Episode3:”The Rules”
1540 Words
Morning came dressed in gray clouds. The Cole mansion never really woke up; it only shifted moods, from darkness to dim light and back again. Emily had begun to understand that silence here wasn’t peace, it was a warning.
By her fourth sunrise in the house since Dante’s return, she had learned to move quietly. Every sound echoed. Every whisper carried. Even her own heartbeat felt too loud.
That was when Mrs. Doyle summoned the new staff.
They gathered in the servants’ hall, the smell of bleach and coffee clinging to the air. The housekeeper stood before them like a commander, her spine stiff, her expression sharper than glass.
“These are the house rules,” Mrs. Doyle began, her voice cutting through the low hum of chatter. “Forget them, and you won’t last a week.”
Emily lifted her chin slightly, clutching her cleaning cloth.
“Rule One,” Mrs. Doyle said. “Never speak first. If Mr. Cole, or any of his associates, addresses you, you answer briefly and respectfully. You do not initiate conversation. You do not ask questions. You do not look where you shouldn’t.”
A murmur rippled through the maids.
“Rule Two,” she continued. “Never interfere in business meetings, deliveries, or phone calls. If you see something you don’t understand, you didn’t see it. Understood?”
Heads nodded quickly.
“And Rule Three,” Mrs. Doyle paused. “Never enter the third floor. Not for cleaning, not for curiosity, not for anything. That level is private. Locked for a reason. Disobey, and you will be dismissed immediately, if you’re lucky.”
The woman’s eyes, cold and unblinking, swept the room.
Emily felt a chill crawl up her spine. She wanted to ask what was on the third floor, but the warning in Mrs. Doyle’s gaze silenced her.
“Now,” the housekeeper said briskly, “get to work.”
As the group scattered, Emily lingered by the hallway door, the words third floor echoing in her mind.
Dismissed if she’s lucky? What did that mean?
She turned toward the staircase. Three levels rose above her grand, sweeping, and immaculate. She’d cleaned the first and second, dusted paintings worth more than her entire life, and polished silver that gleamed like moonlight.
But the third… the third was always shrouded in darkness.
Every night, she heard footsteps up there, slow, deliberate. Sometimes, faint voices, the scrape of furniture, the click of a lock.
No one spoke of it. No one dared.
That afternoon, Emily carried a tray of linens past the library when she heard low voices drifting from inside. She froze.
“…he’s back too soon,” one man said.
“Had to be,” another replied. “They hit two of our shipments. He made an example of them. Half of East End’s still cleaning the blood.”
Her stomach turned.
Even after everything she’d seen, the casual way they spoke of blood still unsettled her.
She stepped away quickly but as she turned, she collided with something solid.
Someone.
Strong hands caught her by the arms before she could fall.
“Careful.”
The voice was smooth, dark, and familiar.
Emily looked up, her breath catching. Dante Cole stood inches away, dressed in black as usual, his tie loosened, the faint bruise along his jaw almost gone.
“Mr. Cole,” she stammered.
His gaze dropped to the tray between them, then to her face. “You’re everywhere, aren’t you?”
“I was just..”
“Working.” His lips curved faintly. “So I’ve noticed.”
She tried to step back, but he didn’t release her immediately. His thumb brushed her sleeve, a small, accidental touch that sent heat racing through her. Then, as if realizing it, he let go.
“Tell me,” he said quietly. “Do you always break rules this easily?”
Her eyes widened. “I haven’t”
“You’re in the west corridor,” he interrupted. “It’s off limits when I’m in conference.”
She swallowed. “I didn’t know”
“Now you do.”
He moved past her, but not before leaning close enough for his words to slide against her skin. “Be careful where your curiosity leads, Emily Hart. Not every door in this house opens back up once you cross it.”
And just like that, he was gone, leaving her standing in the empty hall, her pulse fluttering.
