Everyone made way as Martha strode up to Rosemary with deliberate ease.
She was no longer the former servant in the Collins family's uniform, but rather sported a sleek short haircut, wearing leather jackets and pants, giving off a bit of a bossy assassin vibe.
A chilly smile played across Martha's lips as she towered over Rosemary, her gaze laced with malice.
"Surprised, are you?"
In Rosemary's memory, Martha was the epitome of loyalty, a servant who would cry out in pain from a mere stumble, or weep profusely, begging for forgiveness for any minor transgression.
But the woman before her bore an enormous contrast to the old servant etched in her recollection.
Horace, clueless about this enigmatic older woman's identity, could only sense an underlying vendetta between her and Rosemary.
"So, are all these your guys?" Rosemary rose to her feet, a nonchalant smirk curving her lips, seemingly unfazed by the looming threat, and asked casually, "Who are you working for?"
