Chapter 2: Ten Minutes Beside the Broken Glass
I kept my eyes on the marble as Damien lowered the phone.
The flashlight beam moved with him, sliding over the broken glasses and the silver tray. Shards glittered between us like scattered ice. One of the candles had rolled beneath the console table, its wick dark and smoking. The storm pressed rain against the tall windows, and every few seconds lightning turned the foyer white.
“I can’t stay here,” I said.
Damien glanced toward the service door. “Because of the glass?”
“Because someone will come.”
He studied my face for half a second, then stepped around the largest pieces. He didn’t reach for me. That mattered more than it should have. I gathered the skirt of my uniform and followed, keeping my shoes carefully placed along the narrow strip of carpet beside the wall.
The service door opened with a soft click. Beyond it, the corridor was cramped and unlit, lined with shelves of folded linens and cleaning supplies. The air smelled of bleach, old wood, and rain tracked in from the back entrance. Damien shut the door behind us, leaving the foyer and its evidence on the other side.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
My sleeve had fallen back into place, but I could still feel the phone light against my skin. I pulled the cuff lower anyway.
“My mother worked here,” I said.
Damien’s expression tightened. “I know.”
“Did you?”
“She was on the household staff. My mother mentioned her.”
That answer was too smooth. Not false, exactly. Just polished by years of being repeated.
“My mother left me something,” I said. “A key and a warning.”
His attention shifted to my hands. I had tucked them together at my waist, hiding the fact that my fingers were shaking.
“What kind of key?”
“I’m not telling you where it is.”
His brows drew together. “Then why tell me you have one?”
“Because you need to understand that I didn’t break the tray to frighten you.”
“You broke it to make me look at the floor.”
I nodded.
The corridor seemed to narrow around us. Somewhere inside the walls, water moved through old pipes. I could hear the rain more clearly now, muffled by plaster and distance.
“My mother told me the foyer was changed after she left,” I said. “She said there was a section no one was supposed to open. She told me you’d be angry if I brought it up.”
“Why would I be angry?”
“I don’t know.”
“You came into this house carrying a warning about my family, showed me scars, then destroyed a tray in front of me. You must know something.”
“I know what she told me. That’s not the same thing.”
He looked away first. The harsh phone light caught the sharp line of his cheek and the tired crease beside his mouth.
“I’ve never heard a credible explanation for that part of the floor,” he said.
I held still.
He continued, quieter now. “There’s a sealed section near the center of the foyer. I asked about it when I was younger. My mother said it was an old repair, nothing more. Then she told me not to concern myself with household maintenance.”
“That doesn’t sound like an explanation.”
“It wasn’t.”
“Did you believe her?”
“I wanted to.”
The honesty unsettled me more than anger would have.
“Are you accusing my mother?” he asked.
“No.”
His gaze returned to mine.
“I’m asking you to look before deciding,” I said. “That’s all.”
A sharp sound traveled through the mansion—a door opening somewhere beyond the foyer, followed by the faint scrape of footsteps. I felt the blood leave my face.
Damien straightened. “Who is that?”
“I don’t know. I have to go.”
“You can’t go back out there.”
“I’m still working here.”
“Elena—”
“If someone finds the tray, they’ll ask why I was alone with you. If I’m not there, they’ll make up the answer.”
He seemed ready to argue, then stopped. The phone light dipped between us.
“Before morning,” he said. “Meet me somewhere private.”
I looked at him, at the man who had inherited questions and still called them household maintenance.
“Near the kitchen,” I said. “The small room off the pantry.”
“Before morning.”
Another floorboard creaked in the distance.
May you like
I slipped through the service door without waiting for permission. Before returning to the foyer, I pressed my hidden hand against the key beneath my uniform. Its old teeth dug into my palm.
Then I stepped back toward the broken glass.
