HIS DARK SECRET

Chapter4

Clara’s POV

The next morning

I could not sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw those cold, bloodshot eyes of his and felt the phantom pressure of his hand around my throat.

The sun peeking through the expensive silk curtains of my new room felt like a cruel joke.

I smoothed out my uniform.

The fabric was crisp and stiff, smelling of starch and industrial lavender. Looking in the mirror, I didn't recognize the girl staring back.

I looked like a professional maid, but I felt like a lamb that had accidentally wandered into a lion’s den.

Stepping into the main hallway of the villa felt like walking onto a battlefield.

The house was suffocatingly quiet—the kind of silence that happens right before a storm breaks. I made my way to the kitchen,my footsteps echoing too loudly on the floor.

My task was simple: make his coffee and wait.

But the moment I entered the kitchen, He was already there. he was standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, bathed in the morning light.

He looked sharper, cleaner, wearing a charcoal-grey suit that screamed wealth and power.

But the coldness in his posture remained.

"Good morning, sir," I whispered,

bending my head low so I wouldn't have to meet his gaze.He didn't answer.

The silence stretched until I could hear the blood rushing in my ears.

With shaking hands, I poured his coffee and set it on the counter.

He took the cup without a word and walk away.

"It wasn't a setup!" the words burst out of me before I could stop them.

He paused, his back to me.

"I wasn't sent here by your aunt. I swear... all of this is a coincidence. I came because i saw the job poster. I even quit my job at the club because I was so scared I might see you again. I never imagined—"

"That you'd see me here?" he finished the sentence for me, his voice a low, dangerous silk.

He turned slightly, a cruel, mocking smile playing on his lips. "Surprisingly."

I was stunned, my breath catching.

"Yes." i muttered. He didn't argue.

He just let that terrifying smile linger for a second longer before walking out.

Even though he hadn't reacte, my mind could not rest.

I watched through the window as he stepped into a black car and left for work.

I spent the morning in a state of panic.

My first instinct was to run to Mrs. Victoria and tell her that her nephew suspected me.

But I was terrified.

Mrs.Victoria didn’t handle failure well; she would blame me, and that blame would fall on my mother’s shoulders.

And then there was the secret I held.

I knew he was talking drugs. If I reported that to Mrs.Victoria, she would be ecstatic. She would praise me.

I headed out to the main compound to clear my head, and then i saw him—Mr. Sterling.

The old man was in the garden, struggling with a pair of shears.

His hands were shaking, and he was hacking at a beautiful hedge with jagged, uneven strokes.

"Sir, let me help you with that," I said, stepping forward.

He looked up, surprised.

"Oh, don't worry about it, child. I’m just passing the time."

"Please," I insisted, reaching for the shears.

"You're cutting them wrongly, and I can't bear to see these beautiful flowers ruined.

I’m very good at this, I promise. You won't regret it."

He laughed, a warm, genuine sound.

"It looks like you’re a stubborn one, Clara."

"I'm not stubborn," I smiled shyly.

"I just like things to be done right."

As I worked, we talked.

I made him a cup of coffee afterward, and his eyes lit up when he tasted it.

"Where did you learn to make it like this?"

"My mom taught me," I said softly.

"She taught you well," he replied.

He asked my age, and when I told him I was nineteen,he looked saddened.

"Nineteen? You think like a woman who has lived a hundred years.

You’re far more grown-up than my grandson. Kiran is twenty-five, but he acts like a petulant eighteen-year-old."

That was how I finally learned his name.

Kiran.

It made me wonder—he had this beautiful home, a grandfather who clearly loved him, and a future of endless wealth.

Why would he spoil it with drugs?

"I know kiran can be hard most times but he’s has a soft side. He has no friends. He’s always cold. but he was not like this before it was after his parents died he changed. If he does anything you don't like, please forgive him. For my sake."

Mrs. Sterling said to me

"I felt a sudden, sharp ache for him.

Losing my father had nearly broken me; I couldn't imagine the darkness of losing both parents in a single day. Maybe that was why he turned to the drugs—to drown out a silence that was too loud to bear."

i said calmly in my thoughts

By the time I returned to my room, my heart had changed.

I couldn't tell Mrs Victoria about the drugs.

Not when it would break mr. strelling heart.