Evangeline

Chapter 4. A Maid's Work

The morning sun did not bring warmth to the Crowe estate; it filtered through the high, narrow windows of the basement corridor in cold, pale shafts. Mia had not slept a wink. She had spent the remaining hours of the night curled on the edge of the twin bed, her eyes fixed on the heavy locked door, her heart leaping at every distant groan of the mansion's pipes.

​At precisely six o'clock, a sharp, metallic knock rattled her door. Sheila stepped inside, already immaculate in her dark gray uniform, carrying a folded stack of identical clothes.

​"Put these on, child. We have a long walk ahead of us," Sheila said, her tone a mix of brisk professionalism and quiet pity.

​Ten minutes later, Mia was dressed. The gray uniform fabric was stiff, scratching against her collarbones, but the knee-length skirt felt modest enough. She tied her long, black hair into a neat, low ponytail. Her bright blue eyes looked impossibly large and haunted against the stark paleness of her porcelain skin. She looked fragile, but as she stepped out into the hallway to meet Sheila, she offered the older woman a small, tentative smile. It was her instinct to be polite, to be kind, even when her entire world was fracturing around her.

​"Thank you, Sheila," Mia whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "For... for being gentle with me last night."

​Sheila paused, looking at Mia for a long, silent moment. "You are a polite thing, aren't you? Hold onto that sweetness, Mia. You're going to need a quiet spirit to survive this house. Now, walk with me. I need to show you how this place functions and explain the rules."

​As they began navigating the lower levels, Mia realized the mansion was an absolute labyrinth of concrete, steel, and high-end finishes. The layout made her head spin, the cold minimalism offering no landmarks.

​"Look down near the baseboards," Sheila instructed, pointing to a small, nearly invisible engraving in the white drywall- a tiny, stylized crow wing pointing upward and to the left. "These are the maid markers. The brothers don't notice them, but they are carved into the walls at every major intersection. Follow the direction of the wing to return to the servant quarters. If you get lost, stay where you are. Do not wander into restricted areas."

​"Restricted areas?" Mia asked, her breath catching.

​"The basement vaults, the sub-levels, and the back offices. You are only permitted on the residential floors," Sheila said firmly. They began ascending a hidden service staircase, the metal steps echoing beneath their soft-soled shoes. "Now, listen to me very carefully, Mia. There is one rule in this house that dictates whether you breathe or bleed: always listen to the brothers. You do not have to obey anyone else in this building- not the guards, not the drivers, not the chefs, unless it is explicitly backed by a brother's word. But you must always obey the brothers. Especially Master August. His word is absolute law. You will address each of them as 'Master.' Never use their first names without it. Do you understand?"

​Mia swallowed the lump of terror rising in her throat, her hands tightly clasping the cleaning caddy Sheila had handed her. "I understand. Always address them as Master."

​"Your primary duty will be the daily upkeep of the brothers' private quarters," Sheila continued as they reached the grand upper residential wing. "You will clean them in a specific order every single day. If the men are in their rooms while you work, you do not look at them, and you do not speak to them unless you are spoken to first. Keep your eyes on the floor and do your job."

​Sheila stopped in front of the first heavy mahogany door at the far end of the wing. "We always start with Master Blake's room. Because he is... less inclined to move, his room is always the worst. It requires immediate attention before the mess becomes unmanageable."

​Sheila unlocked the door, and the moment it swung open, Mia had to fight the urge to take a step back.

​Master Blake's room was an absolute disaster zone. Despite the room being cleaned less than twelve hours ago, it looked as though a tornado of apathy had ripped through it. The blonde-haired man with the rounded face and green eyes was currently buried under a mountain of tangled gray sheets on an oversized bed, snoring softly. The space around him was cluttered with empty soda cans, crushed fast-food bags, and wrappers scattered across the expensive hardwood floor. A gaming console hummed on a massive television screen, a controller dropped carelessly on a pile of dirty clothes.

​"Get straight to work on the trash, Mia," Sheila whispered, already moving toward the attached bathroom. "Don't make too much noise to wake Master Blake."

