Chapter 215
[ 497 words ]
Chapter 215:
The sheer, suffocating weight of the jealousy snapped the last remaining thread of Harper’s sanity. Her vision tinted red. Blood rushed to her ears, creating a deafening roar.
Harper let out a high-pitched, hysterical shriek.
She lunged forward and grabbed the white cardboard box with both hands.
Agnes gasped and took a step back.
Harper spun around and violently hurled the box across the kitchen. It flew through the air and smashed directly into the heavy metal rim of a stainless-steel trash can.
𝘋і𝘀сov𝗲𝘳 𝗇𝗲𝘸 𝘴𝘵𝗼𝘳i𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝗇 g𝘢l𝗻𝗼𝗏𝗲𝗹𝘀.со𝗆
The box exploded. Golden, flaky pastry crusts and thick, sweet custard shattered across the pristine tile floor. The smell of vanilla and sugar filled the air, mixing with the metallic tang of the trash can.
Harper stood over the mess, her chest heaving violently. She pointed a shaking finger at the ruined food.
“No one eats anything that bitch brings into this house!” Harper screamed, her voice cracking with pure venom. “It’s poison! She is garbage!”
Finch did not flinch. He did not raise his voice. He simply looked at Harper with the cold, dead eyes of an executioner.
“Miss Harper,” Finch said. His voice was barely a whisper, but it cut through the kitchen like a razor blade. “You have just violently destroyed a gift that the General explicitly ordered to be distributed.”
The words hit Harper’s brain. The screaming stopped instantly.
Harper looked down at the smashed pastries on the floor. The adrenaline crashed, replaced by a massive, paralyzing wave of terror. She realized exactly what she had just done. She had defied a direct order from the General, while already on strict probation.
Her hands began to shake uncontrollably. She looked at Finch, her eyes wide with panic, realizing she had just handed the butler the exact ammunition he needed to have her thrown out of the estate forever.
The industrial kitchen was dead silent. The only sound was the low hum of the massive refrigerators.
Harper stared at the crushed pastries bleeding custard onto the floor tiles. Her heart hammered against her ribs so violently it made her chest ache. She looked up at Finch. The butler’s face was a mask of absolute, unforgiving ice. He was already mentally drafting the report to the General. If the General heard about this, Harper would be on the street by morning.
Before Harper could open her mouth to beg, the sharp, rapid click of heels echoed in the hallway.
Cornelia McDowell Romero swept into the kitchen. She wore a deep purple silk robe, her face tight with anxiety. She had heard the screaming from the grand staircase.
Cornelia took one look at the smashed box on the floor, Harper’s terrified face, and Finch’s cold stare. Her political survival instincts engaged instantly.
She did not hesitate. She walked directly toward Harper, her face twisting into a mask of exaggerated, maternal concern.
“Harper, darling!” Cornelia gasped loudly, grabbing Harper by the shoulders. “I told you your blood sugar was dangerously low! You are dizzy!”
Cornelia turned her head to look at Finch, projecting a flawless aura of aristocratic embarrassment.
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