The maid winced in pain but lifted her chin stubbornly.
“Let me go.”
Instead, the guard shoved her backward hard enough that the plate of fruit crashed against the stone driveway.
Apples rolled across the ground.
The maid hit the pavement painfully.
Several servants gasped.
The beggar moved instinctively.
Too fast.
Much too fast for a starving old man.
He caught her before her head struck the stone.
The guard frowned immediately.
Something about that reaction felt wrong.
The beggar slowly helped the maid stand.
“Are you hurt?” he asked quietly.
She shook her head.
But her eyes glistened slightly.
Not from fear.
Humiliation.
The kind people carry silently for years.
Then suddenly—
a black luxury sedan turned into the driveway.
The staff immediately straightened.
The guard released the maid at once.
Because only one person used that car.
Margaret Kingston.
Alexander’s mother.
The vehicle stopped.
An elegant woman in diamonds stepped out slowly, her sharp eyes scanning the scene instantly.
Broken fruit.
The maid trembling.
The beggar.
And her security guard breathing heavily with anger.
“What is going on here?” she asked coldly.
The guard pointed immediately.
“This maid assaulted me while protecting a homeless man trespassing outside the property.”
Margaret’s eyes narrowed toward the maid.
“What’s your name?”
“Anna, ma’am.”
“How long have you worked here?”
“Three years.”
Margaret stepped closer slowly.
“And you attacked security over this?”
Anna swallowed hard.
“He was hurting him.”
Margaret looked at the beggar with visible disgust.
