Shadows Beneath The Chandelier
The estate was too quiet for a home that grand.
Aurora adjusted the collar of her maid uniform, the stiff fabric brushing her neck like the weight of the mission itself.
She stood just beyond the threshold of Damien Blackwood's estate-an architectural marvel wrapped in mirrored glass and secrets. Her new home... and her newest assignment.
The man she was sent to kill lived here. Slept here. Ruled here.
Her heartbeat didn't spike. Years of training had beaten hesitation out of her.
Still, as she stepped inside and the doors shut behind her with a heavy click, it felt like coffin sealing. Her lashes lowered slightly as she scanned the hallway-opulent. Marble floors gleamed like polish ice. Chandelier crystals dancing shadows across her path.
Cameras nestled discreetly at every corner.
They're watching already.
The agency brief had been precise.
Damien Blackwood, 33, recluse tech magnate, rumored arms dealer, brilliant strategist, and-most recently-a target with enough power to topple entire governments.
But not immune to poison.
Aurora walked in silence, heels muffled by the thick Persian carpet. Her gloved hands stayed folded neatly in front of her-humble, harmless, maidlike. She knew the routine. Disguise. Observe. Eliminate. Leave.
She'd done it eight times before.
But none of them had Damien's face.
The file hadn't done him justice. It didn't prepare her for the way his storm-grey eyes had stared straight into the surveillance camera during the briefing footage. Or how his voice, even through speakers, had felt like silk layered over steel.
She rounded the corner to the east wing.
There, standing at the base of a spiraled staircase, was the man himself. He was removing his gloves-black leather, perfectly fitted-and handing them to another staff member without breaking stride.
Aurora's breath caught for half a second.
Not from fear. From instinct. The way he moved-controlled, deliberate, powerful. A man who had never once hesitated.
He looked up. Their eyes met.
Just a flicker. Not more than a second. But enough for her to register how quickly his gaze scanned-head to toe. Assessing.
Then it was gone.
She lowered her head immediately and took the small bow expected of her.
"Good evening, sir."
"New maid?" Heasked, not to her, but to the butler beside him.
"Yes, sir. Arrived today."
Damien said nothing for a beat too long.
Then: "Follow the rules. Keep to your duties. Don't enter my study without permission."
"Yes, sir."
And he was gone, climbing the stairs like a shadow swallowed by darkness.
By nightfall, Aurora stood up in the maid's quarters, unpacking her small bag.
Hidden within neatly folded uniforms were the tools of her trade-slim blades disguised as hairpins, a lipstick laced with paralytic venom, and a contact-lens case with micro- tranquilizer dots.
The mission was clear:get close, gain trust, strike.
But something about Damien disturbed her in a way none of her targets ever had. It wasn't just his looks. It wasn't even the cool confidence he exuded. It was the unnerving sense... that he saw too much.
As if he'd already noticed her slipping poison into his coffee before she ever did.
Aurora shook the the thought away. She was a ghost. A whisper in silk. She'd earned her codename- Nightingale- for a reason. Beautiful. Deadly. Untraceable.
A knock at the door.
"Come in," she called, quickly pushing the contact case under her pillow.
Another maid-young, nervous, with freckles- stepped in. "You're assigned to Mr. Blackwood's wing tomorrow morning. He doesn't like noise. Keep your footsteps soft."
Aurora nodded.
"Also... just a tip. Don't ask questions. Don't look him in the eyes for too long."
She left quickly, as if afraid she'd already said too much.
The next morning, dawn spilled through the sheer curtains of Damien's massive kitchen. Aurora moved in silence, cleaning silverware so clean she could see her reflection. She could feel him nearby before she saw him.
He entered wearing black again. Crisp dress shirt. Watch glinting at his wrist. Gloved hands. Not a hair out of place.
Damien sat down at the marble breakfast island, eyes already on the files spread in front of him.
"Coffee," he said without looking.
She poured it, setting it down quietly.
He didn't drink it.
"You didn't ask how I take it," he said, voice cool.
"I was briefed," she replied calmly.
That made him pause. He looked up, one brow slightly raised.
"Efficient," he murmured. "But dangerous. Knowing too much without being asked tends to make people... suspicious."
Aurora met his gaze, just briefly.
"Understood, sir."
The tension hung between them for a second too long before he returned to his files.
That night, she lay on the narrow bed in her quarters, staring at the ceiling, heartbeat finally beginning to settle. The game had begun. The mask was in place. She had less than a month to complete the job.
But as sleep threatened to take her,she saw Damien's eyes again-stormy, unreadable and somehow... searching.
She would kill him.
Eventually.
But tonight, she wasn't so sure who the hunter really was.