I THINK MY HOUSEMAID IS WATCHING ME

CHAPTER TWO: NINA PASCAL

She woke at five thirty.

The alarm on her phone buzzed softly and Nina's eyes snapped open before the second vibration. She had always been a light sleeper. Even as a child she would wake at the smallest sound. Her father used to joke that she had the instincts of a spy.

Maybe he was right.

She lay still for a moment letting her eyes adjust to the gray light filtering through the curtains. The room was unfamiliar. The bed was too soft. The sheets smelled like lavender detergent. Everything felt wrong.

Then she remembered where she was.

The Monroe estate. The house on the hill. The belly of the beast.

She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. The floor was cold against her bare feet. She welcomed the discomfort. It sharpened her. Reminded her why she was here.

She showered quickly. The water pressure was better than anything she had experienced in years. Hot and strong. She could have stood under it for an hour but she didn't have time for luxury. She had a role to play.

She dressed in the uniform she had been given. Black pants. White blouse. Simple and forgettable. She pulled her hair back into a tight bun and checked herself in the mirror.

Plain. Invisible. Perfect.

She was downstairs by five fifty-five.

The kitchen was empty. Stainless steel appliances gleamed under recessed lighting. Everything was spotless. Everything was expensive. The refrigerator alone probably cost more than six months of her rent.

Nina stood in the middle of the room and took it all in. This was where she would spend most of her time. Cooking. Cleaning. Serving. The invisible machinery that kept the beautiful people comfortable.

She found a coffee maker and figured out how to use it. By six o'clock she had a pot brewing. The smell filled the kitchen. Rich and dark. Almost comforting.

She heard footsteps approaching. Heels on marble.

Cassandra entered the kitchen and stopped when she saw Nina standing there. For a moment something crossed her face. Surprise maybe. Or confusion. Like she had forgotten she hired someone new.

Then her expression smoothed into that flat neutral mask.

"You're early," she said.

"You said six o'clock ma'am. I wanted to be ready."

Cassandra studied her. Those pale eyes moving over Nina's face like she was searching for something hidden underneath.

"Coffee," she said finally. "Black. No sugar. And toast with butter. Not too dark."

"Yes ma'am."

Nina turned to the counter and began preparing the breakfast. She could feel Cassandra's eyes on her back. Watching. Evaluating.

Let her watch, Nina thought. Let her see exactly what she expects to see. A quiet girl doing her job. Nothing more.

The toast popped up. Nina buttered it carefully. Not too much. Not too little. She poured the coffee into a white ceramic mug and placed everything on a tray.

She carried it to the breakfast nook where Cassandra had settled into a chair by the window. The morning light caught her hair and made it glow. She looked like something out of a painting. Beautiful and untouchable.

Nina set the tray down and stepped back. Hands clasped in front of her. Eyes lowered.

Cassandra took a sip of coffee. Her expression didn't change but she gave a small nod.

"Acceptable," she said.

High praise apparently.

Nina waited in silence while Cassandra ate. She had learned long ago that the best way to become invisible was to stay quiet. People forgot you were there when you didn't speak. They said things. They revealed things. They let their guards down.

Cassandra scrolled through her phone between bites of toast. Her face was blank but her jaw was tight. Something was bothering her. Nina filed the observation away.

After ten minutes Cassandra pushed the tray aside and stood.

"I have meetings this morning. The house needs dusting. Start with the living room and work your way through the first floor. Stay out of my husband's study. It's the door at the end of the east hallway. Locked anyway but I want to be clear."

"Yes ma'am."

Cassandra looked at her again. That searching gaze.

"You're very quiet," she said.

Nina's heart thumped but she kept her expression neutral.

"I prefer to listen to ma'am. Less chance of saying the wrong thing."

Something flickered in Cassandra's eyes. Amusement maybe. Or approval.

"Smart girl," she said.

Then she was gone. Heels clicking away down the marble hallway. A door opened and closed somewhere in the house. An engine started outside. Tires crunched on gravel.

Nina was alone.

She exhaled slowly and let her shoulders drop. The tension she had been holding melted slightly. But only slightly. She couldn't afford to relax. Not here. Not ever.

She found cleaning supplies in a closet near the kitchen. Dusters. Polishes. Sprays that smelled like chemicals and fake lemons. She loaded everything onto a cart and wheeled it to the living room.

The room was enormous. High ceilings with crown molding. A fireplace big enough to stand in. Furniture that looked antique and uncomfortable. Paintings on the walls that were probably worth more than her car.

Nina started dusting. She worked slowly and methodically. Moving from surface to surface. Lifting objects carefully and setting them back exactly where they belonged.

But she wasn't just cleaning.

She was looking.

Every shelf. Every drawer. Every hidden corner. She noticed everything. The books that had been touched recently. The dust patterns that showed where things had been moved. The small details that most people would overlook.

Her father had trained her well.

She remembered sitting at his desk when she was sixteen. He was showing her his research process. Spreading documents across the table and explaining how to find connections.

Most people look at the obvious stuff, he said. The big documents. The official records. But that's not where you find the truth. The truth is in the margins. The handwritten notes. The things people forget to hide because they don't think anyone's paying attention.

Nina had asked him why he did it. Why did he spent his life digging into dark corners and making powerful enemies?

