The Fall

A woman with sharp cheekbones and icy eyes approached from the stone steps. Her shoes tapped with military accuracy, and her blue suit was immaculate. Housekeeper Natalia Westbrook is in charge. Her eyes moved like a laser across Evelyn.

"Survive this place," Natalia remarked in a low, clipped voice, "and you'll survive anything."

Evelyn took a deep breath. Was it a test or a warning?

She entered a vast hall after passing through the entrance doors. Chandeliers made of crystal hung from a ceiling so high that they appeared to blend into the darkness. The walls gleamed with gold accents. The air was heavy with the smell of old money and polished wood.

Passing employees in sanitised uniforms gave her a sour look as her trainers creaked on the marble. As she got closer to the service area, her heart continued to race. This employment was necessary for her. She required the funds to maintain her roof over her head and to ward off the debt collectors.

She kept thinking about what Natalia had said. Make it through. Since her father's passing, she had only done that. However, this home seemed like entering an unarmoured battlefield because of its vacuous opulence and unseen tension.

The tight, strange garment of her ebony maid clung to her like a second skin. She looked down in the hopes of disappearing.

She stopped to reposition her hold at the east corridor, but a voice abruptly stopped her.

A woman remarked, "You have to accept it, Isaac," with a stern and authoritative tone. "This empire was founded by your father. Get married to Camilla's buddy or face the consequences.

Evelyn felt her heart quicken. The voice belonged to the matriarch of Blackwell, Vivienne Hastings, whose name was muttered like a curse among the servant ranks.

Her heart thumping in her chest, she moved towards the door.

A strong, piercing voice from a man answered. "I’d rather let it burn."

Evelyn shuddered at the contempt in those remarks. Who was that? Why would he take the chance of disobeying Vivienne Hastings?

A breath stuck in Evelyn's throat as the door slid inward.

A tall, broad-shouldered man with sharp features and grey eyes that appeared to be carved out of ice emerged. Like a tiger spotting prey, his eyes were fixed on her. The stress emanating from him was everything but professional, despite the easy elegance with which his tailored tuxedo hugged his form.

"Eavesdropping?" His voice was low and menacing. "How bold."

Evelyn's hand slipped. The tray swayed. Fluted crystals fell. Her shoes were covered with champagne as the glass cracked against the marble.

The entire planet went cold. The sound of shattered glass reverberated down the corridor, drawing attention to the location of her failure. Her cheeks were burning.

Beside the man, Vivienne Hastings materialised, her cold-blue eyes narrowing as they met Evelyn's. A rapacious smile curved her scarlet lips.

Drawling, "Ah," Vivienne said. Even serving drinks without making a scene is beyond the help's capabilities. What a shock.

The crowd erupted in laughter. As she collected the shards, Evelyn fell to her knees, her hands shaking. Her palm was cut by a sharp edge. The spotless floor was soaked with blood.

She suppressed her tears. Not in this place. Not in their presence.

A shining shoe entered her field of vision. The man squatted next to her, his face unreadable. He reached for her injured hand and held out a silk handkerchief.

He's assisting me, but why?

They looked at each other. Her breath caught in the electrifying shock of the brief contact.

"Enough," growled Vivienne. "She's been let go. Remove her.

Security came over. Evelyn was led to the exit, standing trembling and clutching her injured hand. Until the doors shut behind her, the man's eyes followed her.

Like a slap, the chilly night air struck. With her embarrassment suffocating her, Evelyn leaned against the stone railing, her pulse irregular.

From the shadows came footsteps. The man stepped out, his face unreadable.

He replied, "I might have a proposition for you," in a smooth and deadly voice.

Evelyn felt her heart thump.

"What kind of proposition?"

His eyes were piercing and black as he drew slightly closer.

"The kind that could change your life."

With each syllable cutting through the atmosphere, she asked, "Who let the convent girl into civilised company?" The length of her emerald gown swept across the marble as she drew closer, her ruby lips curving into a smirk.

Evelyn's throat became constricted. She knelt down on the chilly floor and pressed a serviette to her bleeding hand. The overpowering perfume of flowers and champagne blended with the coppery smell of blood. Soft and savage, like hyenas circling a wounded animal, laughter whirled around her, burning her cheeks.

