Mafia Lord's Mute Sweetheart

Chapter 30: Chapter 30 Her mini experiments

Daisy reached for her small wooden box.

It was hidden under her bed, pushed all the way to the wall, behind her shoe box. She pulled it out carefully, her fingers brushing against the rough wood. The box was plain, unpainted, something she had found in the storage room months ago. It had been covered in dust, forgotten by everyone else. She had cleaned it and claimed it as her own.

Her mini experiments.

She opened the lid. Inside were bottles. Small glass bottles of all shapes and sizes, some with cork stoppers, some with tiny droppers. There were dried flowers wrapped in cloth: roses, lavender, jasmine, chamomile. There were small pouches of herbs she had collected from the garden: mint, rosemary, and thyme. There were oils and salts and little spoons for measuring.

She had learned to experiment with flowers. She would pick them in the early morning, when the dew was still on the petals, and lay them on her windowsill for days until they were crisp and fragrant. Then she would crumble them into bottles and cover them with oil, letting them sit in the sun for weeks until the scent had transferred.

It was her secret. The only thing in this house that was truly hers.

She picked up her scarf and laid it carefully on the carpet. From her box, she pulled out a small serum bottle, one she had collected when Jessica threw her beauty products away. Jessica was always throwing things away. Half-used bottles. Expired creams. Perfumes she had grown tired of. Daisy had rescued them from the trash, cleaned them and filled them with her own creations.

For the next two hours, she worked.

She mixed oils and dried flowers. She measured drops and stirred gently. She added a little of this, a little of that, sniffing after each addition. The room filled with fragrance, soft and sweet like a garden after rain.

She smelled like lavender and rose and something else. She kept sniffing her wrists, then her hands, then her sleeves. A small smile appeared across her face. She giggled to herself.

Finally, she went to the bathroom.

Her tub was old, the porcelain chipped in places. She put a small amount of water in it, just enough to cover the bottom. She added a few drops of her serum, watching the oil swirl on the surface like tiny rainbows. Then she soaked her scarf inside, pressing it down until it was fully submerged.

She watched the water turn pale gold.

"Well done," she muttered to herself, her voice soft and proud.

She left the scarf to soak and went back to her room.

She looked at the clock on her wall.

Her eyes widened.

Oh no.

It was already 6:30 PM.

Dinner was in half an hour. And she had not changed. She had not fixed her hair. She had not prepared herself to face Joseph and Jenna and whoever else would be sitting at that long, dark table.

Her heart began to race again.

She rushed to her wardrobe and pulled it open, searching for something plain, something safe, something that would not invite attention or criticism or blame.

So she picked her old white baggy dress and covered her legs with leggings. The fabric was loose and shapeless, swallowing her figure like a potato sack. Nothing like the yellow dress she had worn earlier. This dress was her shield. Her armor against hungry eyes.

She looked at herself in her small mirror and let out a sigh of relief.

She looked old fashioned, granny type, very boring.

Good.

No one would stare at her now. No one would look at her like she was something to be tasted. She was just the mute girl in the ugly dress.

She tucked her caramel hair behind her ears, wiped the faint blush from her cheeks, and walked out of her room.

The hallway was dim. The evening light had faded, leaving behind shadows that clung to the corners. Daisy walked slowly, her sandals quiet on the marble floor. Her heart pounded with every step.

She did not want to go to dinner.

She wanted to stay in her room, behind her locked door, with her small bottles and her yellow scarf. But she could not. If she did not show up, Jenna would be angry. And if Jenna was angry, she would punish her.

Daisy had learned to choose her battles.

She turned the corner and walked into the dining room.

Her heart shivered.

Jenna was already sitting at the table, her back straight, her hands folded in front of her. Her sharp blue eyes were fixed on the head maid, who was standing near the sideboard with her head lowered.

The table was empty. No plates and no dishes.

Daisy’s stomach dropped.

This is bad.

Very bad.

"She didn’t prepare dinner?" Jenna asked, her voice cold and clipped. She did not look at Daisy. She kept her eyes on the head maid but her words were meant for someone else.

The head maid swallowed nervously. "She... she was in her room, madam. No one informed her that—"

"No one informed her?" Jenna interrupted, her voice rising. "She lives in this house. She breathes my air. She eats my food. And she cannot bother to prepare dinner without being informed?"

Daisy shivered.

Her hands trembled at her sides. She wanted to type on her phone. She wanted to explain. No one had told her. No one had knocked on her door. She had been in her room all day, hiding, waiting for the hours to pass.

But she knew it would not matter.

Jenna did not want explanations. Jenna wanted someone to blame.

Jenna stood up.

Her chair scraped against the floor, loud and sharp in the silent room. She walked around the table, her heels clicking on the marble, her eyes never leaving Daisy’s face.

Daisy lowered her head. She stared at the floor, and Jenna stopped beside her.

Silence...