That night, the storm returned. Rain lashed the mansion’s windows while wind howled through the chimneys. Emily lay awake, staring at the ceiling of her narrow room, Dante’s words echoing over and over.
Not every door opens back up.
She turned, restless. The mansion creaked and moaned with the storm. Then she heard it, soft footsteps above her. The third floor.
She sat up, listening. A muffled sound, like something scraping across wood. Then silence. Then a low thud.
Her heart raced.
Everyone else was asleep. The curiosity that had gotten her in trouble before now clawed at her again.
Don’t, she warned herself. Follow the rules.
But she couldn’t shake the image of Dante’s expression his calm danger, his warning laced with something else. Something that felt like concern.
She slipped out of bed, pulling her shawl around her shoulders, and stepped into the corridor.
The mansion was dark. Candles flickered faintly in sconces along the wall. She moved silently, her bare feet making no sound on the cold marble floor.
At the grand staircase, she looked up. The third-floor landing loomed above, half hidden in shadow. A single door sat at the end of the hallway, tall, black, and locked.
Her pulse thundered.
She climbed one step. Then another.
Just one look, she told herself. Then she’d go back.
Halfway up, a voice stopped her.
“Do you enjoy tempting death, Miss Hart?”
Emily froze.
Dante stood at the bottom of the stairs, half-hidden in darkness, a glass in one hand, his shirt open at the throat. His gaze caught the faint candlelight, silver and sharp.
“I,” she started, her throat dry.
“Go back to bed,” he said, his tone quiet but unmistakably commanding.
“I heard something,” she whispered. “Up there.”
“You hear things because you want to,” he replied, stepping closer. “That’s how curiosity kills.”
She hesitated. “What’s on the third floor?”
For a moment, something flickered in his expression, surprise? Amusement? Then it hardened.
“Rule Three,” he said softly. “Never enter the third floor. I suggest you remember it.”
“I’m not a child,” she said, though her voice trembled.
“No,” he agreed, his gaze darkening. “You’re something much more dangerous.”
The words hung between them, heavy, electric.
Rain crashed against the windows. The mansion seemed to hold its breath.
Emily couldn’t move. His eyes held her captive, pulling her into a silence that was both terrifying and magnetic.
Then he sighed, setting his glass on the banister. “Go to bed, Emily.”
Her lips parted to argue, but the tone in his voice, the low warning wrapped in something she couldn’t name, left no room for defiance.
She turned slowly and descended, her pulse thrumming. When she reached the bottom, he stepped aside, his presence brushing against her like heat.
“Good girl,” he murmured.
Her chest tightened. She didn’t know if it was fear or something far more dangerous that made her shiver.
As she passed him, she dared one glance back. He was still there, watching her, the stormlight catching the edges of his face.
For a heartbeat, she thought she saw something in his eyes that wasn’t coldness. Something like conflict.
Then she blinked, and it was gone.
The next morning, the house felt different quieter, heavier. Word spread that two of Dante’s men had disappeared overnight. No one spoke of it aloud, but the fear in the servants’ eyes said enough.
Emily moved through her chores on instinct, but her mind stayed on the third floor.
By evening, she saw Mrs. Doyle locking one of the corridor doors. “Is it true?” Emily asked softly before she could stop herself.
The woman’s hand froze on the key. “You’d do well not to ask questions like that.”
“But the rules”
“The rules exist for a reason,” Mrs. Doyle snapped. “Some truths are more dangerous than lies, Miss Hart. Keep your head down.”
She turned and left.
Emily stood in the hall alone, the echo of the lock clicking into place ringing in her ears.
That night, as the mansion settled again into uneasy silence, Emily stood by her window, watching the rain streak down the glass.
She had come here to work off a debt, to survive. But with every rule she learned, every warning she heard, the mansion drew her deeper.
And Dante Cole,
The man who ruled this house of secrets,
He was the greatest mystery of them all.
Because even as he warned her to stay away, his eyes said something else entirely.
Something that promised both ruin and salvation.
- Writer
