Chapter 2: Morning Light in the West Wing
The gray dawn filtered through the leaded glass of the west wing corridor, casting long geometric shadows across the Turkish runner. I clutched my linen cleaning basket against my hip, my knuckles white. My instructions from Mrs. Gable, the head housekeeper, had been brief and terrifying: Sophie was no longer to be managed by the nursery staff. She belonged in my charge now, effective immediately, under direct supervision of the master's private schedule.
When I pushed open the heavy oak door of the nursery, the room smelled of warm milk, lavender soap, and old paper. Sunlight cut across the Persian rug where a small, blonde head was bent over a collection of wooden blocks. Sophie looked up immediately, her blue eyes bright and unburdened by the tension that hung over the rest of the grand estate.
"You came back," she said simply, setting down a heavy block that clattered against the floorboards. She clutched the gray stuffed rabbit under one arm, its plush ears gray with age and love.
"Good morning, Sophie," I said, closing the door softly behind me and setting my basket down by the hearth. "Did you sleep well?"
"The big man with the beard checked on me," she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper as she crawled across the rug toward me. She wore the same beige cardigan from the night before, the wool slightly frayed at the cuffs. "He didn't turn the light on. He just stood by the door and watched the rabbit."
A cold shiver ran down my spine. Dante Romano standing in the dark, watching a stuffed toy. It fit the man I had seen across the dining table—a predator who didn't know how to rest, circling his own fortress. I knelt down on the rug, my black-and-white skirt pooling around my knees, and smoothed her fine blonde hair.
"Did he say anything?" I asked softly.
"He told me to go back to sleep," Sophie replied, tilting her head with innocent gravity. "And then he said his eyes hurt. Grown-ups' eyes hurt when they look at too many papers. That's what my old nanny used to say before she went away on the big train."
The mention of the previous nanny sent a sharp pang through my chest. Mrs. Gable had mentioned she left for family reasons, but in a house like this, people didn't leave—they were erased. I forced a reassuring smile to my lips, though my throat felt tight.
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"Well, your eyes shouldn't hurt today," I said, standing up and reaching for her small hand. "Mr. Romano wants us in the conservatory after breakfast. The sun is out, and those flowers aren't going to water themselves."
Sophie slipped her small, warm fingers into mine without hesitation, trusting me with a certainty that terrified me. As we walked down the long, silent hallway toward the stairs, I knew I was stepping deeper into a world where every corner hid a secret, and the man holding the silver knife was watching our every move.
