The Housekeeper's contract

Chapter7

The clink of fine china had long faded into memory, leaving the grand dining hall in a hushed stillness. Staff had cleared the last of the crystal glasses, and the opulent floral centerpieces had been removed, their sweet scent replaced by the faint hint of polish and lemon oil. Upstairs, the estate was asleep—or pretending to be.

Jess stood in the study, arms crossed, eyes sharp as a blade. The quiet tick of the grandfather clock behind her felt louder than necessary, grating on her already frayed nerves.

“She’s too quiet,” she muttered.

Caroline, the estate’s head housekeeper, looked up from the tablet. “Who?”

“The new one. Leah Brooks.”

Caroline tilted her head, confused. “She’s been excellent. Discreet, fast, efficient. Never complains.”

“Exactly,” Jess said, her voice low but edged with irritation. “No one is that perfect.”

Caroline gave a cautious smile. “Isn’t that what we want in a housekeeper? Someone who minds her business and gets the work done?”

Jess didn’t answer. Her arms remained crossed, her mind working through an uneasy trail of observations. Something didn’t sit right with her. Leah was professional, yes. Polite, absolutely. But it was more than that. She was too calculated. Too careful. Like she was performing a role.

“I suppose if you’d like, I can review her file again,” Caroline offered.

Jess gave a curt nod. “Send it to me.”

Minutes later, Jess sat alone in Dominic’s private study. She rarely used it without him, but tonight, she needed privacy—and access. She opened the email Caroline had sent and began scrolling through the attached documents.

Name: Leah Brooks

Position: Housekeeper

Agency: Rosebridge Domestic Staffing

Employment Start Date: Three weeks ago

References from previous employers glowed with praise. Organized. Quiet. Hardworking. Reliable. Jess resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

Too clean.

She opened the attached background summary from the agency. It was meant to be thorough—employment history, residential records, basic family information. Her eyes scanned the lines quickly, hunting for anything out of place.

Then she saw it.

Previous address: Kensington Avenue, Raleigh. Dated: three years ago.

Her finger froze over the mousepad.

Jess quickly pulled up Dominic’s archived travel logs. She’d kept them organized herself for years—flight confirmations, apartment leases, hotel bookings. It only took a few clicks to find what she needed.

Dominic Blake: NYC Residence – Spring Towers, March through May of the same year.

Her stomach tightened.

Back then, Dominic had insisted she return early from their New York trip. He’d claimed to need space and said the final stages of the business deal he was negotiating required focus. Jess, trusting him as always, hadn’t questioned it. But now…

Leah Brooks had been living in Raleigh at the exact same time.

Could be a coincidence, she thought. But her gut told her otherwise. Something about Leah had bothered her from the beginning. She didn’t fawn like the others. She kept to herself. Always calm. Always composed. Too composed.

Jess opened Leah’s employment history again, but the jobs before Rosebridge were minimal—gaps in between. She frowned. A nanny job here. A private housekeeping stint there. And yet none of the roles lasted more than six months. No long-term positions, no close references. Just generic praise.

It was a ghost’s resume. Enough to pass, but nothing real to hold on to.

She stood abruptly and paced the length of the room. Maybe she was overreacting. But Dominic had enemies—people who would go to any length to gain proximity to him. And Leah had managed to slide in under the radar, seemingly perfectly, and now lived under the same roof.

Her instincts were rarely wrong.

She picked up her phone and dialed.

“Marco,” she said the moment the line clicked. “I need a discreet background check.”

“On who?”

“Leah Brooks. Late twenties, maybe early thirties. I am currently working as a housekeeper here. Lived in Raleighk—Kensington Avenue—three years ago. I want everything. Jobs, family, relationships, anything public or buried.”

There was a pause. “You think she’s dangerous?”

“No,” Jess replied coldly. “I think she’s hiding something." And I don’t like surprises in this house.”

“Got it. Give me twenty-four hours.”

“Make it twelve.”

She hung up and stared out the window. The Blake estate sat cloaked in darkness, moonlight reflecting off the stone driveway. Her mind kept circling back to one thing: the way Dominic had looked at Leah at the investor dinner. Not directly. Not, obviously. But there had been a flicker—something unreadable in his expression when Leah passed by.

She didn’t recognize the look. And that unsettled her more than anything else.

Downstairs, in the quiet hum of the staff kitchen, Leah dried her hands on a linen towel. The evening had gone smoothly—no interruptions, no questions, no slip-ups.

And yet, the feeling was back.

That creeping weight in her chest. Like someone was watching her. Not with suspicion, necessarily, but with… curiosity. She tried to shake it off. Paranoia was an old companion, especially in unfamiliar places.

She glanced toward the hallway where the shadows stretched long under the soft golden lights. No one was there.

Still, the sensation lingered.

"You’re safe," she told herself. He doesn’t recognize you. No one knows who you are.

She opened the drawer beside the sink and retrieved a small box. Inside were her few personal items: a worn paperback, a journal, and a photograph of her son. Tucked beneath the picture was a silver locket on a chain.

She ran her fingers over the surface before slipping it over her neck and tucking it under her blouse.

Eli.

Her entire life had changed the night she met Dominic Blake—without either of them knowing what it would mean. And now, years later, here she was, working under his roof, pretending nothing had happened. That her son didn’t exist.

She exhaled slowly, gripping the edge of the counter.

She had to keep things under control. If she slipped—even once—it could unravel everything. She wasn’t here to reconnect. She wasn’t here for him. She was there to start over. To find stability.

To build a future for Eli.

And yet, the way Jess had glanced at her earlier that day…

Leah shook her head. No. She’d been careful. There was nothing to find.

Still, she didn’t see Caroline as much anymore. Jess had taken over communicating her assignments. Watching her closely. Subtle changes. Nothing overt. But enough to notice if you knew what to look for.

She moved quietly to her room and closed the door behind her. The simple space had become her refuge. A twin bed, a narrow dresser, and a window that overlooked the garden. She sat on the edge of the bed and picked up her journal, staring at the blank page.

The words wouldn’t come.

Her thoughts were too loud.

What if Jess did start digging? What if she found out about Raleigh? About Eli?

No. There were no records linking Dominic to her. He never even knew her last name. That night had been a blur of chance and timing. A name. A smile. One night. Nothing more.

But some part of her—deep, quiet, frightened—whispered that fate didn’t bring people back together without a reason.

Back in the study, Jess sat at the desk, scrolling through Leah’s agency profile again. A few fields remained redacted—likely confidential entries from previous employers. She made a note to have Marco look into those too.

And then something caught her eye.

A scanned image buried deep in the profile.

A group photo. Casual. Likely taken during a private staffing retreat. Leah stood to the far right—shoulders straight, hands folded in front of her, that ever-composed smile.

But it wasn’t Leah that caught Jess’s attention. It was the woman standing beside her.

Sharp jaw. Familiar posture. The faintest resemblance to someone Jess had met once, years ago. A woman Dominic had spoken to briefly at a gallery opening in Manhattan.

Her eyes narrowed.

No confirmation. Nothing certain. But the feeling in her gut grew colder, tighter.

She stared at the screen for a long time before finally leaning back in the chair.

“Who the hell are you really, Leah Brooks?” she whispered.