The mansion was a place of polished surfaces and whispered secrets. And tonight, it was whispering about her.
Ava felt it the moment she stepped into the main kitchen, three maids fell silent mid-sentence, their eyes darting from her to each other like they'd been caught red-handed. The housekeeper, Mrs. Hampton, offered a tight-lipped smile that didn't reach her eyes.
"How nice of you to join us," she said crisply. "Mr. Blackwell seems quite taken with you."
Ava ignored the tone. "I'm only doing my job."
"Of course you are," one of the younger maids chimed in, a smirk on her lips. "Some people just have that... special touch."
There was a ripple of laughter, and Ava turned away before they could see her flinch. She wasn't here to win friends. She was here to survive.
But they were noticing her now. Watching.
Too closely.
Later that night, Ava returned to the west wing, walking softly through the quiet hallway that led to her assigned room. The air smelled faintly of roses and dust. A family portrait hung crooked on the wall, Lucien's mother, his late father, and a much younger Lucien standing between them like a prince carved from ice.
She paused at the door to her room when she heard it.
Voices.
Soft. Urgent.
Coming from the servants' hall just down the corridor.
She tiptoed closer, heart pounding, careful not to make a sound.
"…She's not who she says she is," one voice said. A woman. Possibly that smug maid, Carla.
"I've seen her sneak out late at night. She's hiding something," whispered another.
A third voice cut in, lower, male. The butler, perhaps?
"Mr. Blackwell watches her. You think that's normal? For him? She's either his mistress or worse."
"She's got a child," Carla hissed. "I heard her on the phone. I think it's his."
Ava's breath caught.
She backed away slowly, heart racing.
They knew. Or at least they suspected.
She couldn't let this spiral. Not now. Not when Lucien was starting to trust her. Not when her son was still outside these walls, vulnerable.
Back in her room, Ava closed the door, locked it, and sank against it with shaking hands.
She had been careful. So careful.
But secrets had a way of seeping through the cracks, no matter how tightly you sealed them.
She walked to the desk and opened the small wooden box she kept hidden beneath a false drawer.
Inside: a faded wedding ring, a copy of her son's birth certificate… and a single, creased photograph.
Lucien, smiling. Holding her in his arms. Eyes full of love.
Ava stared at it, heart aching.
The man in that photo no longer existed.
And the people in this house were closing in.
She had only two options now:
Run before the truth exploded.Or stay, and risk it all.