The Truth

Ch.13: Apology

I poured myself a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid swirling in the dim light of the kitchen. The mansion was too quiet, and for once, I wasn't in my office. I needed a break from Alessia's endless demands, and this was as good a place as any to find some peace-though peace was a fleeting concept in this house.

I heard the soft padding of footsteps behind me. Turning slightly, I saw Angelica standing there, hair loose, wearing a silver robe that she clutched like she was afraid someone might snatch it away. She looked like a deer caught in headlights, or more accurately, like a mouse that just realized it had walked straight into a cat's lair.

"Oh..." she breathed out, but it sounded more like a scoff, a sound that was as surprised as it was defiant.

"Is there a reason you're wandering around the kitchen at this hour?" I asked, my voice as cold as the marble countertops she was standing beside. I took a slow sip of my drink, letting the silence stretch out just to see how uncomfortable she would get.

She shifted, her eyes darting around, clearly unsure whether to flee or explain herself. I couldn't help but feel a slight satisfaction at the sight-another person caught in the web of tension that seemed to be the natural state of this house.

"Needed some air," she finally muttered, though she looked about as ready to bolt as someone who'd just seen a ghost. "And maybe a drink."

"You look like you need more than just air," I replied, eyeing her from head to toe. Her robe was the only barrier between us, but it did little to hide the tension that radiated from her like a damn beacon. "Or are you planning to drown whatever it is in something stronger?"

Her eyes flicked to the bottle of whiskey in my hand, and for a moment, she looked tempted. But then she straightened up, probably realizing that drinking with me wasn't the best way to solve her problems.

"I don't need your drink, Mr. Caesar," she said, her voice gaining a bit of steel, but not enough to hide the nerves underneath.

"Suit yourself." I leaned against the counter, my gaze steady on her. "But if you're here to spill more secrets, I'd suggest you reconsider. I'm not in the mood for more drama tonight."

She flinched, and I saw it-just for a second-the flash of guilt or maybe something deeper. I wasn't sure, and I wasn't interested in playing therapist. She was in over her head, working here, dealing with people like Alessia, dealing with me. But that was her problem, not mine.

"Don't worry," she snapped back, but the defiance was laced with something else-fear, maybe. "I've got nothing to say."

"Good," I replied, turning my back to her. "Then we'll both enjoy the silence."

I could feel her still standing there, unsure of what to do. It was like watching someone teeter on the edge of a cliff, not knowing if they should jump or turn back. But eventually, she let out a frustrated huff and walked away, the sound of her footsteps fading into the night.

I drained the rest of my whiskey and poured another. The mansion might have been quiet, but the tension was always there, lurking in the corners, ready to pounce.

It wasn't even three minutes before Angelica came back, her expression a mix of reluctance and defiance as she positioned herself beside me.

"...Why are you like this?" she asked suddenly, breaking the silence with a question that sounded more like a frustrated accusation.

I glanced at her, my tone as firm as ever. "That's none of your concern."

She snorted, the sound barely escaping her lips, like she couldn't believe what she was hearing. "You're not going to fire me?"

"Why would I fire a maid I can trust?" I responded, my voice steady. It wasn't meant to be a compliment, just a simple statement of fact. My face, as always, remained as cold and unreadable as stone.

Angelica blinked, clearly taken aback by my response. "But... I snapped at you," she said, as if she needed to remind me of what had happened earlier, like I wasn't fully aware of it.

I shrugged, my gaze returning to the glass in my hand. "It's normal for dogs to bite at their master sometimes. Just not all the time."

The atmosphere shifted immediately, the tense calm replaced by the sharp edge of irritation as she turned to glare at me. I felt the smirk trying to creep onto my face but managed to keep it in check. I knew I'd ruined whatever truce we might've had, but there was a part of me that enjoyed pushing her buttons.

"You just had to ruin it, didn't you?" she snapped, her voice tinged with exasperation.

"Just stating the truth," I replied, not bothering to mask the amusement in my voice this time.

She rolled her eyes, the gesture so exaggerated I wondered if they might actually get stuck. "You're impossible."

"And yet, here you are," I countered, my tone as cold as ever. "Still standing here."

She clenched her jaw, clearly holding back a retort. But instead of leaving, she stayed rooted in place, her hands fidgeting with the edge of her robe as if she was wrestling with something internally.

Finally, she sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. "You really don't care, do you? About anything?"

I didn't answer right away, letting the silence hang between us for a moment. When I finally spoke, my voice was as firm as ever. "Caring isn't the same as acting on every impulse. You learn to pick your battles."

She looked up at me, her expression softer now, almost contemplative. "And what happens when you pick the wrong one?"

"Then you deal with the consequences," I replied, my gaze unwavering as I looked down at her.

For a moment, she just stared at me, like she was trying to see something beyond the cold exterior I wore like armor. But whatever it was she was looking for, she didn't find it. With a resigned sigh, she turned to leave again.

"Goodnight, Mr. Caesar," she said quietly, the fight in her voice gone.

"Goodnight, Angelica," I replied, watching as she walked away, her steps a little slower this time, as if she was finally letting the weight of the day catch up with her.

When she was gone, I set my glass down on the counter, the sound echoing softly in the empty kitchen. I wasn't sure what to make of her yet, this maid who had the nerve to stand up to me and the sense not to back down. But one thing was certain-Angelica was different. And maybe, just maybe, that was something worth paying attention to.