Sinful Whispers

Chapter 8: The First Morning

I woke to the sound of rain pattering softly against the windows of Waverley Manor. The sky beyond the arched glass was a dreary, moody gray, the kind that made you want to curl deeper under the covers and ignore the world for just a bit longer.

But this wasn’t home. This wasn’t my old life.

And I had a job to do.

I exhaled slowly, staring at the high ceiling for a moment before rolling out of bed. The sheets here were softer than anything I had ever owned, and the warmth of the heavy blankets clung to my skin as I peeled myself away. A glance at the old-fashioned clock on the vanity told me it was already 6:30 AM.

I had thirty minutes before I was supposed to start.

Get up. Get moving. Don’t make a bad impression.

Cassius Montgomery didn’t seem like the kind of man who tolerated tardiness.

I reached for the suitcase I had hurriedly packed two nights ago and pulled out a simple black top and dark slacks—plain enough to blend in but comfortable enough to work in. There had been no official uniform given to me yet, though something told me it might come later.

A few quick strokes of a brush through my curls, a splash of cold water on my face, and a deep breath later, I was heading out into the silent halls of Waverley Manor.

The kitchen was massive.

White marble countertops stretched across one side, dark wooden cabinets lining the walls. A wide, floor-to-ceiling window allowed the morning’s dim light to spill in, making the golden accents of the room glow faintly. The scent of coffee and something subtly spiced filled the air.

To my mild surprise, I wasn’t the first one here.

An older woman stood near the stove, her back to me as she moved with effortless efficiency, stirring something in a deep pot. She wore a simple maid’s uniform—black with a crisp white apron tied around her waist. A bun of steel-gray hair sat neatly atop her head.

She must have heard me enter because she spoke before turning around.

“You’re on time.” Her voice was even, mildly approving.

I straightened a little. “I try to be.”

She turned then, giving me a once-over with sharp brown eyes. Her face was lined but not harsh, her expression unreadable but not entirely unkind.

“I’m Mrs. Halloway. Housekeeper.”

I nodded. “I’m—”

“I know who you are.”

I hesitated.

“…Right.”

There was a stretch of silence as she focused back on the pot she was stirring. The faint aroma of cinnamon and cloves wafted through the air. I suddenly felt out of place, unsure where to step or what to say.

“I assume Mr. Montgomery gave you a rundown of your responsibilities?” Mrs. Halloway finally asked.

I shifted slightly. “Not in detail.”

She sighed, shaking her head. “Figures. He enjoys making things unnecessarily difficult.”

I bit the inside of my cheek, wondering if agreeing with that was the right move or not.

“Come, then,” she said, motioning for me to follow. “I’ll explain what you actually need to know.”

The house was even bigger than I’d realized.

I spent the next hour trailing after Mrs. Halloway as she explained the ins and outs of the manor’s upkeep. My duties, as she described them, were fairly simple in principle—cleaning and tending to the rooms Mr. Montgomery used most, ensuring his meals were set at the right times, keeping things orderly. But there were rules woven into those tasks that felt oddly specific.

Don’t enter the East Wing without permission.

If Cassius isn’t home, do not enter his study, no matter what.

Certain rooms—marked by a gold-plated lock—are strictly forbidden.

I had never worked as a maid before, but even I knew that most jobs like this didn’t come with restrictions that sounded so…ominous.

Still, I nodded, keeping my questions to myself.

Eventually, we ended back in the kitchen, and Mrs. Halloway folded her arms across her chest, assessing me one last time.

“You’ll learn the rest as you go,” she said simply.

I offered a hesitant smile. “I appreciate the help.”

She let out a low, knowing hum. “Word of advice, girl?”

I straightened slightly. “Yeah?”

“You seem sharp enough. That’s good. But be careful how much you see in this house.”

I blinked. “What do you mean?”

Mrs. Halloway exhaled, shaking her head slightly as she reached for a cloth to wipe her hands.

“You’ll understand soon enough.”

And with that, she turned away, ending the conversation before it even had a chance to begin.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of new routines.

Polishing furniture that probably cost more than my old café, learning which cabinets held which cutlery, memorizing the meticulous organization of Cassius’s wine collection—it was all strangely normal, considering the weight of Mrs. Halloway’s warning still lingering in the back of my mind.

And then, at exactly noon, I saw him again.

Cassius Montgomery entered the dining hall with the kind of presence that filled the entire space without effort. He was dressed sharply, as always, dark slacks and a fitted vest, his hair slicked neatly into place. He didn’t say a word as he approached the dining table, merely glancing at the plate of food I had just set down before pulling out a chair and sitting.

I hovered near the doorway, uncertain of whether I was meant to stay or leave.

After a long, quiet moment, he finally spoke.

“Adjusting well?”

I nodded, then quickly realized he wasn’t looking at me. “Uh, yes. Mrs. Halloway’s been helping me find my way around.”

“She would,” he murmured, slicing into the poached fish on his plate. “Do you like it here?”

It felt like a loaded question.

“It’s… different.”

A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, but he didn’t press the topic. Instead, he took a slow sip from his wine glass before setting it down carefully, his eyes finally flicking up to meet mine.

“I expect a lot,” he said casually, like he wasn’t cutting straight to the bone of something. “And I don’t tolerate half-hearted efforts.”

A quiet warning. A test, maybe.

I met his gaze evenly, ignoring the way it made my pulse trip. “I can handle expectations.”

Something in his expression shifted, something dark and intrigued.

“We’ll see, won’t we?”

He took another sip of wine, and I exhaled slowly, realizing too late that I’d been holding my breath.