Chapter 2 - The Invisible Girl
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Emma hesitated for only a fraction of a second before stepping closer to the forbidden chair. The heavy walnut wood gleamed under the chandeliers, the carved roses along the back looking almost menacing.
“When I came in to polish the silver, I aligned myself with the edge of the rug,” Emma explained, forcing her voice to remain steady. She pointed to the intricate geometric pattern woven into the carpet. “The front right leg of Lady Eleanor’s chair has always rested exactly on the center of this blue medallion. Today, it was resting on the gold border.”
Victor stared at the floor, then back at Emma.
“You memorized the exact placement of a chair on a rug in a room you’ve only cleaned for three weeks?”
“I didn’t intentionally memorize it, sir,” Emma said, keeping her hands clasped in front of her. “I just notice things. When a room is perfectly symmetrical, anything out of place creates a visual noise. It’s like a crooked painting. I can’t ignore it.”
Marco let out a low whistle, crossing his muscular arms.
“My security sweeps missed it,” Marco admitted, a muscle feathering in his jaw. “We sweep for frequencies, but if the device was dormant and voice-activated, the scanners wouldn’t pick it up unless someone was talking directly next to it.”
“And no one talks at this end of the table,” Victor murmured, staring at his late mother’s chair. “Because I forbade it.”
“It was the perfect blind spot,” Marco agreed. “Whoever planted this knew your family’s habits. They knew no one would dare touch the chair, making it the safest place in the house to hide a bug.”
Victor turned his piercing silver-gray eyes back to Emma. He looked at her not as a maid, but as a puzzle he hadn't yet solved.
“People underestimate you, don’t they, Emma?” Victor asked softly.
Emma felt a flush rise to her cheeks that had nothing to do with Harold’s slap. “Yes, sir.”
“They look at your uniform, they look at your figure, and they assume you are slow. They assume you are invisible.”
“Most people don’t see the help, Mr. Blackwood,” Emma replied honestly. “We are just part of the furniture.”
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Victor’s lips curved into a faint, dangerous smile.
“Exactly. And furniture hears everything.”
