Chapter Three: Silent Footsteps
1460 Words
The next morning, Elara stood on the back steps of the Mercer estate, dressed in a crisp, navy-blue uniform. It fit better than her borrowed blouse had, but the fabric was stiff and unfamiliar. Her name was embroidered in white just above her heart. E. James, neat. Erased personality.
A woman named Carla, the head housekeeper, greeted her with a clipboard and the kind of expression that made it clear this wasn’t a welcome party.
“You’re not here to decorate or ask questions,” Carla said, marching down the hall like a drill sergeant. Your job is to maintain the west corridors, dusting, vacuuming, laundry retrieval, minor organizing. Don’t speak to the family unless addressed. Don’t linger in rooms that aren’t on your schedule. Don’t touch anything antique, assume everything is antique.”
Elara nodded, trying to keep pace. Her shoes squeaked slightly on the tile.
“You'll rotate kitchen assistance on Thursdays, and you’re expected to report to me before and after every shift. One-week trial, remember. Fail, and you're out. Understood?”
“Yes,” Elara said, a little breathlessly.
“Good. Then follow.”
The estate felt even larger when viewed from behind the scenes.
Narrow service corridors snaked behind the grand ones, hidden staircases led up to supply closets no one ever saw. Staff moved in quiet coordination like parts of a well-oiled machine. There were systems for everything, laundry codes, room rotations, even a color-coded cleaning cart and Carla made sure Elara memorized it all before letting her loose with a duster and a checklist.
Her first assigned corridor was near the east library ,a high-ceilinged wing with floor-to-ceiling windows, intricate molding, and more dust than she expected in a house this expensive.
She worked quietly, methodically. Every corner wiped, every frame straightened, every surface polished until her arms ached.
Still, she preferred the silence to the people.
The other housekeepers, while not outright rude, kept their distance. Most of them were older. Their lives seemed quiet, orderly worlds apart from Elara’s part-time classes, overdue bills, and late-night study sessions in the back of the city library. She’d tried to introduce herself to one of the younger girls, a dishwasher named Maisie, but was met with a blank stare and a tight smile before she disappeared into the pantry.
Elara didn’t belong in their world any more than she did in the Mercers’.
By mid-morning, she’d found a rhythm. Dust, wipe, straighten, check. Dust, wipe…..
A creak behind her.
Elara turned sharply. The hallway was empty.
She shook it off and moved to the next painting ,a dramatic oil piece of a shipwreck, waves crashing over splintered wood. She stretched on her tiptoes to dust the top edge.
Another sound, a footfall, soft.
She spun around again. No one.
Nerves. That’s all.
She knelt to clean the baseboards, humming under her breath to focus, when a voice interrupted her:
“You missed a spot.”
Elara startled, nearly tipping over. She turned and there he was again, the boy from the driveway. Smug as ever, arms folded, leaning casually against the wall like he belonged there.
“You!” she blurted. “What are you doing here?”
“Technically,” he said, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeve, “this is my house.”
Her mouth opened, then froze.
No.
No, that couldn’t be right.
“You’re... you live here?”
He gave her a slow, mockingly thoughtful nod. “Mmhm.”
Elara just stared.
The driveway. The smirk. The way he looked at everything like it bored him.
He was her boss’s son.
And he’d let her talk to him like he was some stranger loitering near a fountain.
Liam watched the realization bloom on her face with evident amusement.
“You thought I was just some random rich kid,” he said. “Fair assumption.”
She flushed. “You didn’t correct me.”
“Why would I ruin a perfectly entertaining conversation?”
She straightened. “Well, now that I know, I’ll keep my distance.”
He tilted his head, clearly enjoying himself. “But where’s the fun in that?”
Then he turned and strolled off like he hadn’t just lit a match and walked away.
For the rest of the day, Elara tried to stay invisible. She avoided the corridors she’d seen him in. She doubled down on her work, kept her head down, moved with the quiet precision of a shadow.
But it didn’t matter.
Liam found her.
Every time.
In the conservatory, while she was wiping the windows, he appeared with a glass of something cold and raised it like toast. In the hall outside the music room, he caught her humming and tapped the rhythm against the doorframe with a smirk. Once, he even slipped a note into her supply cart that just said, “Still tense.”
He wasn’t malicious. Just... persistent.
Like he was playing a game only he knew the rules.
And she didn’t have time for games.
She was here to keep this job, not flirt with the boy who could have her fired with a word.
But no matter how many steps she took to avoid him, Liam Mercer always seemed to know exactly where to look.
It wasn’t until the end of her shift that the final blow landed.
She’d just finished cleaning the formal sitting room and was gathering her supplies when she heard a voice , smooth, cultured, drifting in from the hall.
“Darling, finally,” said Mrs. Mercer.
Elara turned instinctively and froze in the doorway.
There she was composed and impeccable as ever, her arms outstretched.
Liam stepped into them without hesitation, pressing a brief kiss to her cheek.
“Hi, Mom.”
Mom.
Elara’s stomach dropped.
The surrounding air seemed to crystallize. Of course, he was her son. Of course. How had she not seen it , the resemblance, the ease of movement through the house, the way people deferred to him without question?
She hadn’t just bumped into the Mercers’ son.
She’d spoken freely to him. Challenged him. Snapped at him.
Mrs. Mercer would have her fired on the spot if she knew.
Before she could retreat, Liam glanced over his shoulder and met Elara’s wide-eyed gaze.
He smiled like he’d been waiting for that exact moment of horror.
Then he turned back to his mother as if nothing had happened.
That night, Elara returned to her apartment and sat on the edge of her bed, still in uniform, trying to process it all.
She’d survived her first day.
Barely.
But something Liam had said kept circling in her mind.
"You don’t look like the others."
She didn’t. Not here. Not anywhere.
Because she didn’t belong.
She couldn’t forget the way the other staff avoided her, the way the Mercers seemed to glide past her like she was air. She thought she’d known isolation. She hadn’t.
Not until this place.
Not until him.
And yet...
There was something about Liam that made it worse. Not just the smug smile or the way he appeared whenever she finally exhaled. It was the way he seemed to see through her. Not in the cruel, polished way of his mother, but with a kind of offhand curiosity that made her skin prickle.
He wasn’t mocking her for sport.
He was watching. Measuring. Studying.
The next day was a Friday, and Elara had made it to her 4 p.m. literature class at Whitbridge on sheer adrenaline and public transit. She was there on scholarship, a blessing, a miracle, and a relentless source of anxiety. The halls were marble, the students rich, the expectations higher than anything she’d grown up with.
She kept to herself, took notes fast, and never stayed late.
She was halfway through scribbling a passage from The Age of Innocence when the classroom door opened and in walked Liam Mercer.
Elara’s pen slipped across the page.
He didn’t look her way at first. Just walked to the back of the room like he belonged there. Like he always belonged.
Her pulse thundered in her ears.
He dropped into a seat three rows behind her, lounging like this was a rooftop party and not a 19th-century literature lecture. The professor barely blinked.
Elara stared at the margins of her notebook, unsure if she was furious or just stunned.
Of all the schools...
Of all the classes...
He had to be here too?
And then, as if summoned by her indignation, he leaned forward, rested his chin on one hand, and whispered
“Missed a spot.”
She didn’t turn around.
But her cheeks burned.
And this time, despite herself, despite everything, a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
Just for a second.
- Writer
