The grand dining hall gleamed beneath the pale morning light, silver polished to perfection, the long table draped in quiet opulence. Liana moved along its edge with careful grace, setting down the last of the crystal glasses. Her hands were steady, but her limbs ached with the weight of exhaustion.
The servants murmured, their voices hushed—until the double doors opened.
Adrian Kane stepped inside.
The air changed. Chairs scraped back, spines straightened. Silence rippled through the hall like a storm pulling in its breath. He didn't speak, didn't need to. His presence demanded obedience without a word.
Liana lowered her head, retreating toward the wall, willing herself into invisibility. She reached for a glass to clear—too fast, too tense—and it slipped faintly against her fingertips.
The clink was soft. Barely a sound.
But in the silence, it was deafening.
Her chest tightened. Slowly, deliberately, she steadied the glass back in place.
When she dared to glance up, Adrian's gaze was already fixed on her. Sharp. Cold. Unreadable. His silence cut deeper than words—an unspoken judgment she wasn't sure she had survived.
---
The laundry room pressed hot with steam and the sting of soap, the air thick as maids folded and scrubbed in hurried rhythm. Liana bent her head over the sheets, folding, folding, listening despite herself.
"They say he dismissed a girl for staring too long," one whispered, wringing out cloth with trembling hands.
"And another—" a voice lowered, heavy with dread, "—vanished in the dead of night. No one ever saw her again."
Uneasy laughter followed, brittle and false.
A woman across the table leaned closer to Liana, her eyes sharp, pitying. "You're in his suite, aren't you?"
Liana stilled, linen tightening in her grip. Then she gave one small nod.
"Keep your head down," the maid warned, voice hushed. "Don't speak unless spoken to. Don't give him a reason."
Agreement hummed through the room. Caution, fear.
Liana bent back over her folding, absorbing every word. The weight pressed into her chest, but she didn't flinch. Running wasn't an option. Endurance was her only weapon.
---
The café pulsed with chatter and warmth, but Lyra sat apart, elegance wrapped tight around her like armor. Her manicured fingers traced the rim of her porcelain cup as she leaned toward the man across from her—a former aide, still loyal, still useful.
"So," she said lightly, her smile razor-sharp, "what has Adrian been up to?"
The man shifted, nervous. "The same. Meetings, dinners… his usual."
Lyra's eyes narrowed. "Mostly?"
He hesitated. "He's been… different. Distracted. Less cold. Less temper."
Her cup tapped against her nail, the sound brittle. Different. Distracted.
"Why?" she pressed, though she already knew.
"A new maid, maybe. Assigned to his suite."
There it was. The name she hadn't yet heard, the presence she already despised.
Lyra leaned back, her polished smile curving with venom. "Find out everything. Her name. Her face. Every detail."
Her gaze darkened. If Adrian was changing, she would drag him back. No matter the cost.
---
The corridor shattered with the clatter of silverware. A young maid froze, her tray overturned, polished cutlery scattered across marble. Her face drained pale, lips stammering apologies, braced for punishment.
Before anyone else could move, Liana knelt swiftly.
"It's fine," she murmured, gathering the pieces with calm precision. She pressed the tray back into the girl's trembling hands, voice firm, protective. "Go. I'll handle this."
The girl's eyes shone with gratitude as she fled.
Liana remained crouched, collecting forks and spoons with quiet composure, her expression steady.
Unseen by her, Adrian lingered at the end of the hall. His shadow cut long across the floor, his gaze locked on the scene.
He didn't move. Didn't announce himself.
But when he watched the maid absorb another's fault without complaint, something shifted in his eyes. Not warmth—never that. But a spark of curiosity.
He turned away before she noticed, leaving only the weight of his silence behind.
---
That night, Liana lay in her narrow bed, staring at the cracked ceiling. Exhaustion dragged at her body, but her mind churned restlessly.
The whispers. The tray clattering. Adrian's eyes like a blade she couldn't escape.
Survival was supposed to mean invisibility. But with each passing moment, she felt less invisible.
Across the estate, Adrian stood at his window, whiskey forgotten in his hand. His gaze wasn't on the glittering city, but inward—haunted by the image of the maid who did not chatter, who did not flinch.
Her silence unsettled him more than fear ever could.
He told himself it was nothing. But his sleeplessness betrayed him.
Two restless souls, bound by a thread neither spoke of—already tightening.
> He told himself it was nothing. Just a servant. Just silence.
But when dawn bled through the curtains, Adrian Kane had not slept.
And neither had she.
The mansion lay still when his voice finally cut through the morning hush, low and deliberate—words that would change everything.
"If you're going to stay under my roof, Liana Moore…" His gaze pinned her, cold as a blade. "You'll sign your silence into a contract."
A contract she didn't yet know was written in blood.