Chapter 1: The Arrival
The taxi rolled to a slow stop outside the Montague estate, and Amara Bennett took a deep breath. From the road, the mansion looked like something out of a magazine—gleaming white walls, towering columns, and a driveway flanked by perfectly trimmed hedges. Marble steps led to a grand doorway that gleamed in the late afternoon sun.
Amara adjusted her posture and smoothed her uniform—a tailored charcoal gray dress, crisp collar, and polished black shoes. She carried a small, elegant suitcase and a leather folder containing every detail of her impeccable résumé. She had worked for wealthy families before, but nothing on this scale. The Montague estate was the pinnacle, and she knew she was worth the exorbitant salary she had demanded.
Stepping out, she felt a gust of wind that carried with it a faint scent of roses and something else she couldn't quite place—a hint of old money and secrets.
"Good afternoon, ma'am," she said, voice steady as she approached the front door.
The door opened before she could knock. A man appeared on the marble landing. He was tall, impeccably dressed in a navy suit, with sharp features that seemed carved from stone and eyes that scrutinized her like a jeweler inspecting a diamond.
"You must be Amara Bennett," he said, voice calm, yet carrying an authority that made Amara instinctively straighten her back. "I'm Edward Montague. Welcome to my home."
Amara bowed her head politely. "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir."
Edward studied her for a long moment, his gaze sharp, almost intimidating. "I trust your references are impeccable?"
"They are, sir," Amara replied with confidence. "I've worked for the Harpers, the Llewellyns… families who value discretion, efficiency, and high standards. I understand the expectations of households like yours."
Edward's lips curved in the faintest hint of approval. "Follow me. I'll show you to your quarters."
As they walked through the mansion, Amara's eyes took in every detail—the gleaming marble floors, towering ceilings, crystal chandeliers that caught the sun like stars, and the air of quiet opulence that seemed almost suffocating. Each piece of furniture, every painting, appeared deliberate, almost as if it were silently judging her presence.
"Rules of the house are simple," Edward began. "Discretion. Loyalty. Competence. You'll learn quickly that mistakes here have consequences."
Amara's pulse quickened, but she nodded. "Understood, sir."
He led her down a long corridor to a smaller staircase that descended into the wing reserved for household staff. Her quarters were modest compared to the rest of the mansion, but meticulously organized and surprisingly luxurious by any normal standard.
"I expect excellence, Amara," Edward said, turning to leave. "You are expensive for a reason. Do not disappoint me."
Alone in her room, Amara let out a soft breath. She had heard the stories—house helps who had mysteriously disappeared from the Montague estate, rumors whispered in hushed tones at elite parties. But she wasn't like the others. She was careful, smart, and determined.
Yet, even as she unpacked her things, she couldn't shake the feeling that the mansion itself was alive, watching her every move. And deep down, she knew that being "expensive house help" would cost far more than just her salary.