I THINK MY HOUSEMAID IS WATCHING ME

CHAPTER THREE: FIRST IMPRESSIONS

The first week passed slowly.

Nina settled into the rhythm of the house. Wake at five thirty. Shower. Dress. Coffee and toast for Cassandra by six. Clean until noon. Lunch alone in the kitchen. Clean until evening. Dinner preparations if required. Dismissed by eight.

Repeat.

The routine was mind-numbing but Nina used it to her advantage. The more predictable she became the less attention people paid to her. She was just the housemaid. Part of the furniture. Invisible.

Exactly what she wanted.

She learned the patterns of the household. Cassandra woke early but rarely ate much. She spent mornings on phone calls and afternoons at charity meetings or lunches with friends. She drank wine every evening. Sometimes one glass. Sometimes the whole bottle. She slept in the master bedroom alone most nights.

Richard Monroe was a ghost. He traveled constantly. In the first week Nina saw him exactly once. He arrived late on Thursday night and left again Friday morning before dawn. She caught a glimpse of him in the hallway. Tall. Gray hair. Expensive suit. Cold eyes that swept over her without recognition.

He didn't acknowledge her existence. She was beneath his notice.

Good.

The other staff came and went on schedules. Gardeners on Monday, Wednesday and Friday. A pool maintenance guy on Tuesday. A woman named Rosa who handled laundry twice a week. A chef named Bernard who prepared meals for dinner parties but otherwise stayed away.

None of them talked much. They did their jobs and left. Nina understood. In houses like this you learned to keep your head down. Ask too many questions and you find yourself unemployed.

She kept her head down too. But her eyes were always open.

By the end of the first week she had mapped most of the house. She knew which floorboards creaked and which doors squeaked. She knew where the security cameras were positioned and what angles they covered. She knew that Cassandra took sleeping pills and rarely woke before her alarm.

She also knew that Richard's study remained locked at all times. Even Rosa wasn't allowed inside. Cassandra herself seemed to avoid that end of the hallway like it contained something poisonous.

What are you hiding in there Richard Monroe?

Nina added it to her growing list of questions.

On Saturday morning Cassandra called her into the sitting room.

Nina found her curled up on the sofa with a cup of tea and a tablet in her lap. She was wearing silk pajamas and no makeup. Without the armor of her usual perfection she looked younger. More human. Almost vulnerable.

Almost.

"Sit down," Cassandra said. She gestured to a chair across from her.

Nina sat. She kept her hands folded in her lap and her expression neutral.

Cassandra studied her for a long moment. Those pale eyes searching for something Nina couldn't identify.

"You've been here a week," Cassandra said finally.

"Yes ma'am."

"How are you finding it?"

The question seemed genuine. Or at least it was designed to seem genuine. Nina couldn't tell which.

"It's a beautiful home ma'am. I'm grateful for the opportunity."

Cassandra's lips curved slightly. Not quite a smile.

"You're very careful with your words. I noticed that about you."

Nina said nothing.

"The last girl we hired talked constantly. Opinions about everything. The weather. The news. What she watched on television. I found it exhausting."

"I prefer to keep my thoughts to myself ma'am."

"Yes. I can see that."

Cassandra took a sip of her tea. She set the cup down and leaned back against the cushions.

"Tell me about yourself Nina. Where did you grow up? What did your parents do?"

Nina's heart tightened but she kept her face still.

"I grew up in Millbrook ma'am. Small town. Not much to tell. My mother passed away when I was young. My father raised me alone."

"And where is your father now?"

The question hit like a punch to the chest.

"He died," Nina said quietly. "Eight years ago."

Something flickered in Cassandra's eyes. Surprise maybe. Or something else.

"I'm sorry," she said. "That must have been difficult."

"It was."

"How did he die? If you don't mind me asking."

Nina did mind. She minded very much. But she had prepared for this question. She had rehearsed her answer a hundred times.

"Car accident," she said. "Lost control on a bridge. They said he drowned before anyone could reach him."

She watched Cassandra's face carefully. Looking for any reaction. Any sign of recognition or guilt.

But Cassandra just nodded slowly. Her expression remained neutral.

"Tragic," she said. "Losing a parent is never easy. I lost my mother years ago. Different circumstances but the grief is the same."

She sounded almost sincere. Almost sympathetic.

Nina didn't believe it for a second.

"Thank you ma'am," she said.

Cassandra picked up her tea again and took another sip. The conversation seemed to be over. Then she spoke again.

"You remind me of someone."

Nina's stomach dropped.

"Ma'am?"

"I can't quite place it. Something about your eyes. The way you watch everything." Cassandra tilted her head slightly. "Have we met before? Before you came here I mean."

"No ma'am. I don't think so."

"Hmm." Cassandra's gaze lingered on her face. "Strange. I usually have a good memory for faces."

Nina forced herself to breathe normally. Forced herself to stay calm.

