Chapter 2 - Echoes in the Hallway
The heavy wool of Viktor's suit jacket radiated a comforting warmth against Clara’s freezing shoulders, but the gesture only amplified the thumping of her heart. She stared at the polished surface of the sink, watching dirty water swirl down the drain, refusing to meet the piercing gaze of the man standing less than two feet away. The kitchen felt suddenly claustrophobic, the hum of the refrigerator sounding like a ticking clock counting down to a disaster she had spent months trying to avoid.
"Clara," Viktor said again, his tone softer now, stripped of the demanding authority he usually commanded over the estate's staff. "You don't work for them. You work for me. If someone in this house laid a hand on you, they answer to me."
"You don't understand," Clara whispered, her fingers nervously pleating the white apron tied around her waist. "It’s not just anyone. It’s about what my father left behind. The debts. The people who come looking for them don't care about kitchen rules or boundaries. If you get involved, Viktor, it puts a target on your back too."
Viktor crossed his arms over his white dress shirt, the muscles in his forearms straining against the fabric. His scar twisted slightly as he let out a slow, controlled breath. "My back has carried targets longer than you've been alive. Now, answer the question. Who was it?"
Before Clara could force the name past her lips, a sharp, metallic clatter echoed from the darkened pantry down the hall. Someone had dropped a glass, or perhaps, someone was listening to every word they exchanged. Viktor’s head snapped toward the sound. In a flash of movement, he drew a small, suppressed automatic pistol from his shoulder holster, his body dropping into a tactical stance with terrifying efficiency.
"Stay behind me," Viktor ordered in a lethal whisper.
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Clara froze, her breath catching in her throat as Viktor edged toward the swinging pantry door. He kicked it open with his boot, lunging into the darkness. A second later, he dragged a trembling figure out by the collar of a familiar blue uniform, slamming them against the kitchen counter with a dull thud. Clara gasped, her hand flying to her mouth as she recognized the terrified face of the head butler, holding a shattered porcelain cup.
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