The sun was setting when Anna burst into Veronika's room.— The Master is waiting for you — she announced crisply.
The young woman sat up, ill-tempered but curious. She wanted to believe this meeting was the first step to reclaiming her former life. She followed Anna down a corridor that opened onto an inner courtyard.
— Where are we going? — she muttered.— To the back — Anna replied without turning —. Areas you haven't seen yet.
The Red Block
They climbed a staircase and entered a gallery different from the service wing: crystal lamps hung from the ceiling; polished marble cast golden reflections. Veronika slowed, surprised.
— Well… so good taste was hiding here — she sneered.
The maids in the corridor wore impeccable, slightly exotic uniforms bearing a red ribbon. Their movements were silent, almost choreographed. The mansion, Veronika realized, ran on invisible hierarchies.
The Master's Office
The office blended mahogany, leather, and the oblique light of dawn. The Master, in a dark suit and calm demeanor, was speaking with his secretary, Lucille, who had just come in with a folder stuffed with documents on petroleum buyers.
— Ah, Miss Kensington! — he exclaimed upon seeing her, without stopping his page-turning. — I appreciate your punctuality. Please, take a seat.
Veronika settled into a soft armchair; the Master kept reviewing figures — $64, $65, $66 per barrel — and discount formulas, turning pages with metronomic rhythm. The crackle of paper frayed her nerves. Among the stack, she spotted an envelope with the letterhead VostokNeft — a name absent from the lines he recited, dominated by KaspNeftGaz and other familiar firms. That mismatch, minimal yet sharp, pricked her curiosity like a splinter under the skin.
— I didn't know my future depended on balance sheets and decimals — Veronika murmured dryly.
He tilted his head, eyes still on the lists.— No one escapes numbers, Kensington. But you're right, you deserve my full attention.
He set the folder down, half-open, and folded his hands.— Let's get to the point. You want to leave; I want a harmonious coexistence. I can give you the first if you help me with the second.
— What kind of help? — she asked.
— Discipline and discretion. In exchange: better lodging, comforts more in line with what you know, and the promise of departure when the time is right.
He took out a contract.— Look it over if you like.
Veronika snorted.— I won't waste time on technicalities. My father trusts you.
She signed without reading. The Master smiled, satisfied, and produced a red ribbon.— Welcome to the Red Block. Put this on.
She did so, with disgust.— I suppose it's the badge of "maids with dignity."
— Or the clever ones — he replied with a wink.
He was about to return to the oil offers when the door opened abruptly. Anna poked in her head.— Sir, the envoy has arrived. He says it's urgent.
— He wasn't scheduled for today — he frowned.
— He insists he cannot wait — Anna added.
The Master let out a brief sigh. He closed the folder and left it untouched on the desk.— My apologies, Kensington. My visitor does not tolerate waiting. Lucille, record that the young lady signed without objections and file these papers. Tomorrow we'll discuss her new duties.
Lucille nodded, jotting something in her pad.
— And me? — Veronika asked, unsettled.
— A maid will show you to your new room. Rest. — The Master's voice turned pure logic. — You'll need your strength.
He left with Anna down the corridor, a trail of amber light lingering as the door closed.
New Quarters
A few minutes later, an employee from the Red Block led Veronika through the gleaming corridors to a spacious room with a canopy bed, a full-length mirror, and a faint scent of incense.
— Your belongings will arrive shortly, miss — she said politely before withdrawing.
Veronika surveyed the room with a mix of relief and apprehension. "At least the mattress seems soft," she thought, though the red ribbon on her uniform felt like a thread of lead.
Encounter with Luna
Half an hour later, Luna appeared, pushing a cart piled high with trunks, hat boxes, and portable racks. The bandage on her arm was still visible, but her sarcastic smile remained intact.
— Hi. I'm glad you're part of the Red Block. — She set a box on the floor. — I suppose that means I won't see you washing dishes so often.
Veronika looked her up and down.— Do you really think I need your help?
— According to the protocol, it says you do. — Luna shrugged. — I follow orders.
The redhead shook her head, taking the ribbon to tie it on her uniform with reluctance.— Happy now? — she said, noting how the ribbon gave her a strange, almost ridiculous air. — We look like schoolgirls at a cheap boarding school.
— Relax, it's just a simple insignia. — Luna suddenly grew serious. — By the way, what did you promise the Master for him to offer you this? Not many get the red ribbon right away.
— I didn't promise anything — Veronika answered with a mischievous smile. — I just signed a contract. And I don't care about the rest of your questions.
Luna tilted her head, letting out a mocking sigh.
— Must be nice to have so much confidence. Or lack of caution, I'm not sure. — She lifted the bandaged arm from the earlier injury. — Your impulsiveness hasn't taught you much.
Veronika clicked her tongue, recalling the plate incident that had hurt Luna's arm.— Does it still hurt? — she tossed out, without a shred of empathy.
— Barely. Don't worry, I'm fine. — Luna looked at Veronika with a hint of disdain. — That spoiled-girl attitude will blow up in your face.
— You think you have the right to lecture me? Who are you, huh? — Veronika lifted her chin. — Even with a pretty face, you'll still be just another girl here.
Luna smiled with closed lips and stepped closer.— Are you implying I'm nothing? — She let out a laugh. — Careful. You don't want to anger someone who knows the truth about the Red Block.
— Oh, sure. — Veronika barked a sharp laugh. — Don't try to threaten me. I'm not afraid of you.
Luna studied her up close, eyes glinting.— Threats? Please. I'm just warning you. Some girls with a red ribbon become… — she winked — … something more than maids. And not always by choice.
— Are you implying something?
Luna gave a small, mocking twirl.— I don't know. Some sell themselves. Others simply give in when they run out of options. And the saddest thing is they don't even realize when it started.
— Don't lump me in with your "worthless girls." I'm a Kensington, and my father is an important man. — Veronika clung to the phrase as if it still carried weight, though her voice sounded less firm than before. — When I leave, all this will be forgotten.
— That's what you say now… — Luna glanced toward the door. — But this place has a curious way of keeping you. Sometimes you don't realize what you gave up until it's too late.
— Shut up already.
— What a temper. — Luna smiled, heading for the exit and letting one last line slip, almost a whisper. — Don't worry, "princess."
Veronika clenched her jaw, watching Luna until the door closed. Then she huffed in disgust and dropped onto the new bed. She ran her fingers over the red ribbon tied to her uniform, wondering if signing a contract without reading it had really been such a good idea. But she wasn't about to admit a possible mistake.
— How bad could it be? — she murmured, more to persuade herself than out of real conviction.