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Chapter_83
The servant hesitated for a moment, looking between Freya and the others as if searching for an escape from the tension in the room. Finally, she spoke in a hushed voice, almost as if she were confessing a crime.
“Well, we… we saw them in the restroom, Miss Quinn and Mr. Walter. He… he caught her when she slipped on the floor. It was nothing, really. Just a… just a quick moment. But, well, they were close. Too close, if you ask me.” The servant’s voice trailed off, her eyes darting nervously from Freya to the others.
Freya’s lips curled into a tight, controlled smile. “Close?” she repeated, her voice sharp, yet laced with an unsettling calmness. “And what exactly do you mean by ‘close’?”
The servant swallowed again, clearly uncomfortable. “I mean… he had his hands around her waist… and they were, uh, looking at each other in a way that didn’t seem… like just helping her out. You know what I mean?”
Freya’s expression remained unreadable as she absorbed the information, her arms tightening across her chest. The silence that followed was heavy with tension, the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air. Her eyes flickered momentarily toward the door, where she could feel the presence of the others, but she gave no indication that she was about to let this go.
“And what else?” she pressed, her tone now more insistent.
“That’s it. They just… they were close,” the servant stammered, hoping that would be enough.
Freya nodded slowly, her gaze cold and unrelenting. “I see,” she murmured, turning on her heel and walking toward the door. She paused before exiting, her eyes scanning the room one final time. “Remember this moment well. You’ve just spoken about things that don’t concern you. If you’re not careful, it might cost you your jobs. Don’t think I won’t notice who’s been gossiping. This better stay quiet. Understood?”
The servants nodded fervently, their faces pale, each one eager to avoid Freya’s wrath. As she left the room, she couldn’t suppress the fleeting smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth. She’d gotten what she needed: a glimpse of the growing tension between Quinn and Walter. Now, it was time to use it to her advantage.
Meanwhile, Quinn, still reeling from the awkward moment with Walter, wandered through the corridors of the villa, lost in her thoughts. She had never expected her brief encounter with Walter to cause such a stir. Her hand instinctively brushed against her waist, where she still felt the warmth of his touch, an uninvited reminder of the intimacy she had never asked for but had still been swept up in.
She couldn’t deny the pull she had felt in that moment, the unexpected connection that had sparked between them. But she quickly dismissed the thought. What was she doing thinking about Walter, of all people? It was a dangerous game to play, especially with everything else going on in her life.
As she made her way back to the dining area, she could sense the eyes that followed her, the murmurs that spread like wildfire. She knew that gossip had already begun, and her brief interaction with Walter would no doubt become the topic of the evening. She felt the weight of their judgment, the unspoken questions hanging in the air.
But none of it mattered, she told herself. It couldn’t. She had her own battles to fight, her own demons to face. The distance growing between her and Alexander, the subtle but persistent friction within the Kennedy family—these were the things that truly occupied her mind, not idle rumors or whispered accusations.
Yet, as she entered the dining room, she couldn’t help but notice Freya’s cool gaze across the table. The tension was palpable. How much had Freya heard? How much had she pieced together?
Quinn sat down, her posture stiff, the weight of the evening settling on her shoulders. She could feel the eyes of the family on her, but she kept her head low, focusing on the food in front of her. The meal, meant to be a festive celebration, felt more like a carefully choreographed performance. The unspoken tension between the members of the family was too thick, too heavy to ignore.
And in that moment, Quinn couldn’t help but wonder: What was the real game being played here?
