The Last Sparks

Chapter 3

The front door swung open with a soft creak, and there stood Lucian, frozen in the doorway like a man who had just walked into the wrong house.

Rain dripped from his coat, forming tiny puddles on the hardwood floor. His briefcase dangled forgotten from one hand, his keys still clutched in the other. His eyes—sharp and usually so guarded—flicked between me and Elias, taking in the scene: the half-scrubbed floors, the broom abandoned on the ground, the way Elias was still kneeling beside me with a smirk on his face.

For a moment, I thought he might say something. His lips parted slightly, his brow furrowing in something between disbelief and confusion. I could practically see the questions forming in his mind—Why is Elias helping? Why is he laughing? What the hell is happening in my house?

But then, just as quickly, his expression shuttered. His jaw tightened, and without a word, he turned on his heel and walked upstairs, his footsteps heavy against the stairs.

I glanced at Elias, who just shrugged, as if this was completely normal.

"Does he always do that?" I asked.

Elias wiped his hands on his pants, leaving streaks of dirt behind. "Do what?"

"Pretend he didn’t see anything weird happening right in front of him."

Elias smirked. "You get used to it."

By the time dinner rolled around, the house had settled back into its usual eerie quiet. The kitchen smelled like garlic and herbs—I’d managed to whip up something edible from the half-empty fridge, a miracle in itself. The food was still warm, the steam curling up from the plates as I set them on the table. I called out, my voice echoing through the empty halls. "Dinner's ready!"

No response.

I waited. A minute passed. Then two.

Finally, footsteps.

Elias appeared in the doorway, his hair slightly damp from a shower, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He glanced at the table, then at me. "Where are the others?" I asked. Elias pulled out a chair and sat down, reaching for the serving spoon. "They’re not interested in eating together." I frowned. "At all?" He scooped a portion onto his plate, his movements casual, like this was the most normal thing in the world. "It’s been like this for a while. Mira eats in her room. Dad… well, sometimes he eats, sometimes he doesn’t. But never together."

I stared at him. "So you’re telling me I just cooked a whole meal for one person?"

Elias shrugged. "Now you know for next time."

I sat down across from him, watching as he took a bite. He chewed slowly, then nodded. "Not bad."

"High praise," I muttered.

A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at his lips. "You’ll take what you can get."

We ate in silence after that, the only sound the scrape of forks against plates. The dining room felt too big, too empty, like we were the only two people left in the house. And maybe, in a way, we were.

Later, after the dishes were washed and the kitchen cleaned, I found myself standing in the room. The guest room was nicer than I expected, a queen sized bed, soft linen sheets, even a little writing desk by the window. It was almost too comfortable for a maid's quarters, which made me wonder how often they actually had guests stay over in this giant, hollow house.

I flopped onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

Alright, Serena. New plan.

Lucian Wilde was proving to be a bigger challenge than I'd thought. The man was like a ghost, present but never there, slipping through the halls without a sound, avoiding meals, avoiding me. How was I supposed to make him fall for me if he wouldn't even look in my direction?

I groaned, rubbing my face. I'm screwed.

Then, my phone buzzed.

I fished it out of my pocket. The screen flashed: Boss.

Great. Just what I needed.

I swiped to answer, keeping my voice low. "Yeah?"

"You alive?" her voice was rough, like she'd been smoking too much/

"Unfortunately."

"Good. Now tell me you've already got Lucian Wilde wrapped around your finger."

I rolled my eyes. "Oh yeah. He's so in love with me he's composing sonnets as we speak."

A pause. Then.

"You're failing."

“And in one day, you should’ve at least made him look at you like you’re a person and not part of the furniture.”

I gritted my teeth. “He’s not exactly the chatty type.”

“Then make him chat.” Boss exhaled sharply. “Listen, sweetheart. You don’t get paid to scrub floors. You get paid to get close to him. So figure it out.”

The line went dead.

I tossed my phone onto the bed, glaring at it like it was personally responsible for my problems.

The door creaked open. My head snapped up so fast my neck cracked.

Oh God!

Mira stood in the doorway, her slight frame silhouetted by the dim hallway light. Her dark eyes were fized on me, unblinking.

Shit. s**t. s**t!

Had she heard me? Had she heard everything? The call with my Boss? My entire fake backstory crumbling to dust because of one stupid phone conversation? My pulse roared in my ears. I forced a smile, my voice coming out unnaturally high.

"Oh, hi!" Too loud. Too fake.

Mira didn't react. Just stared.

I swallowed hard. "What?"

She tilted her head slightly, like a bird examining something curious. Then, in that same flat, emotionless tone:

"Can you drop me off at school tomorrow?"

I blinked.

...What?

That was not what I expected. No accusation. No "I heard you plotting." Just... a ride request? My brain scrambled to catch up. Was this a trap? Some kind of test? Maybe she had heard me, and this was her way of getting me alone to interrogate me. Or worse—drive me out to the woods and leave me there. I studied her face, searching for any hint of deception. But Mira's expression was as blank as ever.

"Uh," I said intelligently. "Sure?"

She nodded once, sharp. "Good."

Then she turned to leave.

"Wait!" The word burst out before I could stop it.

Mira paused, looking back over her shoulder.

"Why me?" I asked. "Why not your dad? Or... Elias?"

For the first time, something flickered in her eyes. Not quite emotion, but close. "Dad's busy. Elias doesn't drive." A beat. "And you're the maid. It's your job."

Before I could respond, she added, "Be ready by seven."

Then she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her.

I collapsed back onto the bed, exhaling hard.

What the hell just happened?

Was this really just about a ride? Or was Mira playing some kind of long game? The way she'd looked at me—like she could see straight through my lies—made my skin crawl.

I grabbed my phone, fingers flying over the screen.

To: Boss

Emergency. The daughter might be onto me

~sent

Boss responded instantly.

From: Boss

Then make sure she doesn't talk

I stared at the message, stomach twisting.