SOPHIA'S POV.
“Mmmm” I moaned softly as the ball of ice cream melted on my tongue. Damien had gotten me a bowl the previous night on his way back from work but I didn't have an appetite then but it was serving a better purpose now.
Situated at the swing and in the evening breeze, my head was buried in a book with a bowl of ice cream reducing with every swoop of my spoon beside me. The breeze did what it'd been created for perfectly by making me get deeper into the novel with each puff of air that splattered on my face and legs and hands and chest.
The silk gown I'd chosen to create this blissful memory helped get the evening breeze into the right places. It soothed my body and gave me the “I'm on cloud nine” feeling. Now, I understood why many ladies would rather die than say YES to a poor or middle-class man. They could envision themselves, reading, playing, meditating, exercising without a care in the world because they rest assured that the money is flowing and the meals will be cooked by people paid to do so as well as every other house chore.
I could only have this benefit because I'd spent my day slaving away in front of my laptop for over 8 hours according to the specifications of my remote job as “Creative manager”. Damien didn't like the idea of my working but I wasn't made to relax and be provided for by a man. It killed every bit of self esteem I'd garnered over the few years that I'd worked with my father.
My head jolted up when I heard footsteps approaching me. It was the Australian maid who cared more about my liking of her than doing what her job required. Talk about misplaced priorities.
“How many I help you?” I shot at her before she could start her people-pleasing inspired greetings and mannerisms. She blanched and I did an inconspicuous eye roll.
“Here.” She handed me a package in a brown envelope. I kept my eyes on her expecting more than she'd just said. “I apologize ma.” She lowered her head, hands still stretched out. “It just dropped this evening. There's nothing on it that can tell where it was dropped off from but the delivery guy mentioned your name specifically when dropping it by.”
“Well, I won't touch a mystery package.” I sent my eyes back to the book I was reading but I'd lost my concentration and in addition, the idea of a mystery package excited the detective aspect of me. I looked up and the smartly dressed maid still stood there with her eyes on admiring her toes. Did she have a problem obeying orders? What's with my liking of her or was I getting it wrong?
“Is the delivery guy gone?” I finally blurted out the question and she looked up at me, quizzically. “Yes? I'd need to sign, right? And he must've known who's giving the package, right?”
“No, ma.” Her Australian accent graced my ears again and it was as if I'd been tickled. “He wouldn't know. I doubt the manager would. Anyone can drop a package with an address and signing off the package isn't always compulsory as in this case.” I stopped smiling and I wanted her to shut up.
This was beginning to send me bad signals. Firstly, it's not with an address and secondly, there's no name or anything to identify the sender then thirdly, I'd not sign and how on earth did she know how these delivery companies work? Huh?
“I've worked there. For three years before an incident made me quit my job then I found this amazing place.” She sighed and it was my turn to blanch. Had I said that out loud or she could read minds…
“No, I can't read minds but yes, you're voicing out your thoughts just like you did right now.” She smiled and I returned it stiffly. “Should I drop the package here with you or take it up to your room?” She questioned with a brazen look and I lowered my gaze.
“Let me feel it. The weight will determine the answer to your questions.” I spoke with an arrogant square head and wordlessly, she dropped it into my open hands. Why was it so light but held some sort of mystery? Huh? Was it just a lot of paper? A threatening letter? Or some prank Damien was pulling? Why would he prank me anyway? We've never done any such thing to each other but I swear, if this is a prank I'd make sure none of his chefs cook for the next two days and he eats takeouts which would get his stomach upset.
“Ma’am?” She gently called back my attention and I almost glared at her for the smirk sitting conspicuously on her pretty face.
“What did you hear this time?” My tone had a scathing edge to it but she shrugged it off.
“You managed to think within this time. I guess it's something special and not puzzling.” She got the clue that I'd be having the package with me here, “I like your line thoughts though.”
Mindlessly, I responded with a “Thank you” but as she walked off, I squinted my eyes. I wasn't segregating between social classes but that gait, audacity and charisma isn't something a person with menial jobs should have. It's possible but it's rare and I won't just wave it off. There's more to the Australian maid and there's also more to the brown package still unopened in my hands.
“Okay, let's face this.” I breathed out as I tore the package open and dozens of photos splattered on my legs, the swing chair and a few on the ground. Quickly, I grabbed them all and placed them back into the package without pausing to look at anyone. I needed to be in the mansion, everyone here can't be trusted especially the maids.
After checking properly for more pictures, I opened the note that had fallen off like the rest of the pictures. It read;
“Hi there, Mrs Sophia Crawford. Call me anonymous but I'm an informant on the plane to nowhere right now who has all of the information you need to bring each one of the Woods and the Nelsons down except yourself [laughs]. There's my first package, expect more… Um, enjoy!”
A paragraph was given.
“P.S: There are three dozens of pictures with exact dates of someone dearest to you that I'm sure you'd cry. I'm sorry in advance [laughs]
I folded the paper back into the package as every part of me tried not to start checking out the pictures.
Immediately I got into the safety of Damien's room, I poured the package on the bed. The pictures were all numbered and I had them all.
Shakily, I turned the first one up and gasped. I quickly turned them one after the other and like she'd predicted, I collapsed into the floor, crying louding.
As I cried, I kissed every one of the pictures and sighed deeply. It couldn't be, could it? How did this person know? The most current date was today at 7 am and there's an address to the place in the pictures at the back of the last photo.
Could I trust this anonymous being?