Chapter 3: Tests and Secrets
The following morning, the mansion felt heavier, as though the walls themselves were aware of her presence. Amara moved with practiced precision, attending to her duties while keeping an ear out for the subtle hums and creaks that seemed to whisper secrets in every corridor.
Edward appeared in the hallway unexpectedly, as if he had materialized from the shadows themselves. His piercing eyes scanned the room, evaluating her every move.
"Amara," he said smoothly, "attention to detail is not just a guideline—it is a standard here. I trust you understand?"
"Yes, sir," Amara replied. Her voice was steady, but her heart raced.
Edward handed her a small key. "This opens a storage room on the first floor. Inside are items I consider delicate and valuable. I need you to inventory them by tonight."
Amara accepted the key with a polite nod. "Understood, sir."
As Edward walked away, she opened the storage room and immediately felt the difference between ordinary work and Montague expectations. Every shelf was organized with obsessive precision. Glass vases sat on velvet, silver trays gleamed under the light, and rare antiques, some centuries old, lined the walls. One wrong movement could shatter years of careful maintenance—or worse, anger Edward.
Hours passed as she carefully cataloged every item, noting imperfections and their locations. She worked silently, her mind alert to every detail. By the time Edward returned that evening, she had completed the task with flawless accuracy.
"Impressive," Edward said, his tone cool but approving. "Most would have damaged something. You, however, seem to understand the importance of precision."
Amara's chest tightened—not from praise, but from awareness of the stakes. One misstep in this house could undo weeks of effort.
After he left, Amara explored the mansion's quieter corners. That's when she noticed it: a faint draft near a wall on the second floor, just outside a locked door. Edward had never mentioned it. Curiosity prickled at her; the air smelled faintly of aged paper and something metallic, almost like iron.
She knelt down and pressed her hand against the cold wall, noting a subtle indentation in the marble base. Could it be a hidden latch? She shook her head. Not yet. Patience was key in this house. A wrong move now could ruin everything.
Later that evening, while preparing the dining table for Edward's dinner, Miranda appeared.
"You're meticulous," she said, eyes sharp. "I'll give you that. But the house isn't just about silverware and schedules. People notice things, hear things. Don't assume everyone will like you here."
Amara met her gaze evenly. "I don't assume anything, Miranda. I intend to earn respect, not favor."
Miranda's lips curved into a thin smile. "We'll see."
As Amara served Edward his meal that night, their eyes met briefly across the table. There was a tension she couldn't ignore—a mix of challenge, curiosity, and something unspoken. Edward's approval, though rare, carried weight that no salary could match. And as the mansion hummed quietly around them, Amara realized that surviving here would require not just skill, but courage—and perhaps a willingness to uncover the secrets that even Edward seemed to guard carefully.