Vivienne lowered herself just enough to look Evelyn in the eye. The light from the chandelier splintered like tiny knives from the elder woman's diamond earrings.

Vivienne remarked, "Trash will always belong in the gutter," in a sweet voice. "Did you think a borrowed dress and a name tag could make you one of us?"

Evelyn's eyesight became blurry from unshed tears. Her legs wouldn't cooperate, even though she wanted to stand, speak, or do anything. A dozen broken incarnations of herself were reflected in the broken crystal surrounding her: tiny, helpless, and undetectable.

Isaac Blackwell stood behind Vivienne, watching. He clenched his jaw, but remained silent. For a brief instant, his eyes met Evelyn's like two storms. Then he turned his back.

It was total humiliation.

With a slight wobble, Evelyn got up and staggered to the door. Vivienne's laughter reverberated behind her as she walked through the gilt doors.

The night air outside was crisp and purifying. With her chest heaving, Evelyn leaned against the stone balustrade. She dripped blood from her palm onto the icy floor. It was a grounding hurt. Actual. In contrast to the twisted farce she had just experienced.

Once more, the enormous doors creaked open. Deliberate, methodical footsteps came up behind them. Her heart pounding, she braced herself.

There was a deep voice asking, "Leaving so soon?"

She pivoted. With his hands in his pockets, Isaac Blackwell stood in the shadows. He appeared more marble than flesh due to the sharp shadows cast over his face by the mansion lights.

Evelyn stood up straight and held onto the railing. "What do you want?"

Though it never made it to his eyes, his lips quirked. "You're bleeding."

Evelyn raised her hand and gritted her teeth. "Must’ve been the highlight of the night."

"Vivienne plays with her food before devouring it," stated Isac. "You gave her quite the show."

His comments were more painful than the glass. Her pulse quickened as she took a step back. She felt the cold stone against her back.

Her teeth were gritted as she ordered, "Go back inside," "I’m not your problem."

He remained silent for a minute. He glanced down at the crimson-soaked handkerchief. His jaw moved as though he was having trouble making a choice. Then, without saying another word, he turned and left.

Against the railing, Evelyn slumped. "Good," she told herself. Ignorance is preferable to being played with.

Up the driveway slid a sleek black vehicle. The passenger window came down. Her veins trembled at the sound of the speaking voice.

"Get in."

With blood dripping from her hand, Evelyn remained motionless on the gravel walkway. Like a predatory creature, the black automobile sat still. Isaac Blackwell was sitting in the rear seat when the tinted window slipped further down. There was none of the warmth she might anticipate from a guy giving a wounded woman a ride in his grey eyes.

"Why me?" Her tone faltered.

He glanced down at her hand. "Because you're expendable."

Like ice breaking under slender boots, the word shattered the silence. Evelyn retreated half a step. His words coiled around her like a rope, but the warmth of the automobile beckoned.

The word "Expendable," she repeated. "Is that supposed to reassure me?"

"No," he replied. "It's the truth."

From the inside, the door clicked open. The slight smell of cologne and leather spilt into the night, along with the heat. Evelyn felt her senses telling her to leave. to sprint. But the avalanche of unpaid bills, the incessant calls from debt collectors, and the eviction notice affixed on her flat door kept her stuck.

"Survival isn't pretty," her father's voice reverberated from the past. It's a difficult decision game.

With her damaged hand shaking in her lap, she sank into the seat. With a gentle thump, the door shut, enclosing her in the luxury cocoon.

Isaac put his elbows on his knees and leaned forward a little. Now she could see the features she had missed in the confusion: the small scar along his temple, the sharp cut of his jawline. The air was tickled by the rich, woodsy aroma of his perfume.

Her throat was dry as she enquired, "Where are we going?"

"To make a deal."

The vehicle withdrew from the mansion. In the moonlight, Blackwell Manor loomed through the rear window like a gothic nightmare.

Evelyn left a trace of scarlet on the leather bench where she pushed her palm. Every time the tires turned, her heart raced.

"Why me?" she said, her voice lower.

The closest thing she had ever seen to amusement was Isaac's twitching mouth. "Because you're desperate enough to say yes."

When she realised he was correct, she shuddered.

Beyond the glass, the city lights were blurry. In one shameful night, her destiny had changed.

What did I just consent to?