1. A House Full of Secrets
The bright yellow eviction notice was still taped to my door when I got home from my overtime shift.
The landlord's final warning gave me fourteen days. After that, the locks would be changed, and whatever belongings I couldn't take with me would end up on the curb.
I stood in the apartment hallway for a long moment, surrounded by the smell of my neighbors' takeout, staring at the notice until the letters and numbers blurred. When I checked the balance in my bank account on the phone in my hand, it was just as bleak. I'd lost my second job two days ago, and now I was completely cornered, with practically no money left.
Suddenly, my phone vibrated.
“Do you still need a job that pays really well?” Sara, my best friend, texted.
“How well?” I replied immediately.
“You'll be living there. It's a huge estate up north called Fortunewall Mansion, owned by the Thompson family,” Sara wrote. “They need someone who can start right away. The person has to be quiet, hardworking, able to cook, and not ask too many questions. The pay is insane, May. I worked there for six months. If you want it, I can put your name in now.”
“Put my name down, Sar.” I'll take it, I replied without a second thought.
Three hours later, I was sitting on a northbound train with my duffel bag at my feet. The address Sara had sent me was still glowing on my screen: Fortunewall Mansion, Rhinebeck.
After getting off the train, I took a taxi with the last of the money I had. It dropped me at the end of a long gravel road. Beyond the thick stand of pine trees, a magnificent three-story mansion made of natural stone and dark wood stood against the fading afternoon light.
A woman in a dark gray cardigan was waiting for me at the staff entrance.
"You're Maya Ellis?" she asked.
"Yes, I ...."
"I'm Mrs. Noreen," she cut in briskly. "You're earlier than expected."
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Noreen, I ...."
"No need to apologize. Early is better." She took the bag from my hand. "Leave your things here. We'll go over the work rules first."
I followed her inside, walking through a marble hallway. I suddenly stopped when we passed the kitchen.
It was bigger than my entire apartment.
A massive black marble island stretched across the center of the spotless, gleaming room, with the dining area just beyond it.
Mrs. Noreen placed a thick folder on the table.
"Confidentiality agreement. Non-disclosure agreement. Sign it before you start working here."
"Are the rules really that strict?" I asked as I opened the first page.
"Simple enough," Mrs. Noreen said firmly. "You're not allowed to discuss the Thompson family with anyone outside this house. Nothing about the mansion, and nothing about anything you hear or see while working here."
She looked me straight in the eye.
"And most importantly, you must remember this. Never set foot in the East Wing."
"Never?" I looked up.
"Never."
"Why?"
"The door is locked for a reason, Maya. It's none of your business," she said coldly. "Ah... and one more thing. You're not allowed to ask Mr. Micah about the scars on his hands or anything concerning his personal life. If he speaks to you, answer only what's necessary. If he stays quiet, don't try to get his attention. Understood?"
"Understood, Mrs. Noreen."
When I saw the salary listed on the first page, nearly three times what I'd been earning before, I grabbed the pen immediately. My hand moved quickly as I signed my name across the employment contract.
"Sara said you're reliable and don't cause trouble," Mrs. Noreen said as she took the folder back. "Don't make her look like a liar, understand?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Good. Your room is on the third floor. Get some rest."
My room was tucked into the attic of the house. It was small, but clean, comfortable, and warm. An arched window looked out directly over the pine forest.
The house was unbelievably quiet. It was the kind of silence that felt expensive.
I was putting away my clothes when the sound of heavy, measured footsteps echoed through the hallway outside. I turned the doorknob and peeked through the narrow opening.
A man stood in the hallway.
He was strikingly tall, wearing a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His features were sharp, and a thin scar cut through his left eyebrow. When he lifted his hand, I noticed the old burn scars covering the backs of both hands.
Micah Thompson.
His gaze suddenly shifted, cutting straight through the crack in my door.
"You're the new one?" His voice was low and flat. "Sara's replacement?"
I pushed the door open a little farther.
"Maya. Maya Ellis."
"You've read the part about the East Wing, Maya?" Micah asked, narrowing his eyes.
"Yes, Mr. Thompson."
"Then make sure you don't try to break that rule."
"I understand."
Micah turned without wasting another second.
"Dinner is at seven. Mrs. Noreen will tell you what needs to be done."
"Yes, Mr. Thompson."
"Until then, make sure you stay out of my way," he added coldly before walking off.
I drew a deep breath and closed the door firmly behind me.
I sat on the edge of the bed, watching the last traces of sunset slowly disappear into darkness.
"I'm only here for the money," I whispered to myself in the silence of the room. "Just for the money."
Around midnight, the quiet creak of a door hinge downstairs broke the silence.
I jolted upright in bed.
"What was that?" I whispered.
Faint footsteps moved through the hallway below, then disappeared just as quickly.
"Don't get involved, Maya," I told myself, curling my fingers tightly in my lap. "Remember what Mrs. Noreen said. Don't go looking for answers."
I stared at the dark ceiling, realizing that something was quietly burning inside this house.
And I'd just walked straight into the smoke.
