The dining room always felt colder at night. Not because of the air, but because it was Xavier's domain — polished marble floors, walls too quiet, shadows that made you feel watched. Jemma walked in with the serving tray, balancing the silver domes that hid his dinner. Her shoulders ached from the day's work, but she made sure not to let it show. Showing weakness here was like bleeding in front of a shark.
Xavier was already seated at the head of the long table. His black shirt was rolled at the sleeves, revealing strong forearms marked with faint scars, reminders that he didn't get his position by being kind. He didn't look at her as she set his plate down, but she could feel his eyes flick over her, measuring every move.
"You'll be the one to serve all my meals from now on," he said, voice low but cutting. "I want you in my room first thing every morning. You'll get whatever I ask for. No one else."
Jemma swallowed. She hated how his orders always sounded less like instructions and more like a sentence being passed.
"Is that clear?" His tone sharpened.
She gave a small nod, not trusting herself to speak without her voice shaking.
"I believe you can speak," he said, eyes lifting to hers.
"Crystal clear, Don," she replied, forcing the title past her lips. It always left a bitter taste.
She turned to leave, relief just starting to creep in, but his voice stopped her cold.
"Whatever happened this morning…" his gaze lingered, just long enough to make her feel pinned in place, "…won't happen again."
She didn't need him to explain further, she knew he meant her locking herself in his closet hours earlier. Without waiting for her response, he began eating. The sound of his knife against the porcelain was the only thing she heard as she walked out.
The night dragged. Jemma didn't sleep much; she rarely did in this house. Every creak in the hallway sounded like footsteps. Sometimes she swore she could hear the echo of her father's voice, but it was just the memory of the night Xavier took everything from her and left her here instead of burying her beside the man who'd raised her. A constant reminder that she wasn't free, that she was still useful to him in ways she didn't understand.
When morning came, she was woken by Lucy knocking on her door. "You're needed in the dining room. Don wants you to serve breakfast."
Jemma pulled on her uniform without comment. If Xavier had decided she'd be the one to serve all his meals, she didn't have the luxury of sleeping in anymore. She trudged to the kitchen, where the cooks were already plating food.
"Here," Mandy said, handing her a glass. "It's his water. Make sure it's from the spring bottles in the pantry. He doesn't drink fridge water."
Jemma frowned. "Seriously?"
Daisy gave her a look that said not to ask questions. "Seriously. And it better be cold not 'just sat in the pantry' cold. There's a cooler in the back."
Jemma muttered something under her breath but did as told. The bottle was heavier than it looked, and she poured it into a crystal glass before setting it on the tray with his breakfast.
When she stepped into the dining room, Xavier was already there, reading something on his phone. Two other maids were clearing the side tables. The room was quiet enough to hear the faint clink of the tray as she set it down in front of him.
He didn't look at the food first, he went straight for the water. Lifted the glass, took one sip, and stopped. His jaw tightened.
"This is warm," he said flatly.
"It's from the pantry," Jemma replied before she could stop herself. "Daisy said—"
The glass hit the table harder than necessary. "I didn't ask what Daisy said." His eyes narrowed. "I asked for cold water."
Before she could move, he took the glass by the rim and let it fall. The sound of crystal shattering on marble made everyone in the room jump. Water spilled across the floor, seeping toward her shoes. A few shards skidded close to her feet.
"Clean it," he said simply, going back to his phone.
Her hands trembled slightly as she crouched to gather the shards. She knew better than to argue, arguments never went well with Xavier. But the fifth piece she picked up sliced across her palm. She hissed softly at the sting and felt warmth bloom against her skin. Blood.
The other maids froze, unsure whether to help or keep their heads down. Normally, Xavier wouldn't bother noticing something like this.
But he noticed.
He stood, the scrape of his chair against the floor making her flinch. He came around the table, his presence swallowing up the space between them. Before she could pull back, his hand closed around her wrist. Firm. Controlling.
"You bleed over a scratch?" he said, his tone carrying a thread of disdain.
The maids exchanged quick, wide-eyed glances. Xavier didn't help people. Ever.
He examined her hand without gentleness, turning it so he could see the cut. It wasn't deep enough to need stitches, but it was bleeding steadily. "Pathetic," he muttered, though his other hand was already pulling a folded piece of gauze from his pocket, not from the kitchen's supply, but from his own, as if he always carried it. Lucy took the initiative and rushed to get a medical tape.
The gauze pressed into her palm hard enough to make her suck in a breath. "If you can't handle glass, what use are you?" His words stung almost as much as the cut.
Emily, still holding a coffee pot, hesitated. "Should I—?"
"No," Xavier cut in without looking at her. He took the roll of medical tape from Lucy without asking and wrapped Jemma's palm himself. The movements were quick, precise, practiced. Like someone who'd bandaged wounds a hundred times before. He didn't bother smoothing the tape; he just made sure it would hold.
When he let go, it was abrupt, as though the moment had never happened. He stepped back toward his seat. "Clean the rest of it," he said, sitting down again. "Without cutting yourself this time."
Jemma didn't miss the way the other maids kept staring. She'd never seen them so openly surprised. Whatever that moment between her and Xavier had been, it wasn't normal here.
By the time she finished cleaning and refilled his water, from the cooler this time. Her palm throbbed under the tape. She set the new glass down in silence. He drank without comment. The maids kept their heads down. No one dared to mention the broken glass, or the fact that the Don had bent down to help anyone, least of all her.
Jemma knew better than to mistake it for kindness. In Xavier's world, even small mercies came with sharp edges.