Brutal Kings...damn..{Ongoing)

20

The entire Cornell family gathered around the dining table, for the second time in the year. This evening, a fresh presence joined them: Uriel, a young woman of 20, whose bright crimson fingernails fitted with the color of her ruby pendent resting on her chest. She had returned from studying abroad and was now back for an internship at the family's renowned business. It was decided she would stay in their grand home—a space that whispered luxury in every corner. Uriel found it both comforting and intimidating, a place where childhood echoes and youthful embarrassments met.

Her mother, Mrs Cornell's cousin sister, always in motion due to her event planning career, was miles away, leaving Uriel to reconnect with familiar faces alone. She hadn't stayed overnight with the Cornells since she was sixteen, the year she had celebrated her birthday, only for the night to take an awkward turn. That night, Daniel—Clinton's close friend—had kissed her in a hidden corner, the thrill short-lived when Clinton stumbled upon them. He had paused, sighed, and closed the door, eyes rolling in silent disapproval. The shame that followed sent Uriel scurrying away, leaving only silence between her and Clinton from that day forward. Attempts at reaching out to him had been met with nothing but an empty response.

Standing in the hallway, memories brushed her with a mix of nostalgia and unease. "It's been four years," she'd said softly, more to herself than to anyone. Her eyes met Clinton's, who was ascending the stairs, his brow furrowed in surprise. She stretched out her hand, a hopeful smile curving her lips.

He paused, his expression shifting between surprise and something unreadable before he finally took her hand. "When did you get here?" he asked, voice steady, but eyes searching.

"Yesterday," Uriel replied, a warmth had spread through her at the brief contact.

*
Tasha moved deftly among the kitchen staff and Mrs. Ruth, helping set the table and bringing out bowls of food that had been emptied. As she served, she caught Clinton stealing glances her way, his gaze a mix of curiosity and something deeper. Uriel, seated between the other girls, chatted animatedly about her excitement to stay in the house for a while, though it was bittersweet—the girls would be leaving in the morning.

Clinton chewed on his vegetable stew, his attention drifting toward Tasha as she moved about the room. Just as she began to walk away, he feigned a cough, a subtle signal that drew everyone's eyes to him, including hers. "Pour out the drink for me," he instructed, his eyes fixed intently on her. The moment felt charged, and Tasha's heart raced as she approached his seat, her hands trembling slightly as she poured juice into his glass.

"Thank you," he said, taking the cup to his lips, his gaze still locked on her.

"Fill me some too!" Uriel called out, her voice carrying through the room. She felt a flicker of envy at the young maid's full hair, tucked away beneath her scarf. Nodding, Tasha moved to where Uriel sat, but in her haste, the nearly full cup slipped from her grasp, spilling juice across the tablecloth, staining the pristine white fabric where the girl with the tattoo on her wrist sat.

"Aww, clumsy," Uriel remarked, her tone teasing but laced with irritation. Tasha's cheeks burned as she apologized, wishing she could disappear. The eyes of the room felt heavy upon her, and she could sense the shift in atmosphere. What had started as a jovial gathering now felt burdened by her mistake. Panic welled up inside her, threatening to spill over into tears.

"I'll clean this up immediately," she managed, her voice shaky. Tasha's heart sank as she began to gather the plates, the weight of her blunder pressing down on her. In that moment, she felt like an intruder in a family celebration.

"Thank goodness it didn't stain my gown." Uriel was telling Daisy. "You need to be more careful," she added, her voice tinged with frustration.

Tasha stole a glance at the boy across the table, worried he would be disappointed in her. She averted her gaze, feeling the weight of his scrutiny. Clinton rolled his eyes at Uriel's endless complaints, wishing she would just be quiet. It seemed to him that she thrived on the attention, and it irked him. His patience wearing thin, he finally said, his tone calm but firm, "Leave it." The room fell silent, all eyes on him, unsure of whom he was addressing. "The cleaners will handle that," he added, a protective instinct bubbling up within him. He couldn't explain why he felt compelled to speak up; perhaps he just didn't want to see her serving anyone but him.