup. She stepped onto the balcony carefully, almost like she was trying not to disturb the air around her, still getting used to the fact that she was here at all.
She was still taking everything in when the sharp sound of heels snapped her back to the present.
“Hey — stop right there.”
Cassandra stopped. A woman approached her, eyes moving over her the way people look at something they’ve already decided they don’t like.
“I don’t know your face,” the woman said. “Who are you?”
Cassandra opened her mouth to answer.
“Are you deaf? Dumb? Did you not hear what I asked you?”
“My name is Cassandra.”
“I didn’t ask for your name. I asked what you’re doing here.”
“You asked who I was,” Cassandra replied, her patience already beginning to thin. She didn’t know this woman, but she already knew the type.
She was still holding her composure when the woman’s hand flew up. Cassandra didn’t even have time to react — but someone else did.
Mrs. Felicity appeared from nowhere and caught the woman’s wrist mid-air.
“How dare you stop me!” The woman snatched her hand back, eyes blazing. “And how dare you put your filthy hands on me — you’re a maid!”
Mrs. Felicity didn’t flinch. “I stopped you because the person you were about to strike is a guest of Mr. Grant. And you know very well that Mr. Grant does not tolerate his guests being disrespected.”
The woman — Stacy — hissed at both of them and walked away, her heels cutting into the floor with every step.
Cassandra stood there trying to piece together what had just happened.
“I’m sorry you had to experience that, Miss,” Mrs. Felicity said.
“You didn’t do anything wrong.” Cassandra shook her head, still slightly dazed. “Who is she, Auntie?”
“She is Mr. Grant’s fiancée.”
“Oh.” Cassandra blinked. “That explains it.” She paused, then looked at the older woman with something soft in her eyes. “And Auntie — please just call me Cassandra. You remind me of my mother. You don’t need to be formal with me.”
Mrs. Felicity watched her head downstairs and stood there for a moment, something warm pressing quietly against her chest.
When Cassandra came downstairs, Alexandro was already at the dining table. Stacy sat across from him, talking — or trying to. Alexandro wasn’t acknowledging her. His eyes were on whatever was in front of him, his expression giving nothing away.
Then he looked up and saw Cassandra. He gestured — subtle, just a slight movement of his hand — signaling her to sit.
Stacy caught it. Her expression shifted immediately.
Cassandra noticed, said nothing, and chose a seat at the far end of the table.
“How are you?” Alexandro asked, without looking up.
“Fine, thank you,” Cassandra answered quietly. She reached for a slice of apple and chewed slowly, keeping her eyes down, very aware of the look being aimed at her from across the table.
Breakfast ended without incident. Alexandro rose from his seat and glanced at Cassandra. “Mrs. Felicity will take you out today to get a few things for yourself.” He didn’t wait for a response. He was already moving toward the door, Kelvin falling into step behind him the moment he stepped outside.
Cassandra stood and started toward the stairs.
“Stop right there.”
She turned. Stacy was still in the room, and she was walking toward her now with the slow, deliberate energy of someone who had been waiting for this moment since breakfast.
“Know your place in this house,” Stacy said, her voice low and measured. “Don’t cross your limits. Not with me. Not ever. Otherwise—”
“Miss Stacy.” One of the guards appeared at the entrance. “Mr. Alexandro has instructed that you be escorted out as soon as he leaves.”
Stacy held Cassandra’s gaze for one long moment. “I’m not finished with you,” she said. Then she walked out.
Cassandra stood in the quiet that followed, genuinely trying to understand what she had done to earn this much hostility from a woman she had only just met.
“Cassandra.” Mrs. Felicity’s voice came from behind her, gentle but serious. “Be careful with that one. She doesn’t make empty threats.”
Cassandra nodded slowly. She didn’t have the words for a response. But she believed her.
- Writer
