Martha walked down the hallway, the tray of breakfast balanced carefully in her hands, each step heavier than the last as the weight of her thoughts pressed down on her. Her jaw clenched, and her eyes narrowed as she replayed her conversation with Gregory in the kitchen. Men are so predictable. A woman shows a bit of skin, flutters her eyelashes, and suddenly they're helpless. She scowled, thinking of how flustered Gregory had been when he returned from Lena's room. The way he looked... Martha knew exactly what had happened without him needing to say a word.
But now it was her turn. She was going to face Lena head-on, tray in hand, and try to maintain her dignity. It's just breakfast. Just drop it off and leave, Martha. No need to give her the satisfaction. But as she approached Lena's door, a creeping sense of dread mingled with her jealousy. She knew Lena had gotten under her skin, and it irritated her to no end.
Martha knocked on Lena's door, her heart already hammering with irritation from their last encounter. She balanced the tray carefully, the smell of hot food wafting through the narrow corridor. Just deliver it, and leave. Don't give her the satisfaction, Martha. She's nothing but trouble, she repeated in her head. Yet the moment the door opened, revealing Lena lounging lazily on the bed, cigarette between her fingers, Martha's resolve wavered.
Lena didn't say anything at first, just eyed Martha with that same infuriating smirk, her lips curved in amusement as if she already knew how much she bothered the maid. She made no move to sit up or show even the slightest politeness.
Martha clenched her jaw. "I brought your breakfast," she said, stepping into the room without invitation. Lena barely moved, watching her with a raised eyebrow, the cigarette now dangling loosely from her lips.
"Set it there," Lena said, motioning lazily to the small table by the window, her voice carrying that same sultry tone, the one that set Martha's teeth on edge.
Martha placed the tray down a bit more forcefully than she intended. "I also wanted to let you know," she began, trying to keep her voice steady, "that we'll be expecting your luggage this afternoon."
Lena's eyes flicked over to her, disinterested. "Good to know," she muttered, taking a slow drag of her cigarette and exhaling a cloud of smoke. She didn't bother to thank Martha, not that Martha was expecting any courtesy from her.
As Martha turned to leave, she hesitated. I should just go. Don't let her get to you. But then Lena, perhaps sensing her frustration, decided to prod further.
"Is this all the service you offer here?" Lena asked suddenly, her voice dripping with mockery. "I mean, the food's decent, but where's the charm? The friendliness? I was hoping for a bit more... hospitality." She gave Martha a pointed look, the words coated with sarcasm and suggestion.
Martha's stomach churned, her irritation bubbling up. She turned sharply, unable to stop herself. "Hospitality doesn't mean putting up with every bit of nonsense that comes from a guest's mouth." The words were out before she could stop them. Her face flushed, and she added hastily, "Especially when they've got no manners."
Lena let out a soft laugh, lounging back on the bed, clearly unbothered by Martha's rising anger. "Manners?" she repeated, smirking. "And here I thought I was the guest. Shouldn't it be me complaining about your lack of... warmth?"
Martha's fists clenched at her sides. She's playing games, trying to get under my skin. Don't let her. But it was hard to ignore how effortlessly Lena had slipped into this role of provocateur.
Lena, noticing the tightness in Martha's stance, inhaled deeply from her cigarette again, then, with an exaggerated motion, flicked the ashes onto the floor. Right in front of Martha. The deliberate act sent a jolt of anger through her. It was one thing for Lena to be rude with her words, but this—this was disrespect.
Martha couldn't hold back anymore. "Do you mind not using my floor as your ashtray?"
Lena didn't even bother to look down at the scattered ashes. She met Martha's glare with a look of pure boredom. "Oh, relax. It's just a little ash," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "You clean up after people all the time, don't you? It's your job, right?"
That hit home. Martha's face burned with humiliation, but it was the arrogance in Lena's voice that cut the deepest. The maid's inner monologue screamed at her to leave, but she couldn't. Not when she felt so small under Lena's gaze, not when she had to prove to herself that she wouldn't let some arrogant woman walk all over her.
Lena's smirk widened, clearly enjoying the turmoil she was stirring up. "You know," she began, her voice smooth and laced with condescension, "I've been in all sorts of places. But this—" she gestured around the small room, "this little village, this inn, it's... quaint. Charming, I suppose. In a rundown, neglected sort of way."
Martha felt a sting of pride in her chest. She's insulting everything. She straightened up, her hands trembling at her sides. "It's not neglected," she snapped, her voice more forceful than she intended. "We work hard to keep this place running."
Lena leaned back on the bed, unphased. "Do you, now?" She took another slow drag of her cigarette, letting the smoke curl lazily in the air. "Maybe you should work harder."
Martha's heart raced. The sheer audacity of Lena left her speechless for a moment. It was as though every little thing she said was designed to cut her down. How can someone be this vile?
Lena stretched, her body arching in a way that was almost suggestive, her eyes never leaving Martha's. "Oh, don't be so tense. You'll get wrinkles."
Martha's fists tightened, her nails digging into her palms. Wrinkles? The patronizing tone sent waves of anger through her. It wasn't just about how Lena was behaving, it was about the way she made Martha feel—insignificant. Small. Like she wasn't good enough. Like everything she did was beneath her.
"Is that all you needed?" Lena asked, now waving Martha off with the same casual arrogance. "You can run along and do your... duties."
Martha wanted to say something biting, something that would wipe that smug look off Lena's face. But instead, she just stood there, her lips pressed together in a thin line, feeling her frustration bubbling beneath the surface. She's not worth it, she repeated in her head. She's not worth it.
As she turned to leave, Lena spoke up one more time, her voice low and teasing. "Oh, and Martha? Don't forget to clean up the mess." She flicked another bit of ash onto the floor, her smile wide and mocking.
Martha stormed out of the room, her chest tight with rage. How dare she? Her hands were shaking as she clenched them into fists. She thinks she can just treat people however she wants. Well, we'll see about that. But deep down, she knew there was little she could do. Lena had paid, and she was a guest, no matter how infuriating she was.
As Martha stomped down the hallway, her mind whirled with angry thoughts. She's nothing but trouble, a snake in a pretty dress. How can anyone stand to be around someone like her?
She stopped at the door of the other guest, taking a deep breath to compose herself before knocking. The door opened, and the man inside looked at her curiously.
"Breakfast is served in the dining area," Martha said, her voice still tight with the leftover frustration from her encounter with Lena.
"Thank you," the man said politely, stepping out into the hallway.
Martha gave a curt nod and walked back to the kitchen. I'll deal with her later, she thought grimly. But something tells me this isn't over. Not by a long shot.