Episode 8
1016 Words
The mansion that once breathed life and laughter under Mr. Martin’s presence was now thick with gloom. The walls that had echoed with joy were now witnesses to David’s cruelty. His arrogance was no longer hidden; it had become the air everyone breathed.
Servants no longer smiled. They moved quickly and quietly, their eyes lowered whenever David walked by. The fear in their hearts was as visible as the lavish gold frames hanging on the mansion walls.
Lydia had learned to work in silence. Every sound—every dropped plate, every accidental creak of a door—was a risk. David’s temper needed no reason to ignite.
That morning, the family dining room was filled with the aroma of freshly baked bread, but the peace lasted only seconds.
David entered in his usual swagger, his phone glued to his ear. He was talking loudly, laughing carelessly.
“I told you, I’ll get the contract by the end of the week. My father may be gone, but I’m the man in charge now. Nobody dares say no to me,” he bragged.
He ended the call and threw his phone carelessly on the table, startling the butler.
“What are you waiting for? Serve me!” he snapped.
Jacob, who had just entered, frowned. “You could ask politely, David. These people work hard enough without you shouting at them.”
David smirked. “Ah, my righteous brother is awake. Tell me, Jacob, do you ever get tired of pretending to be the hero?”
“I don’t pretend,” Jacob replied calmly. “I just treat people like they matter.”
David scoffed. “Save your lectures. I don’t need your approval.”
He turned to Lydia, who was serving his breakfast. “And you,” he said sharply, “next time you serve me, wear something better than this rag. This is a mansion, not a village hut.”
Lydia froze, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. She wanted to speak, but the words died in her throat.
Jacob’s jaw tightened. “That’s enough, David.”
David chuckled, slicing his toast with unnecessary force. “If you’re that concerned, maybe you should buy her new clothes yourself.”
Jacob’s silence was his only defense.
But that silence only fed David’s growing ego. He mistook it for weakness.
Days turned into weeks, and David’s temper became the mansion’s curse.
He dismissed the gardener because a rose bush wasn’t trimmed evenly.
He fired a maid for dropping a spoon.
He threw a glass of wine at the driver for arriving five minutes late.
Each act of cruelty carved new scars into the household’s peace.
And Lydia—sweet, gentle Lydia—became his favorite target.
He would make sarcastic remarks about her background, mock her accent, and force her to redo chores that were already perfectly done. Sometimes, he’d call her to his office only to ask for a glass of water, then throw it away just to see her flinch.
The mansion had turned into a palace of fear.
Jacob, on the other hand, watched everything quietly, anger simmering beneath his calm. He couldn’t confront David openly—not without causing chaos—but he started documenting everything David did. Every mistreatment, every misuse of money, every disrespect.
He was gathering proof, though he didn’t yet know what for.
And amid the storm, Lydia’s quiet courage stood out. She never shouted back, never complained, never broke down where David could see.
But every night, when the house fell silent, she cried. And every morning, she rose again with trembling strength.
It was that strength that drew Jacob to her more and more.
He admired her, though he said little.
David, however, noticed. He noticed the way Jacob’s gaze lingered on Lydia when she passed by. He noticed how she smiled softly at Jacob’s small acts of kindness.
And it burned him.
He told himself it was about respect, about maintaining order. But deep down, it was envy. Envy that Jacob had something he didn’t — peace.
One evening, after dinner, David called a meeting with the house staff.
Everyone gathered in the main hall, anxious and confused.
David stood on the staircase, looking down at them like a king addressing his subjects.
“I’ve been observing things lately,” he began. “Too many mistakes. Too many lazy workers. This house is not a charity.”
He pointed at the gardener. “You! The lawn looked terrible yesterday. One more mistake, and you’re gone.”
He turned to the cook. “You’ve been slow with breakfast. Fix it.”
Then his eyes fell on Lydia. A smirk crept across his face.
“And you, dear Lydia…” he said slowly, “you seem to think you can get away with anything because Jacob likes you. Isn’t that right?”
A shocked murmur spread among the staff. Lydia froze, her face turning pale.
Jacob stood up immediately. “David, stop it.”
David ignored him. “Answer me, Lydia. Do you think I don’t see the way you look at my brother?”
Tears welled up in her eyes. “I—I don’t—”
“She doesn’t need to answer that,” Jacob cut in sharply. “You’re out of line.”
David laughed coldly. “Out of line? Oh, Jacob, I’m just getting started. This house needs order, and I’ll make sure everyone knows their place.”
He turned to the staff again. “Anyone caught gossiping or being lazy will lose their job immediately. Understood?”
The staff nodded fearfully.
Jacob’s fists clenched, but he said nothing more.
As everyone dispersed, Lydia ran out of the hall, her sobs echoing faintly.
Jacob followed her quietly but stopped at the doorway. He saw her sitting on the floor, her face buried in her hands. He wanted to comfort her, but something in him told him to wait — to let her grieve alone for now.
He whispered softly to himself, “Hold on, Lydia. Things will change.”
But deep inside, he wasn’t sure when.
- Writer