She looks like her father. That's what people always say. Same dark hair. Same watchful eyes. Same serious expression.

Did Cassandra see it? Did she recognize Victor Pascal's features in his daughter's face?

If she did she gave no sign.

"Well," Cassandra said finally. "I suppose I'm imagining things. You can go. I'm sure you have work to do."

"Yes ma'am. Thank you."

Nina stood and walked to the door. She could feel Cassandra's eyes following her. Tracking her movements.

She didn't look back.

She walked down the hallway and turned the corner. Only then did she let out the breath she had been holding.

That was close. Too close.

Cassandra was suspicious about something. Maybe not about Nina specifically but about something. And suspicious people paid attention. They noticed details. They asked questions.

Nina needed to be more careful.

She spent the rest of the day cleaning rooms she had already cleaned. Staying busy. Staying visible. Doing exactly what was expected of a good housemaid.

But inside her mind was racing.

Cassandra recognized something in her face. Something familiar. It could be a coincidence. It could be nothing.

Or it could be dangerous.

That evening Nina sat in her room and wrote in her notebook.

Cassandra asked about my father. She said I remind her of someone. She was watching me closely. More than usual.

She needs to be careful. If Cassandra figures out who she really is everything falls apart.

Nina closed the notebook and hid it under the mattress.

She lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling.

Her father's face floated in her mind. His gentle smile. His tired eyes.

What would he do in this situation? What would he tell her?

The answer came immediately.

Keep going. Stay focused. Don't let fear stop you.

The truth is worth the risk.

Nina closed her eyes.

Tomorrow was Sunday. Her day off. She could leave the estate and clear her head. Think about her next steps.

But she wouldn't stop. She couldn't stop.

She was too close to turn back now.

Sunday morning Nina drove into town.

She needed distance from the estate. Physical and mental. The walls of the Monroe house felt like they were closing in on her. Every conversation with Cassandra felt like a test she might fail.

She found a small coffee shop on the main street. The kind of place with mismatched furniture and handwritten menus. She ordered a latte and sat by the window watching people walk by.

Normal people. Living normal lives. They had no idea what went on behind the gates of the big house on the hill.

Nina pulled out her phone and scrolled through the files she had saved. Articles about Richard Monroe's company. Financial reports. News stories from years ago.

She had read them all a hundred times. But she read them again.

Richard Monroe had built his empire on real estate and investments. He had connections to politicians and celebrities. He donated to charities and appeared at galas. On paper he was a pillar of the community.

But Nina knew there was more.

Her father's notes mentioned shell companies. Offshore accounts. Money moving through channels that didn't add up. Victor had traced payments to organizations that didn't seem to exist. He had found connections to people who operated outside the law.

He was building a case. A big one.

And then he died.

Convenient timing.

Nina had always believed Richard Monroe was responsible. But she had no proof. Nothing that would stand up in court. Nothing that would convince anyone to investigate.

That's why she was here. To find the proof. To finish what her father started.

She put her phone away and drank her coffee.

A couple walked past the window pushing a stroller. A young man jogged by with headphones in his ears. An old woman sat on a bench feeding pigeons.

Life is going on. Normal and ordinary.

Nina envied them. She envied their ignorance. Their freedom from the weight she carried.

But she wouldn't trade places with them. Not now. Not when she was this close.

She finished her coffee and drove back to the estate.

The gates opened and swallowed her up. The house on the hill loomed against the gray sky. Beautiful and menacing.

Home sweet home.

She parked and walked to her room. The house was quiet. Cassandra was out somewhere. Richard was still traveling.

Nina had the place to herself.

She should rest. She should take advantage of the silence.

Instead she found herself walking toward the east hallway.

Toward the locked study.

She stood in front of the door and stared at the keypad. Four digits. Could be anything. A birthday. An anniversary. A random number.

She tried a few combinations. Richard's birthday from the articles she had read. Cassandra's birthday. Their wedding anniversary.

Nothing worked.

After five attempts the keypad beeped angrily and a red light flashed.

Nina stepped back quickly. Stupid. She was being stupid.

If there was a security system it might be logging failed attempts. Someone might check the records. Someone might ask questions.

She walked away from the door and didn't look back.

Patience, she told herself. Patience.

She couldn't force this. She had to wait for the right opportunity. The right moment.

It would come. She just had to be ready.

She went back to her room and lay down on the bed.

Her heart was still pounding from the close call at the study door.

She needed to be smarter. More disciplined. She couldn't let impatience ruin everything.

But God it was hard. Every day in this house felt like torture. Every smile she gave Cassandra felt like swallowing glass. Every yes ma'am burned in her throat.

She hated them. She hated this house. She hated the lies and the secrets and the perfect pretty surface hiding the rot underneath.

But hate wasn't enough.

She needed proof.

And she was going to get it.

No matter how long it took.