The staircase was tucked away at the side of the grand auditorium, a place where shadows stretched long beneath the soft light filtering from the ornate building''s exterior.
This corner of the grounds, while still part of the prestigious academy, felt worlds apart from the polished pathways and manicured lawns bustling with students and servants.
Here, it was quiet but far from serene—this was a space for indulgence and irreverence, a hidden pocket of rebellion within the school''s grandeur.
At the top of the stairs sat a towering woman, her presence as commanding as the thick shackle with chains subtly wrapped around her wrists, resting like accessory showing defiance.
One leg bent upward, her knee drawn close to her chest, while the other stretched lazily down the steps.
The fabric of her maid uniform parted just enough to reveal short bloomers beneath the long skirt, adding a curious mix of rugged charm and old-fashioned propriety.
Her loose ponytail swayed with every casual motion, strands of golden hair catching the light.
She leaned on her bent knee, gripping a half-empty whiskey bottle as though it were a natural extension of her hand.
Despite her languid pose, her muscled frame exuded readiness, like a coiled spring waiting for a reason to leap.
A faint smirk played on her lips, daring anyone to disturb her moment of revelry.
Halfway down the staircase, a refined woman sat with all the composure of a noble herself.
She rested on a neatly folded handkerchief, avoiding direct contact with the dirt-streaked stairs beneath her.
Her long skirt flowed in elegant folds around her crossed legs, though the faint hint of a garter belt peeked out as she adjusted her position.
One hand cradled a small glass of whiskey, swirling the amber liquid with a deliberate elegance.
Her other hand rested near an uncapped bottle beside her, its fine label a testament to her exacting standards.
Every sip she took was slow and measured, as though savoring not just the taste but the entire act of enjoyment.
Her thin, framed glasses gleamed faintly in the light, and a knowing smirk curled at the edges of her lips.
At the base of the stairs, sprawled on the dirt path without a care, sat a smaller figure.
Her short hair framed her sharp, youthful features, and her shorter maid uniform—barely reaching below her knees—shifted as she stretched one leg out, the other bent.
Her black pantyhose bore faint streaks of dirt from where she sat, but she paid it no mind.
A flask balanced on her lap as she poured whiskey into it with one hand while sipping straight from the bottle cradled in the other.
Nearby, a small pile of peculiar snacks—deep-fried squid tentacles dusted with sugar and chili flakes—lay scattered on a napkin.
Her free hand occasionally darted to grab a piece, stuffing her mouth full before chewing with quiet satisfaction.
She moved with an air of defiance, entirely at ease with the untidiness of her surroundings.The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
The muscular maid at the top of the stairs raised her bottle, gesturing lazily toward her refined companion.
"As expected, Cecilia," she said, her voice carrying a rough, teasing warmth.
"You always manage to bring the finest drinks."
Her free hand tapped the edge of a wooden crate nearby, its remaining bottles clinking faintly.
Two untouched bottles nestled within, while the rest had clearly been consumed.
The glasses maid, gave a small smile without opening her eyes.
"You can thank my lady later," she replied, her tone light yet precise.
The petite maid, her cheeks puffed with food, mumbled something incomprehensible through her full mouth.
The glasses maid sighed, adjusting her glasses.
"Swallow first, Feli," she said with a hint of exasperation.
"Then talk."
After a loud gulp, the short-haired maid pointed her flask toward The glasses maid.
"I was saying," she began, "isn''t Northam House also dealing with same big problems lately?"
The glasses maid''s expression shifted slightly, her gaze sharpening as she sipped her drink.
"What I''ve heard," she said, her voice calm but edged with seriousness, "is that their situation is far worse than my master."
She took another measured sip before adding, "Thankfully, our house isn''t under as much pressure."
At this, the towering maid, tilted her head and stared at her empty bottle.
She quickly opened another, the hiss of the seal breaking adding a faint edge to the silence.
"You sure about that?" she asked, her voice thoughtful as she took a deep gulp.
The glasses maid swirled her whiskey with a contemplative air, her tone calm but edged with mischief.
"When I saw my lady''s mother talking to them, her smile was the same, but her neck wasn''t shining with sweat like usual."
The muscular maid raised an eyebrow.
"Sweat?"
The glasses maid nodded, taking a delicate sip.
"It''s a tell. When she''s cornered in negotiations, she sweats—just a little, right along the collar."
She paused, a sly smile curling her lips.
"And to confirm my theory... let''s just say her evening laundry offered no surprises."
The petite maid froze mid-chew, her brows furrowing.
"Ceci, you''re seriously sniffing laundry now?"
"Purely for research," she replied smoothly, adjusting her glasses.
"And today''s whiskey? A direct result of what I didn''t find."
The muscular maid barked a laugh, though she looked somewhat baffled.
"Now you mention it... Amelia was sent to Northam House just before last weekend," she said, as if recalling a half-forgotten memory.
The glasses maid arched an eyebrow.
"Amelia?"
The petite maid was quick to answer, pointing at the muscular maid.
"You know—her ''friend from work.''"
She raised her fingers to mimic quotation marks, her tone implying an indiscreet understanding of Amelia''s role.
The glasses maid adjusted her glasses, comprehension dawning in her expression.
"Ah, so that''s it."
The muscular maid frowned slightly, her grip on her bottle tightening.
"Wait, I thought you already knew Amelia?"
The glasses maid sighed, shaking her head.
"You and your secret gatherings have too many layers.
Even I lose track of your conversations."
The muscular maid turned to the petite maid, an almost accusatory look in her eyes.
"But Felicity, you know Amelia, don''t you?"
The petite maid shrugged nonchalantly.
"Nope, just the name.
I just pick up bits from your vague ramblings."
The muscular maid groaned, rubbing her temple.
"Sometimes I confuse myself with all the things I do," she admitted.
The petite maid stuffed another piece of her odd snack into her mouth, her tone muffled but teasing.
"Well, sounds like Northam''s doing fine if your ''friend from work'' is involved."
The muscular maid gave a half-hearted nod, downing another swig from her bottle.
"I hope so," she murmured before letting out a loud, satisfied sigh.
"Fuaaaahhh! This hits hard."
The glasses maid chuckled softly, swirling the whiskey in her glass.
Her next comment came far too casually,
"If only I could enjoy this drink while admiring my lady''s ample bosom."
The petite maid frowned, her expression twisting into a grimace.
"Ceci, you''re perv."
As the petite maid stuffed another piece of her odd snack into her mouth, her gaze shifted sharply.
She hurriedly swallowed, her voice dropping to a low murmur.
"Hey, Bridget. Ceci. Look over there."
The muscular maid tipped her bottle slightly, her golden ponytail swaying as she followed the direction of her companion''s gaze.
Her eyes landed on a familiar figure—a tall, broad-shouldered young man whose sharp expression radiated a mix of annoyance and disgust.
Not far beside him, a more refined presence hovered, his elegant posture contrasting with the faint crease of exasperation on his face.
The taller figure''s dark suit clung to his form like armor, while the other''s blue-vested attire gleamed faintly in the soft light.
Bridget''s smirk widened, and she leaned back slightly, her bottle dangling lazily from her fingertips.
"Well, well," she drawled, her tone both amused and challenging.
"If it isn''t Ed boy."