CHAPTER THREE
1444 Words
Miranda woke long before her alarm had the chance to ring.
The unfamiliar stillness of the room pressed in on her, thick and watchful. Sleep had come in restless fragments—too light, too uneasy—for comfort. She lay still for a moment, staring across the dim room as dawn barely hinted at the edges of the window. Across from her, Sofia slept soundly, a soft snore escaping her lips, her exhaustion from the previous days evident even in rest.
Miranda slowly sat up, feet touching the cool floor. The reality of where she was settled heavily in her chest. The Negasi mansion was no place for carelessness, and these next few months would shape more than just her finances—it would determine how quickly her aunt could return, how long Miranda herself would remain here.
Depending on how fast Aunt Alicia heals, she thought, folding her hands together.
With a quiet breath, she stood and crossed to the bathroom door adjacent to her bed. The small space was pristine—white tiles gleaming, chrome fixtures spotless. She went through her morning routine in silence, brushing her teeth, washing her face, and finally stepping into the shower. The warm water steadied her nerves, washing away the last remnants of restless sleep.
By the time she emerged, dressed neatly in her uniform, Sofia was sitting up in bed, rubbing her eyes.
“Good morning, Miranda,” Sofia said groggily, stretching as she stifled a yawn. “How was your first night here?”
“Restless,” Miranda admitted with a small smile. “I think my mind’s still catching up.”
Sofia nodded knowingly. “That happens to everyone their first week.” Her gaze flicked over Miranda’s neatly pressed uniform. “I see you’re already ready for the day.”
Miranda smoothed her vest self-consciously. “I didn’t want to be late.”
“Don’t worry,” Sofia said as she slipped out of bed and reached for her shoes. “I’ll show you the ropes. You’ll get used to how things run around here soon enough.”
She tied her hair back as she spoke. “We’ll start with breakfast at the maids’ dining area—it’s just off the kitchen. After that, we check our allocation for the day.” She hesitated briefly, then added, “Today we’re assigned to the east wing.”
Miranda’s brows knit together. “The east wing?”
Sofia nodded. “Mrs. Vivian Edward Negasi’s quarters,” she said quietly. “The lady of the house.”
Something in Sofia’s tone—measured, cautious—made Miranda’s stomach tighten.
“Just follow my lead,” Sofia continued, slipping into her work mode. “Be thorough, keep your head down, and don’t ask unnecessary questions. Mrs. Reese inspects everything.”
Miranda nodded, her heart beating a little faster now.
After both ladies were done and had breakfast, they headed toward the east wing at exactly six in the morning.The mansion was fully awake now, though it remained wrapped in a disciplined hush. Miranda walked beside Sofia, her hands clasped in front of her, her senses alert. This was their first official assignment of the day—cleaning Mrs. Vivian Edward Negasi’s quarters and assisting in her morning preparation, despite the lady of the house having her own personal maid.
Sofia had explained it briefly over breakfast: status required layers of service.
Mrs. Negasi’s quarters were unlike any other part of the house Miranda had seen. The room was vast yet serene, bathed in soft natural light filtering through tall windows draped in sheer ivory curtains. Everything spoke of restrained luxury—cream walls accented with gold trim, plush carpets beneath their feet, and antique furniture polished to a flawless shine.
The bed alone was enormous, framed in carved wood, dressed in silk sheets the color of pearls. Adjacent to the bedroom was a private sitting area that opened onto a balcony overlooking the gardens below.
Miranda moved carefully, mirroring Sofia’s motions as they began their work. They stripped the bed with practiced efficiency, folding the used linen neatly before replacing it with fresh sheets scented faintly with lavender. Every movement was quiet, deliberate.
Mrs. Vivian Edward Negasi was already awake.
She sat on one of the cushioned chairs on the balcony, her back straight, her posture immaculate. At fifty-six, she was striking in a way that defied age—tall, graceful, with smooth caramel-toned skin and sharp, intelligent eyes. Her hair, dark with subtle silver strands, was styled perfectly, as though disorder had never touched her.
She wore a silk robe in soft champagne, the fabric draping elegantly around her frame. Even seated, she commanded the space without effort.
A phone was pressed to her ear.
“When are you coming home, Jayden?” she asked, her voice calm but carrying unmistakable authority. “Hasn’t the Belgium contract been signed yet?”
She paused, listening, her gaze drifting across the garden as if already bored by the answer.
“Your mother simply misses her son,” she continued, a faint edge of indulgence slipping into her tone. “After all, you have refused to bring me a grandchild.”
Another pause.
“Oh, not out of wedlock, obviously,” she added smoothly. “I mean legally.”
Miranda kept her eyes on the task at hand, carefully smoothing the sheets, resisting the urge to glance toward the balcony. Beside her, Sofia worked in silence, her expression neutral.
Mrs. Negasi sighed softly. “Very well,” she said at last. “Alright, son. See you soon.”
The call ended.
Miranda and Sofia finished changing the linens, adjusting the pillows until they were perfectly aligned. The room looked untouched—immaculate, composed, as though no one had ever disturbed it.
As they stepped back, Miranda felt a strange awareness settle over her. This was not just a household. It was a family shaped by power, expectation, and unspoken rules—and somewhere within it stood the man Mrs. Negasi called her son.
Here is a gentle, well-paced continuation that weaves in breaks, lunch, staff dynamics, subtle hostility, and warmth—while keeping Miranda composed and observant:
The morning’s intensity eased briefly when Mrs. Reese announced a short break. Miranda followed Sofia into the staff corridor, grateful for the pause. They sat quietly, sipping water, her legs aching from hours of standing. No one complained. Fatigue, she quickly learned, was something worn silently in this house.
By midday, lunch was served for the staff.
The maids’ dining area was tucked close to the kitchen, simple but clean, filled with long wooden tables and the low hum of conversation. Miranda hesitated at the entrance, suddenly aware of herself in a way she hadn’t been all day.
As she and Sofia sat, eyes drifted toward her.
Some were curious. Others were unmistakably cold.
A few maids whispered among themselves, their gazes sharp and lingering. One woman barely concealed her disdain, her lips tightening as Miranda met her eyes. Miranda felt the weight of it—the unspoken question of why she was here, in Mrs. Alicia’s place, so young, so new.
She lowered her gaze and focused on her food, reminding herself to remain composed.
Then a cheerful voice broke through the tension.
“Goodness gracious,” a woman across the table exclaimed, her face lighting up with genuine delight. “You are gorgeous. You look like an angel.”
Miranda blinked, startled.
The woman smiled warmly. “I’m Clara. Don’t mind the stares. New faces always stir trouble here.”
“Thank you,” Miranda said softly, a shy smile touching her lips. “I’m Miranda.”
Others nearby nodded, some offering polite greetings, a few murmuring welcomes. The hostility didn’t disappear, but it softened—balanced by kindness she hadn’t expected.
Sofia leaned closer. “Ignore the looks,” she whispered. “Some people don’t like change. Or competition.”
Miranda understood more than she let on.
Lunch passed in cautious comfort—small conversations, exchanged names, stories shared in fragments. Miranda listened more than she spoke, careful not to draw attention, yet grateful for the brief sense of belonging.
After lunch, they returned to work.
The afternoon brought quieter tasks—tidying the library, where sunlight filtered through tall windows, dust motes dancing in the air. Miranda worked steadily, her earlier unease fading as her focus returned. The gallery followed, its walls lined with priceless art that demanded silence and respect.
When the final inspection was complete, Miranda felt exhaustion settle deep into her bones—but also pride.
She had survived her first full day.
- Writer
