Chapter 3 - The Hallway Warning
The corridor outside the servant quarters was dim, lit only by recessed wall sconces that cast long, amber shadows across the wainscoting. It was past two in the morning, and the grand mansion had finally settled into an uneasy, oppressive silence. My feet ached inside my flat black shoes as I walked toward my small room at the end of the hall.
My hand brushed the empty apron pocket. The document was gone—safely locked inside Julian Vance's private wall safe downstairs—but the target on my back had just grown ten times larger.
A shadow detached itself from the doorway of the linen closet, blocking my path.
Beatrice stood there, her hair pulled back into a tight, severe chignon, wearing a silk dressing gown that shimmered like spilled oil in the dim light. The blonde woman didn't look hysterical anymore; her face was a mask of cold, calculated malice.
"You think you're clever, don't you, little girl?" Beatrice's voice was a low, venomous hiss. She stepped closer, invading my personal space with the scent of stale champagne and expensive amber perfume. "A little nobody from the boroughs playing detective in a house of wolves."
I didn't step back. The fear was still there, fluttering in my chest, but the memory of Julian's voice—*You don't kneel for anyone in my house*—steeled my spine.
"I think you dropped your paperwork, Ms. Vance," I said evenly, keeping my voice level and quiet.
Beatrice's eyes narrowed to thin slits. A flash of genuine panic crossed her features before she smoothed her expression back into aristocratic disdain. "Julian is easily amused by stray dogs. He collects them, feeds them, and then he gets rid of them when they bite the wrong hand. That paper means nothing. By noon tomorrow, the board will vote, and you won't even exist."
"We'll see who exists tomorrow," I replied, holding her gaze.
She stared at me for a long, heavy beat, realizing that the trembling maid from the foyer had vanished. With a sharp twist of her silk robe, she turned on her heel and stalked down the hallway toward the west guest wing, her slippers making no sound on the runner rug.
I let out a long, ragged breath, my shoulders dropping as the adrenaline receded. I unlocked my door, stepped inside my small, Spartan room, and locked it behind me. The tiny window looked out over the sprawling gravel driveway where the security gates stood like black iron teeth against the night sky.
May you like
Julian had promised we would clean house. But standing there in the dark, listening to the wind rattle the windowpane, I knew the real war wouldn't begin until the sun came up.
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