​Mia stepped lightly, her heart hammering as she crept around the edge of the bed. She knelt down, her small hands quickly gathering the greasy wrappers and discarded cans. She felt incredibly small, working in the shadow of a sleeping giant who had casually handed over the tape to bind her the night before. She worked quickly, humbly, scrubbing a sticky spill off the nightstand without a sound, making sure the space was immaculate before they quietly backed out of the room.

​Next was Master Luke's room, and the theme of indulgence continued, though in a drastically different form. Master Luke, the brother with the soft, rounded facial features and deep blue eyes, was not in his room, but his presence lingered heavily. The room smelled of rich, heavy spices and stale smoke. His space was defined by a massive, custom-built kitchenette and a dining area inside the bedroom itself. The counters were littered with half-eaten plates of high-end delicacies, discarded toothpicks, and empty silver platters.

​"Master Luke has an insatiable appetite," Sheila murmured, wiping down a marble countertop while Mia meticulously scraped dried sauce from an expensive plate. "He brings food from the kitchen at all hours. Wipe the surfaces twice, Mia. He can't stand the smell of old grease, despite creating it."

​"It's... a lot of waste," Mia whispered softly, careful to keep her voice down. She carefully organized the silver domes, her innate kindness making her want to do a perfect job, even for men who terrified her.

​They moved down the hall to Master Malachi's room. The moment Mia stepped inside, a cold shiver ran down her spine. The room reflected the pointed, sharp facial features and bitter green eyes of its occupant. It was suffocating. The walls were lined with dark, polished shelves filled with obscure trinkets, but what caught Mia's attention were the framed photographs and newspaper clippings. They weren't of family; they were clippings of rival businesses, of successful operations, all marked with aggressive red ink. The room felt tense, restless, and deeply bitter. A beautiful, expensive velvet armchair in the corner had been repeatedly slashed with a knife, the stuffing bursting out like an open wound.

​"Do not touch anything on the shelves," Sheila warned sharply under her breath. "Master Malachi is incredibly particular. If a single item is moved an inch out of place, he will know, and he will accuse you of trying to steal from him. He envies what everyone else has, and he fiercely guards what is his."

​Mia nodded frantically, her blue eyes wide as she carefully dusted around the edges of the desk, making absolutely sure not to disturb the precisely angled pens.

​They moved on to Master Richie's quarters. The Consigliere's room was cold, sharp, and hard-edged, mirroring his brown hair, brown eyes, and rigid, ruthless face. It looked less like a bedroom and more like a high-security bank office. A massive steel safe took up an entire wall, and the desk was stacked with perfectly aligned ledgers and digital tablets. There were no personal photographs, no blankets on the leather sofa, no warmth. Everything was calculated, measured, and locked away. Mia spent her time polishing the glass desk until it shone like ice, her reflection looking pale and terrified in the dark surface.

​When they reached Master Dominic's room, Sheila stopped before touching the handle. She turned to Mia, her brown eyes grave.

​"A word of warning about Master Dominic," Sheila said, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "He possesses a perfect face, blonde hair, and blue eyes, and he knows exactly how to use them. He often sleeps with the maids. He considers it his right."

​Mia felt the blood drain from her face, her hands gripping her cleaning cloth so tightly her knuckles turned white. "Does... will he...?"

​"You are more or less safe from that this week," Sheila interrupted gently, noticing the sheer panic in the girl's eyes. "Master August is watching you closely, and none of the brothers dare cross him. But Master Dominic is a predator, Mia. He will try to touch you, he will try to coax you into his bed with sweet words and promises of a lighter workload. Do not look him in the eye. Do not answer his smiles."

​Mia nodded slowly, her throat tight. When they entered Master Dominic's room, it felt like entering a high-end silk trap. The bed was massive, covered in deep red silk sheets, and the air was thick with the suffocating scent of expensive cologne. Mirror panels lined the ceiling and walls. It was a monument to self-obsession and desire. Mia kept her eyes strictly on the floor, quickly vacuuming the plush rug, wanting nothing more than to escape the cloying scent of the room.