He had smiled at her. That tired gentle smile she missed so much.

Because someone has to, he said. Because the truth matters. Even when it's ugly. Even when it hurts. The truth is the only thing that sets people free.

She had rolled her eyes at the time. Teenage arrogance. She thought he was being dramatic.

Now she understood.

The truth had gotten him killed. But he was right. It mattered. It was the only thing that mattered.

Nina moved through the living room and into the dining room. Then the library. Then a sitting room she didn't even know existed.

The house was a maze. Room after room filled with expensive emptiness. No family photographs on the walls. No personal touches anywhere. It felt staged. Like a movie set rather than a place where people actually lived.

What kind of life was this, Nina wondered. All this money. All this space. And nothing real inside it.

Around midday she took a break and ate lunch in the kitchen. A sandwich she made herself from ingredients in the refrigerator. She sat at the small table near the window and watched the gardeners working outside.

Everything here ran like clockwork. Staff came and went at precise times. Deliveries arrived on schedule. The machinery of wealth hummed along smoothly.

And somewhere in the middle of it all was the truth about her father.

Nina finished her sandwich and got back to work.

By late afternoon she had cleaned most of the first floor. Every room except the one at the end of the east hallway. The locked study. Richard Monroe's private space.

She stood in front of the door and stared at it.

Heavy wood. Brass handle. A modern keypad lock that looked out of place against the old-fashioned architecture.

What was behind that door? What secrets did Richard Monroe keep in there?

Her fingers itched to try the handle. To test the lock. To find a way inside.

But she forced herself to step back.

Too soon. Too risky. She had been here less than twenty-four hours. If she got caught snooping now everything would be over before it started.

Patience, she told herself. Patience.

She turned away from the door and went back to the kitchen.

An hour later Cassandra returned. Nina heard the car pull up. The front door open and close. Heels clicking through the foyer.

Cassandra appeared in the kitchen doorway. She looked tired. Her perfect composure had slipped slightly. Lines around her eyes that weren't there this morning.

"How was your first day?" she asked.

The question surprised Nina. She hadn't expected Cassandra to care.

"Fine ma'am. I finished the first floor except for Mr. Monroe's study as you instructed."

Cassandra nodded. She walked to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of white wine. She poured herself a large glass and took a long drink.

Nina watched her carefully.

This was not the composed elegant woman from this morning. This was someone carrying weight. Someone stressed. Someone with cracks in her armor.

Interesting.

Cassandra caught Nina looking and her expression hardened.

"Is there something you need?" she asked. Her voice had an edge now.

"No ma'am. Just wondering if you'd like me to prepare dinner."

Cassandra waved her hand dismissively. "My husband won't be home until late. I'll manage on my own. You're dismissed for the evening."

"Yes ma'am. Thank you."

Nina walked back to her room. She closed the door and sat on the bed.

Her mind was racing.

Cassandra was stressed about something. Maybe something connected to her husband. Or something else entirely. Either way it meant there were problems in this house. Problems created vulnerabilities. And vulnerabilities could be exploited.

Nina pulled out her notebook. She had bought it specifically for this. Small enough to hide. Plain enough to be unremarkable.

She wrote down everything she had observed today. The layout of the house. The locked study. Cassandra's behavior. The tension in her jaw at breakfast. The wine in the afternoon. The tiredness in her eyes.

Details. Fragments. Pieces of a puzzle she was only beginning to see.

At the bottom of the page she wrote a single question.

What are you hiding Cassandra Monroe?

She closed the notebook and slid it under her mattress.

Then she lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling.

Day one was over. She had survived. She had started gathering information.

But this was just the beginning.

She thought about her father. His face in the photograph. His voice in her memories.

Pay attention, he used to say. The truth is always in the details.

She was paying attention.

And sooner or later she was going to find what she was looking for.

That night she dreamed of him again.

He was sitting at his old desk. Papers everywhere. Coffee cup in hand. He looked up when she walked in and smiled.

Hey kiddo, he said. You're doing good. Just be careful okay? These people are dangerous.

I know, she said. I'm being careful.

He nodded. His smile faded. His eyes grew serious.

Remember why you're here, he said. Not for revenge. For truth. The truth is what matters. The truth is what sets people free.

She woke up with tears on her face and her father's words echoing in her head.

Not for revenge. For truth.

She lay in the darkness and let the tears fall.

For so long she had wanted to hurt them. To make them suffer the way she had suffered. To destroy their perfect lives the way they had destroyed hers.

But her father was right.

Revenge was empty. Revenge was a fire that consumed everything including the person who started it.

The truth was different. The truth was permanent. The truth couldn't be taken back or covered up or silenced.

If she found the truth about what happened to her father she could expose it. She could make sure the world knew. She could destroy the Monroe empire not with violence but with facts.

That was what her father would have wanted.

That was what she was going to do.

Nina wiped her eyes and took a deep breath.

She had a long way to go. A lot of secrets to uncover. A lot of risks to take.

But she was ready.

For you Dad, she thought. I'm doing this for you.

Outside her window the moon hung low over the hills. The estate was quiet. The house is full of sleeping secrets.

Tomorrow she will keep watching. Keep listening. Keep gathering pieces of the puzzle.

And eventually the picture would become clear.

She was sure of it.