Maria's first morning at the Adelson estate began before dawn. A bell clanged in the servants' corridor, and she woke with a start, her heart hammering. The attic air was damp and cold; her thin blanket clung to her with the smell of rain.
Clara appeared at her door with a grin, balancing a stack of linens in her arms. "Up with you, little sparrow," she teased. "Mrs. Greene won't take kindly to stragglers."
Maria stumbled to her feet, smoothing her plain dress and hastily tying her apron. "I—I didn't know it would be so early."
"Early?" Clara laughed, shaking her head. "Wait until winter. You'll be lighting fires before the stars are gone. Come on."
The two hurried down the narrow servants' staircase, the walls closing around them like a spine of stone. The mansion was still dark, save for a few lamps burning low in the grand halls. Shadows stretched across the marble floors, and Maria felt once more that the house itself was awake, breathing.
The morning passed in a blur. She fetched water, polished silver, and folded endless stacks of laundry under Mrs. Greene's sharp supervision. By noon, her arms ached and her cheeks burned from scrubbing.
It was then she first saw him.
She had just placed a tray of fresh bread in the dining room when the door opened behind her. Maria froze, the scent of warm loaves rising into the air. She turned slowly, and her eyes met the man whose presence seemed to command the very walls.
Alexander Adelson.
He stood tall, his black coat tailored to perfection, his dark hair swept back with careless elegance. His gaze was steady, piercing, the kind that silenced a room without a word.
Maria's breath caught in her throat.
For a long moment, he said nothing, merely studying her as though she were an unexpected detail in his otherwise ordered life.
"You're new," he said finally, his voice deep and measured.
"Yes, sir," Maria murmured, lowering her eyes.
"What is your name?"
"Maria, sir."
A silence stretched. She felt the weight of his gaze still on her, though she dared not look up. Her hands twisted the edge of her apron, the air thick with something she could not name.
At last, Alexander inclined his head slightly. "See that you serve well." His tone carried no warmth, yet no cruelty either. Only distance, as though he existed in a world she could never enter.
"Yes, sir," she whispered.
He moved past her, and she caught the faintest trace of his cologne—woodsmoke, leather, something sharp beneath. It lingered long after he had gone, leaving Maria shaken, her heart pounding in her chest.
Clara appeared moments later, eyes wide. "Well," she whispered, smirking. "It seems the master has noticed you already."
Maria's cheeks flamed. "No, he didn't. He—he only asked my name."
"Sometimes," Clara said knowingly, "that's more dangerous than anything else."
Maria tried to laugh it off, but the truth lingered like the scent of him in the room.
Alexander Adelson had spoken her name. And she feared she would never forget the sound of it.