The whiskey glass flies past you and shatters into pieces behind you - alcohol dripping down the deep burgundy wallpaper of the parlour, much like the rage in the eyes of the crazed woman in front you - making you instantly shiver in resentment and fear while forcing yourself to keep your head down.

"I just know you stole my earrings, you bitch!" The woman - Devon screeched, coming into your face. Another self-centered woman that you had to serve, followed by your employer's mother, who had brought Devon into this house so she could marry her to his son, and your employer, Caesar Oakville.

Whilst you stood frozen, completely overwhelmed with the blatant and flagrant accusations and the violent temperament Devon was showing - with her quivering and glazed pupils blown out from clear yet unwarranted rage borne from jealousy, Caesar's mother sipped tea like it was a casual Thursday, looking down at you condescendingly like you were mere filth, because you were just a servant in this house, of no standing and no money - being forced to take up this work and suffer under this umpteenth elitist breakdown, for money. Money, that would help you pay for your college debt in two years than slaving away at general part-times for most of your youth.

But then your eyes widen, as you watch Devon raise her hand and once again the instincts beg you to flinch and look away for the sake of the money that would allow you a better life soon - before the doors suddenly open. The butler, frantic and pale, as he quickly ushers in him - your employer, Caesar. The Caesar who'd come once into the kitchen after the first time you'd come here and seen you, before finding reasons to always make time to spend in there from then on, the Caesar who would look at you when he thought you weren't noticing - a soft, almost yearning glint that had your heart opening for the older man despite clearly understanding the difference in status, and the difference in class. The Caesar who'd gifted you a pair of iridescent pearl earrings as a birthday present, even when you hadn't expected him to know - those very earrings now, you realised probably were worth an amount you probably wouldn't be able to digest, given how volatile Devon had become after changing upon your trying your earrings on and convincing herself that you conveniently stole them.

And as you turn and squeeze your eyes shut for the hit to land, you a feel an oppressive, overwhelming and dangerous aura fall upon you, and yet, the voice that beckons you to open your eyes is tender, the touch that rests on your wrist - rough and huge hands, emanating an odd warmth despite how calloused they are - when your eyes slowly open, deep grey orbs shine into your soul anxiously, as if checking upon a piece of his own, "...are you hurt?"