Episode7
1391 Words
The west wing was quiet at dawn, the kind of silence that made thoughts louder and hearts more restless. Diane stood by the tall window, watching dew form along the garden hedges. Amelia and Ethan were still asleep, curled in the warmth of new beginnings, unaware of the storm slowly tightening around them.
The room smelled of fresh linen and lavender soap. It was a temporary haven. She knew it. The Hart family didn’t make offers without a catch. Their generosity was a game board, every piece a calculated move, and she had just been given her first real test, separated from Elias, surrounded by enemies in tailored suits.
But she had played this kind of game before.
Diane touched the edge of the vanity, eyes unfocused. A memory rose unbidden, soft as fog, sharp as glass.
It had been three weeks ago. She had found him where she always found safety: beneath the raw buzz of a broken streetlamp outside St. Jude’s Shelter.
Elias had been handing out food again, like he always did. His hands moved like poetry; efficient, careful, kind. People trusted him instinctively, the way children trust warmth.
She waited until the last meal was handed out before she stepped forward.
“Diane?” he asked, eyes narrowing in recognition, voice weighted with concern.
She didn’t respond right away. Instead, she reached into her bag and pulled out a photo of Amelia and Ethan.
“I need your help,” she said simply.
Elias blinked, caught between surprise and something else, heartbreak, maybe. They hadn’t seen each other in over five years. He had been her friend once, almost something more, before everything broke apart.
“They’re beautiful,” he murmured, tracing the photo gently. “Yours?”
She nodded.
“I need a husband,” she said.
Elias raised an eyebrow. “That’s not usually how you ask someone out.”
“It’s pretense,” she clarified. “Just long enough to get into a place. Protect them. Establish… control.”
She explained the Hart estate. The job offer. The family. The sister. Every poisonous thread in the tapestry she was stepping back into.
“And you chose me?” Elias asked.
“I trust you.”
The words settled between them, heavy with unsaid things.
After a long pause, he looked up at her. “If I do this… I’ll be stepping into something dangerous.”
“I won’t let it reach you,” she whispered. “I swear.”
Elias smiled, the kind that knew too much. “It’s not me I’m worried about. It’s you.”
She looked away then, because tears were too close. And because she couldn’t afford to cry, at least not yet.
He took her hand. “Tell me what to do.”
Now, back in the present, Diane blinked the memory away as the sun began to rise.
Down the hall, she heard the butler’s footsteps echoing. A knock followed.
“Dr. Elaine,” he said from behind the door. “Lord Hart requests your presence in the music room.”
Diane glanced at the clock. 7:15 a.m. Too early for pleasantries.
She opened the door. “Alone?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Her fingers twitched slightly, instinctively. She nodded and stepped out, brushing the side of her cream robe. Her presence was a statement now—soft-spoken, composed, yet utterly unreadable.
As she walked past the grand staircase, Diana emerged from the opposite corridor.
Their eyes locked.
“Slept well?” Diana asked, her voice smooth but brittle.
“Like a child,” Diane replied.
A flicker of something dangerous crossed Diana’s face. “Let’s hope it lasts.”
Diane smiled politely. “Indeed.”
She didn’t stop walking.
The music room was dimly lit, the curtains half-drawn. The grand piano stood silent in the corner like a forgotten monument. Lord Vincent Hart sat in a high-backed chair, cane resting against his knee, expression stern.
“Sit,” he said, gesturing to the chair across from him.
Diane obeyed.
“I won’t waste your time,” he began. “Your qualifications check out. Your reputation is clean. Too clean, actually.”
She remained silent.
“I don’t like unknown variables, Dr. Elaine. Especially ones that bring children and strangers into my estate under false pretenses.”
“I didn’t lie,” Diane replied calmly. “My husband came to support his family.”
Lord Hart snorted. “You think we’re stupid?”
“No. I think you’re suspicious,” she said softly. “Which is understandable. But Elias poses no threat. He’ll stay away, as requested. I respect your household.”
His eyes narrowed. “You’re awfully composed for someone under scrutiny.”
“I’ve survived worse,” she said, then added gently, “and I have no intention of bringing chaos to your home.”
Lord Hart tapped his cane once. “We’ll see about that.”
Meanwhile, Elias had taken up temporary lodging at a small inn three miles from the estate. He sat in the corner of the breakfast café, sipping lukewarm coffee and reading the morning paper.
He kept his phone face-up. No messages. No missed calls.
He knew what Diane was doing; maintaining the illusion, walking the tightrope. And he respected her for it. But it didn’t make the waiting any easier.
A waitress approached. “Another cup?”
He nodded absently. “Please.”
When she left, he pulled out a folded piece of paper from his coat pocket. It was a crude layout of the Hart estate Diane had sketched for him on napkins and memo pads. Her notes filled the margins: This corridor has no cameras. Don’t linger near the garden past 9 p.m. Richwell is always watching. Diana hides secrets in her vanity drawer. Trust no one except the twins.
He had memorized every word.
Back at the estate, Diane returned to the west wing to find Amelia building a block castle and Ethan drawing suns with bright orange crayons. Their joy was infectious, and for a moment, the dark undercurrents of the Hart family faded into the background.
“Can we see Daddy today?” Amelia asked, eyes wide.
“Not today, my love,” Diane replied gently. “Soon, though.”
Ethan ran to her with his drawing. “I made this for you!”
She knelt and hugged him tightly. “It’s perfect.”
But as she held her son, her eyes flicked toward the hallway where she saw a shadow pass; tall, precise, familiar.
Richwell.
She rose, keeping her tone even. “Why don’t you two go play in the garden for a while? I’ll join you in a bit.”
As the twins raced out, Diane stepped into the hall.
Richwell was leaning against the wall, arms folded.
“I’m starting to think you enjoy the suspense,” he said.
“Not really,” she replied. “But I’ve learned to survive it.”
He studied her. “You’re not what I expected.”
“Neither are you,” she said coolly.
They stood in silence for a long moment.
“Why the charade?” he asked finally.
“For them,” she answered. “For safety. For sanity.”
Richwell tilted his head. “And for revenge?”
She didn’t blink. “Not yet. But maybe.”
He gave a slow nod. “Let’s hope your lies are prettier than Diana’s. She decorates hers in gold.”
Diane smiled faintly. “I prefer silver. It cuts cleaner.”
He chuckled, a low, dry sound. “Careful, Dr. Elaine. This house remembers everything.”
And with that, he walked away.
That night, Diane called Elias.
“They’re watching me more closely,” she said in a hushed tone.
“Expected,” Elias replied. “Want me to pull back further?”
“No,” she said. “Stay ready. There’s something off about Richwell. He’s… unraveling.”
“And Diana?”
“She’s already unraveled. She just doesn’t know it yet.”
“Do you trust him?”
“Trust?” Diane echoed, then shook her head. “I trust no one but you and the twins.”
Elias was quiet for a moment. “Then we keep playing our parts.”
“Yes,” she whispered. “Until the curtain falls.”
- Writer
