Chapter 2

Servant Rules

By the time lunch arrived, my feet were already hurting.

Apparently, Hawthorne House had an endless number of hallways that required polishing, dusting, or vacuuming. Every time I thought I had finished one section, another corridor seemed to appear like the house was quietly expanding around me.

I wiped down the same kitchen counter for the third time before realizing someone was watching me.

“Slow down.”

A voice came from behind me.

I turned to see the chef leaning against the kitchen doorway, arms crossed and smiling like he had just witnessed something entertaining.

He was the first person in the house who didn’t look like he might fire me for breathing too loudly.

“You’re going to polish the wood right off that table.”

I looked up.

Dark hair. Friendly eyes.

Unlike everyone else in this house, he looked… relaxed.

“First day? He asked

“Is it that obvious?’

“You’ve cleaned the same counter three times.”

I looked down.

He wasn’t wrong.

He walked over and grabbed an apple from a bowl before tossing it lightly toward me.

I barely caught it.

“Eat,” he said.

“I’m working.”

“Exactly,” he replied. “Which means Marta probably hasn’t let you take a break yet.”

I hesitated.”Thanks”

“I leaned against the counter and took a bite.

The sweetness hit my tongue instantly, and I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until that moment.

“I’m Theo, by the way,” he said. “Head Chef.”

“Lena.”

He studied me for a moment.

“You don’t look like a maid.”

I stiffened slightly.

“What does a maid look like?”

He chuckled.“Relax. I mean, you look…” he eyed me “different,what did you do before coming here?”

“I was a student in university .

He raised an eyebrow.

“Let me guess. Business major?”

“Art history.”

That surprised him.

“Really?”

I nodded.

Theo leaned back against the counter.

“Then you’re working in the right house.”

“What do you mean?”

Mr. Hawthorne collects art,” he said. “A lot of it.”

My curiosity immediately sparked.

“What kind?”

“Expensive kind.”

“Not helpful.” I chuckled

“In my defense, art is not my thing.” “So what made you trade museums for mops?”

I looked down at the apple in my hands.

“My parents passed away last year,” I said quietly.

“Debt and death," i said as if I'm whispering.

“Ah” Theo’s expression softened immediately.

He didn’t push further.

For that alone, I appreciated him.

Theo pointed toward the hallway.

“Just remember the most important rule in this house.”

I sighed and almost rolled my eyes, thinking about the many rules of the “Hawthorne house”.

“Stay invisible.”

Theo smiled.

“Exactly,you're a fast learner.”

He grabbed a tray and started walking back to the kitchen.

“You’ll be fine as long as the boss never notices you.”

I nodded.

But the image of the tall man stepping out of the black car that morning flashed through my mind.

Adrian Hawthorne.

For some reason, I had a feeling life was never that simple.

My thought process was disturbed by hurried footsteps , and then Marta appeared.

“Break is over follow me”

The east wing of Hawthorne House is so quiet that my footsteps feel like a crime.

Marta walks ahead of me with a ring of keys that jingle like warning bells.

“Most of the guest suites aren’t used,” she says, pushing open a tall door. “But that doesn’t mean they don’t have to look perfect.”

The room inside is bigger than my entire apartment.

King-sized bed. Velvet curtains. Marble bathroom.

For guests.

People who probably stay here for a weekend and then forget the place exists.

I set my bag down carefully.

Marta hands me a small notebook.

“What’s this?”

“Inventory log,” she says. “Rich people love lists.”

I flip through it.

Everything is cataloged.

Sheets changed. Towels replaced. Dusting schedule.

“Are they really that particular?” I asked.

Marta gives me a look.

“Adrian Hawthorne once sent back a wine shipment worth more than my house because it was stored at the wrong temperature.”

I blinked.

“Seriously?”

“Very.”

She leans against the doorframe.

“You’ll learn quickly. Hawthorne standards are… high.”

I walk to the window.

Outside, the polo field stretches across the horizon. A stable sits beyond the trees, sunlight glinting off its roof.

What a view .It’s hard to believe people actually live like this.

“You’re staring again,” Marta says.

“Sorry.”

“Get back to work” then she left.

That afternoon, I learned something about Hawthorne House. It was odd.

It had secrets.

And some of them were hidden behind closed doors, or was it all in my mind...