Shades of Sanctuary

Felicity’s boots scuffed the city sidewalk, each step heavier than the last. The Kansas dust still clung to her jeans, a stubborn reminder of the life she’d fled. Three days ago, Trent’s last threat—a hissed promise to find her—had pushed her onto a Greyhound with $47 and a crumpled ad for a household job. Now, the city loomed, all sharp edges and honking horns, nothing like the open fields back home. The address led to a gated estate, its iron bars stark against the evening sky. Felicity smoothed her ponytail, heart thudding as she pressed the intercom. A clipped voice—female, older—answered, “State your purpose.” “Felicity Monroe. For the aide position,” she said, voice steadier than she felt. The gate buzzed open. A man in a worn cap, maybe late 20s, leaned against a truck nearby, pruning shears in hand. “You the new hire?” he asked, grin easy. “I’m Marcus. Grounds guy. Don’t mind Elara—she’s all bark.” Before Felicity could reply, a woman in a crisp blazer appeared at the entrance. Elara, presumably. Her eyes, cold as winter frost, sized Felicity up. “Follow me. Mr. Jarden expects precision.” Inside, the house was all clean lines—marble floors, tall windows. No clutter, just wealth in every corner. Elara led her to a study where a man stood, back to them, staring out at the dusk. He turned, and Felicity’s breath caught. Mid-30s, sharp jaw, eyes that pinned her in place. Jarden. “You’re Felicity,” he said, voice low, like he’d known her name forever. “Why this job?” She swallowed. “Needed a fresh start. I’m a hard worker.” His smile flickered, too knowing. “We’ll see. Welcome aboard.” As Elara ushered her out, Felicity felt his gaze linger, a weight that didn’t fade.