​Master Kane's room was next, and it filled Mia with a primal dread. The ruthless, sharp-edged face of the family's muscle was written into every piece of furniture. The walls were dark, unpainted concrete. A massive weight rack sat in the corner, the heavy iron bars looking brutal under the dim lights. The room smelled of sweat, leather, and gun oil. A collection of knives and tactical gear was laid out on a steel workbench, completely exposed. There was a raw, volatile fury humming in the very air of the room, as if the walls themselves were waiting for a fight. Mia worked in absolute silence, her heart in her throat, terrified she might knock over a single casing and trigger the anger of the man who had thrown her over his shoulder.

​Finally, they reached the apex of the residential wing. The double doors were made of solid, black wood.

​"Master August's room," Sheila whispered. "He demands absolute perfection."

​When the doors opened, Mia was stunned. After the chaos of Master Blake's trash, Master Luke's food, and Master Kane's weapons, Master August's room was a sanctuary of absolute, terrifying order. It was the cleanest room in the entire mansion. The color palette was entirely monochromatic- stark blacks, deep grays, and brilliant whites. The room was perfect. His vast bed was made with military precision, not a single wrinkle in the black duvet. His desk held nothing but a lone, silver pen and a closed laptop.

​Standing in the center of the room, Mia could see out the massive floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the entire estate. It was the view of a king looking down on his domain. The room perfectly reflected his black hair, bright blue eyes, and flawless, handsome face- it was untouchable, proud, and completely devoid of human flaws.

​"Dust the desk, Mia. I will handle the glass," Sheila ordered gently.

​Mia stepped toward the desk, her sneakers making no sound on the thick, black rug. She raised her cloth, her hand trembling as she wiped the pristine surface.

​"You're late."

​The smooth, frigid voice cut through the silence of the room like a razor blade.

​Mia flinched violently, dropping her dusting cloth. She spun around, her heart leaping into her throat.

​Master August Crowe stood in the doorway. He had changed into a tailored charcoal suit that fit his lean, powerful frame perfectly. His black hair was immaculate, and his piercing blue eyes locked onto Mia with an intensity that made her knees feel weak. He didn't look angry; he looked demanding, his presence immediately absorbing all the air in the room.

​Sheila immediately dropped her head, her eyes fixed on the floor. "My apologies, Master August. I was showing Mia the markers. It took longer than anticipated."

​Master August walked into the room, his long, deliberate steps entirely silent. He ignored Sheila completely, his focus entirely on Mia. He stopped just two feet away from her. The sheer, overwhelming aura radiated off him, making Mia feel entirely insignificant.

​"Is the house to your liking, Mia?" Master August asked, his voice smooth, carrying a mocking edge of politeness.

​Mia swallowed hard, her small hands clutching the apron of her uniform. She looked down at his polished leather shoes, remembering Sheila's warning. "It... it is very grand, Master August. Thank you for... for providing a room for me."

​Master August tilted his head, a faint, cold smile touching his perfect lips. He reached out, his long fingers catching her chin and forcing her face upward so her bright blue eyes were forced to meet his. The contact was freezing, sending a jolt of panic through her veins.

​"Humble," Master August murmured, studying her porcelain face with a clinical, detached eye. "A rare trait in this city. See that you keep that attitude, Mia. In this house, you are nothing but a shadow that cleans the floors. If you remember your place, you live. If you forget it..." He let go of her chin, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "...well, Master Kane is always looking for an excuse to make a mess."

​"I won't forget, Master August," Mia whispered, a single tear of pure terror slipping down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away, trying to maintain her kind, compliant demeanor. "I will do my work perfectly."

​Master August stared at her for a moment longer, seemingly satisfied by the utter submission in her voice. He turned away, walking toward his desk. "Finish up and get out. I have a meeting with Richie."

​"Yes, Master August," Sheila said quickly.

​Mia scooped up her cloth, her hands shaking so badly she could barely hold it. She quickly finished the desk, her mind spinning with a frantic, overwhelming panic. She was trapped in a palace of sins, ruled by men who viewed her life as nothing more than a speck of dust to be swept away. As they finally backed out of the double doors, closing them softly, Mia let out a ragged breath, knowing that every single day in this house was going to be a battle for her very survival.