Chapter One – The Mansion Door Opens
The rain had not stopped for three days. It drummed on the carriage roof as Maria clutched her worn shawl tighter around her shoulders, her fingers stiff with cold. She had never traveled this far from the village, never imagined herself standing before iron gates taller than a church spire.
Beyond them stretched the Adelson estate, a house whispered about in the market stalls—a mansion of secrets, where power lived behind marble walls and servants walked as carefully as prisoners.
The coachman cracked his whip, and the gates creaked open. Maria's breath caught as the carriage rolled up the long gravel drive. The mansion loomed larger with every passing second—its windows dark with storm shadows, its chimneys sending smoke curling into the gray sky.
She was eighteen, penniless, and alone. A maid's position here was her only chance at survival. Yet as she stepped down from the carriage, boots sinking into the wet gravel, Maria wondered if she was entering a home—or a trap.
The great oak doors opened before she could knock. A woman stood framed in the threshold, her figure sharp as a blade. Mrs. Greene, the housekeeper. Her gray hair was pulled into a severe knot, and her black dress looked as though it had been starched into armor.
"You're late," Mrs. Greene said without preamble. Her eyes swept Maria from head to toe, as if weighing her worth in a glance.
"I—I came as quickly as I could, ma'am." Maria lowered her head, clutching her small bag of belongings.
Mrs. Greene's mouth tightened. "We keep no room here for excuses. Follow me."
The mansion swallowed her whole. The scent of polish and burning wood filled her lungs. Chandeliers glittered high above, portraits stared down with disapproving eyes, and carpets so thick muffled her timid steps. Maria had never seen such grandeur—and never felt so small.
They passed servants in crisp uniforms, each moving with rehearsed precision. Some stole glances at her, a new face among the household. Clara, a young maid with lively eyes and a mischievous smirk, offered Maria a quick wink before vanishing down another corridor with her laundry basket.
Maria felt the weight of it then. This was no ordinary house. It was a world with rules carved into stone, and she was expected to learn them quickly.
At last, Mrs. Greene stopped outside a narrow door under the eaves. "Your quarters," she said curtly. "You'll rise at five, attend prayers, and begin with the laundry. Step out of line, and you'll find yourself back in the mud from which you came. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, ma'am." Maria's voice barely rose above a whisper.
Mrs. Greene gave a single nod and swept away, her heels clicking against the polished floor.
Maria stepped into her small room. The bed was narrow, the blanket thin, and the single window rattled with the storm. She sank onto the mattress, clutching her bag, the rain echoing in her ears.
It was not comfort she had come for. It was survival.
Yet even as she told herself so, Maria felt a strange shiver run through her—the sense that the mansion itself was watching, waiting.
And somewhere in its endless halls, the master of the house was waiting too.