Chapter 1 Chapter One
Chapter One
"Are you sure you'll be okay with Mrs. Donnelly?" Aria asked for the fourth time.
Lucy playfully rolled her eyes. "She's really old, Aria. I think I can handle her."
Aria smiled, but felt a pang in her heart. "Don't bother her too much. And don't forget your medicine. I left it by the sink. I also packed extra soup in the freezer."
"I'll be fine. You'll be gone for five days, not forever."
Aria swallowed hard. "As soon as I get paid, I'll send money. I promise. Right away."
Lucy leaned her head on Aria's shoulder. "Just come visit on Saturday. If you're not too busy being Cinderella for rich people."
Aria chuckled. "Only if they give me a pumpkin carriage."
The bus stopped suddenly at a big gate with iron bars. A security camera turned towards them. The driver didn't wait.
"End of the line," he grunted.
Aria got off, pulling her backpack onto one arm and holding Lucy's hand with the other.
A speaker buzzed near the gate. "Your name?"
"Aria Blake," Aria answered. "I'm here for the live-in maid job."
There was a short silence. Then the gate slowly opened, showing a long stone path with bushes and statues that looked like they belonged in a museum.
Aria turned to Lucy and hugged her tight. "Text me every morning and night, okay? And if anything happens, anything at all, call Mrs. Donnelly or me."
"Go," Lucy whispered. "You earned this."
Aria took a deep breath and walked into a world where she didn't feel like she belonged.
The Cross house looked even bigger up close. A three-story building made of glass and stone stood over her as she walked to the door. The marble steps were wet from the rain as she reached for the golden doorbell.
The door opened before she could touch it.
A tall, serious woman with gray hair in a bun looked at her with disapproval.
"You're late," the woman said. "You were expected twenty minutes ago."
"I'm sorry," Aria said quickly. "The bus..."
"No excuses."
The woman moved aside, letting Aria in.
"I'm Ms. Fletcher. House manager. You'll do what I say, not what the agency told you. Do you understand?"
Aria nodded. "Yes, ma'am."
The entrance hall was huge and echoed as she followed Ms. Fletcher across the shiny marble floor. Two bright chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and a curved staircase went up like something from a dream.
"Your work will be in the guest rooms on the second floor and the kitchens downstairs," Ms. Fletcher said quickly. "You won't go into any rooms you're not told to. You won't talk to guests unless they talk to you first. And you absolutely cannot go into the West Wing."
"The West Wing?" Aria asked.
Ms. Fletcher gave her a sharp look. "That's Mr. Cross's private area. The last girl who went too close was fired without a good reference."
Aria's stomach dropped. "Understood."
They passed a tall door made of dark wood, different from the others. It had black trim and no handle. It looked like a silent warning.
"Just do your jobs, keep your head down, and this will be easy."
Easy. Right.
Her room was small but clean. It had a bed, a dresser, and one lamp on a small desk. A closet held uniforms neatly inside. For someone who shared a small apartment with her sister, it felt like a fancy hotel.
She sat on the edge of the bed, letting the quiet settle in. She took out her phone and quickly texted Lucy:
Made it. This place is crazy. Will text you after dinner. Love you.
The reply came almost right away:
Send pics if you can! Eat something fancy! And sleep. You never sleep.
Aria smiled, then got up to unpack. She had no idea what was waiting for her in this house. But she had gotten through worse before.
Aria was unpacking her little suitcase, neatly folding her clothes into the dresser, when this faint noise broke the quiet of her room. It was a low, rhythmic creak, like footsteps on old wood, coming from right above her. She totally froze, her hands just hanging over a sweater. The creaking stopped, then started up again, sounding closer, like someone was walking around just past the thin walls of her room.
She looked at the door, kinda expecting Ms. Fletcher to burst in with another lecture. But the hallway outside was dead silent, and the chandeliers' light barely peeked under her door. The creaking got louder, and now there was this soft, barely-there whisper, like someone mumbling words she couldn't quite make out.
Aria's phone buzzed on the bed, making her jump. It was a text from some random number:
“Stay out of the West Wing. He's watching.”
Outside, the rain started hammeri
ng down harder, and the lights in her room flickered for a second, then went out completely, leaving her in total darkness.