Waiters in crisp black tailcoats moved silently around the long dining table. They carried heavy silver trays, serving the first course.
A waiter stopped next to Aubree. He carefully placed a deep bone-china bowl in front of her. It was filled to the brim with boiling hot lobster bisque. Thick steam rose from the orange liquid, carrying the rich scent of butter and cream.
The dining room was dead quiet, save for the faint clinking of silver spoons against porcelain.
Allyson picked up her crystal wine glass. She held it up, looking across the table at Aubree with a sickly sweet smile. "To new beginnings," she said.
Aubree placed her silver spoon down on the table. Courtesy demanded she return the gesture. She reached her right hand out toward her water goblet.
Suddenly, Allyson stood up. She leaned her upper body across the table, pretending to reach for the silver salt shaker near the centerpiece. But instead of grabbing the silver, Allyson faked a sudden, clumsy stumble. She let out a soft gasp, her arm flailing outward to catch her balance. As she moved, her elbow swung hard and fast, slamming directly into the heavy china bowl sitting precariously close to the table's edge.
The heavy china tipped over instantly.
The entire bowl of boiling, thick bisque poured off the edge of the table. The scalding liquid crashed directly onto Aubree's lap.
The heavy tweed fabric of her dress absorbed the boiling soup immediately, trapping the extreme heat directly against the sensitive skin of her thighs.
Aubree shot up from her chair. The heavy wooden chair tipped backward and crashed onto the hardwood floor with a deafening bang.
She opened her mouth wide, her facial muscles contorting in absolute agony. But her paralyzed vocal cords failed her. No sound came out. She could only gasp violently, her chest heaving as the skin on her legs began to blister and burn.
At that exact second, Allyson let out a piercing, blood-curdling scream.
Allyson grabbed her own right hand, clutching it to her chest. A few tiny drops of the soup had splashed onto the back of her knuckles.
Godfrey dropped his napkin. He shoved his chair back so hard it scraped against the floor. He rushed around the table and grabbed Allyson by the shoulders.
"Let me see," he demanded, his voice thick with panic. He gently pulled her hand away from her chest, staring at the small red spots on her skin.
Genevieve jumped up from her seat. "Call a doctor! Get the car!" she screamed at the butler.
Aubree fell to her knees on the floor. Her hands shook violently as she tried to pull the boiling, sticky fabric away from her skin. The pain was blinding, a white-hot fire eating through her flesh. Cold sweat poured down her forehead.
She lifted her head, her vision completely blurred by tears of pure agony. She looked at Godfrey.
Godfrey did not look at her. He did not even glance in her direction.
He bent down, scooped Allyson up into his arms, and turned toward the door. "Tell the driver to pull up to the front!" he roared at the staff.
He ran out of the dining room, carrying Allyson like a fragile piece of glass.
Genevieve ran after them, turning her head back just long enough to sneer at Aubree. "You clumsy, stupid girl!"
The heavy dining room doors swung shut.
The massive room was suddenly empty, except for Augusta sitting frozen at the head of the table, and Aubree kneeling in a puddle of soup.
Fiona, the head housekeeper, rushed into the room carrying a stack of wet, ice-cold towels. She dropped to her knees beside Aubree and began pressing the towels against the ruined dress.
Aubree stared at the closed wooden doors. She listened to the distant roar of the Maybach's engine starting up and speeding down the driveway.
The burning pain in her legs slowly started to turn into a dull, throbbing numbness. Inside her chest, the last remaining piece of her heart cracked completely in half.
She reached out and pushed Fiona's hands away. She grabbed the edge of the table and pulled herself up. Her legs shook violently, but her eyes were completely dry and hollow.
