Chapter 3 - The Silver Napkin
Her name tag read *Isabella*.
She didn't hesitate. Kneeling directly onto the wine-slicked marble floor—ruining her own uniform without a fraction of hesitation—Isabella pulled a stack of clean, white cloth napkins from her apron.
"Are you all right, sir?" she whispered, her hands trembling not from fear of Ethan, but from indignation at the cruelty of the room. She gently began dabbing at his lapels, taking care not to invade his space, treating him not as an invalid, but as a wounded sovereign.
Ethan looked down at her. In a room filled with diamonds that cost more than a family home, her simple, unpainted face held a purity that felt alien to this world. Her eyes met his—not with the nauseating, pitying sorrow he had seen on doctors' faces, nor with the vile contempt of his peers. She looked at him with profound human decency.
"Hey! Girl!" Chad snapped, his face darkening at the interruption. "Who authorized you to touch him? He’s fine. He likes the wine. It matches his mood."
Isabella stopped, slowly standing up to face Chad Harrington. Though she was a head shorter and wore the uniform of hired help, her posture did not falter.
"He is a guest in this establishment, sir," Isabella said, her voice clear and firm enough to slice through the ballroom's hushed murmur. "And no human being deserves to be treated like an animal for your entertainment."
A deadly hush fell over the crowd. Brooke gasped, outraged. "Excuse me? Do you have any idea who you are talking to, you little nobody? This is Chad Harrington! His family practically owns the firm that manages this entire hotel district!"
"Then he should have the manners to match his status, ma'am," Isabella replied coolly, her gaze unflinching. "Wealth without basic decency is just expensive trash."
Several guests covered their mouths. Chad’s face flushed a violent, mottled crimson.
"You insolent little servant," Chad snarled, pointing a manicured finger at her face. "You're fired. In fact, I'll ensure you never work in hospitality on this entire eastern seaboard! Where is the general manager?!"
"Chad, darling, don't waste your breath on the help," Brooke sneered, stepping between them. "Let security drag both her and her cripple friend out into the rain. They belong together in the gutter."
Ethan's hand reached out quietly, catching Isabella's wrist. His grip was surprisingly firm—dense, solid, vibrating with hidden strength. Isabella turned her head, surprised.
Ethan offered her a faint, almost imperceptible smile. "What is your name?"
"Isabella, sir," she murmured, her heart beating fast.
May you like
"Thank you, Isabella," Ethan said softly, his voice a low, resonant rumble. "Keep your head up. A lion never loses sleep over the opinions of hyenas. And do not fear for your employment. Tonight, you answer only to me."
***
