Alone in this.
I closed my eyes, a single tear escaping. I could lie and save myself. Or I could tell the truth and risk everything. The days began to blend in a strange, suspended way, like living inside a snow globe where time moved differently than in the outside world.
Inside the globe, there was a rhythm. Wake up, get Zoey ready. She was doing better now, though her shorter school days were a constant reminder of her fragility. She went to work, cared for Mrs. Whitmore, and noticed Karl.
I was always noticing him now. I noticed the way the house seemed to hold its breath when we were in the same room. I noticed the way Mrs. Hale watched us with narrowed, predatory eyes. And I noticed the way I'd catch myself wondering if he'd eaten, if he'd slept, or if the heavy line of worry between his eyebrows ever truly smoothed out.
It was dangerous, this noticing.
I had no business caring about a man like Karl Whitmore. I was the hired help; he was the empire. My heart should have been entirely occupied with Zoey's survival, but the heart, I was learning, didn't care much for logic.
One morning, I arrived early to find Karl in the kitchen. He was alone, still in his running clothes, his dark hair damp with sweat. He looked raw, human, and devastatingly handsome without the armor of his Italian suits.
"Good morning," I said, my voice betraying a slight tremor as I set down my bag.
He turned, and the intensity in his gaze made my stomach do a slow, dizzying flip. "Morning. Coffee?"
"I can make it…"
"I know you can." He pulled down a second mug, his movements fluid and confident. "I'm offering to make it for you. How do you take it?"
"Just black is fine."
He paused, a single eyebrow arching. "Really? No cream? No sugar?"
"I used to take it with both," I said, a bitter memory surfacing. "But I ran out of cream one day and realized I couldn't afford the luxury of a refill. Eventually, I just forced myself to get used to it."
I hadn't meant to say it. The words felt like a confession of my poverty in the middle of his palace.
Karl's hand tightened on the coffee pot. "That's..."
"Pathetic?" I supplied with a brittle smile.
"Resilient," he corrected, his voice a low rumble. He stepped closer to hand me the mug, his fingers brushing mine. The contact sent a jolt of electricity straight to my core. "But you don't have to drink it black here, Lydia. You can have anything you want."
"I'm used to it now," I whispered, staring into the dark liquid. "It's grown on me."
"Sometimes we convince ourselves we prefer the things we were forced to accept," he said quietly. "Because admitting we're missing something feels too much like a weakness."
I looked up at him, wondering what a man like him could be missing.
"Mrs. Whitmore had a good night," I said, desperate to change the subject. The air in the kitchen was getting too thin, too charged.
"I know. I checked on her at 4:00 AM." He leaned against the marble counter, his eyes searching mine. "You look exhausted, Lydia."
"I'm okay. Tired just means I'm still standing."
"Lydia." My name in his voice sounded like a caress. "You know you can talk to me. If things are difficult... if the bills are too much..."
"Why?" I snapped, the question coming out sharper than I intended. "Why do you care so much about a temporary caregiver?"
He was quiet for a long moment, the only sound the hum of the refrigerator. "Do you really not know?"
My heart hammered against my ribs. "We're strangers, Karl."
"Are we?" He took a step toward me. He didn't cross the line, but he leaned into my space until I could smell the cedarwood and sweat on his skin. "I know you bite your lip when you're worried about a lab report. I know you hum softly when you think you're alone in the hallway. I know you're terrified every single day that you aren't enough for your daughter, even though you're the strongest woman I've ever met."
I couldn't breathe. My lungs felt paralyzed. "Karl..."
"And I know that being around me is getting complicated for you," he whispered, his eyes dropping to my lips. "The same way it's getting complicated for me."
The admission was a match dropped in a room full of gasoline.
"This can't happen," I breathed. "I need this job. My daughter's life depends on…"
"I know," he interrupted, his voice thick with frustration. "I'm not trying to break your life, Lydia. I just want you to know that you aren't invisible. To me, you're the only person in this house who is actually alive."
"Mr. Karl?" Mrs. Hale's voice sliced through the tension like a guillotine.
We sprang apart instantly. Mrs. Hale stood in the doorway, her face a mask of cold disapproval. "Your conference call starts in ten minutes."
"Thank you, Mrs. Hale," Karl said, his "CEO" mask sliding back into place so fast it was chilling.
She looked at me, her eyes lingering on my flushed cheeks. "Miss Lydia, Mrs. Whitmore is asking for you. Now."
Upstairs, Mrs. Whitmore's eyes were unusually bright.
"Something is changing," she murmured as I adjusted her pillows. "My son... he hasn't looked that way in years. Not since the darkness took hold of this family."
"I'm just his employee, Mrs. Whitmore," I said, my hands shaking as I checked her IV.
"No," she said, clutching my wrist with surprising strength. "You're the light he's been looking for. But be careful, child. This house has rules. And breaking them comes with consequences that people like you cannot afford to pay."
A chill raced down my spine. "What do you mean?"
"The kind of consequences that destroy," she whispered, her eyes drifting shut. "Be careful... both of you."
That night, sleep was impossible. I lay in my small bed, listening to Zoey's rhythmic breathing, until my phone buzzed on the nightstand.
Karl: Are you awake?
I stared at the screen. I should ignore it. I should delete his number. Instead, my thumb moved on its own.
Me: Yes. Is your mother okay?
Karl: She's fine. I just... I wanted to apologize for this morning. It was unprofessional.
I swallowed hard, typing with trembling fingers.
Me: You don't have to apologize for being honest.
Karl: Honesty is a luxury we can't afford, Lydia. It's dangerous.
Me: So is pretending.
The three dots of the typing indicator appeared and disappeared for what felt like an eternity. Finally, the screen lit up one last time.
Karl: But you feel it too, don't you? This... pull. Tell me I'm not
Me: You aren't alone.