Mrs Cross

Layla's POV

The knock came at exactly 7pm.

I had been staring at the ceiling for the past hour, my mind spinning in circles I couldn't escape. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the man in the cage. Every time I opened them, I saw Landon's cold, empty expression.

I didn't want to see anyone.

But the knock came again.

I dragged myself off the bed and opened the door.

A woman stood in the hallway. She was older, maybe in her fifties, with silver-streaked hair pulled back in a neat bun. Her uniform was crisp and clean, and her face was kind in a way that caught me completely off guard.

I had expected more cold stares.

Instead, she smiled at me like I was a long-lost granddaughter.

"Hello my dear, I'm Mrs Hartley. The chief housekeeper." Her voice was warm and gentle. "I hope I'm not disturbing you."

I blinked, still processing. "I…no. You're not disturbing me."

"Good." She stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, carrying a tray that I hadn't noticed before. "I brought you some tea. Thought you might need it after everything you've been through today."

I watched as she set the tray down on the small table by the window. The tea was steaming, and there were biscuits arranged neatly on a plate. Nothing fancy, but somehow, it was the most thoughtful thing anyone had done for me all day.

"Thank you," I whispered quietly.

She turned to look at me, her eyes softening. "You've had quite a day, haven't you?"

I didn't know what to say to that. So I just nodded.

Mrs Hartley gestured to the chair beside the table. "Sit, drink your tea. You'll feel better."

I sat because I didn't have the energy to argue. The tea was perfect, not too strong, not too weak. It was exactly what I needed.

"The Cross family," I started, then stopped. "I don't really know how to—"

"No one does," she said gently. "Not at first. They can be... overwhelming."

"Overwhelming is one word for it."

She laughed softly. "I've worked for this family for thirty-five years, I have seen them at their best and their worst and I can tell you, my dear, that you're going to need to find your footing quickly."

I looked up at her. "Why do you care? You don't even know me."

Mrs Hartley's expression grew serious. "I know you're young, I know you're scared and judging from your expression, I know you didn't come here by choice." She paused. "That's enough for me."

My throat tightened. "Why do you stay? Don’t get me wrong, I’m just curious."

She smiled, but it was sad. "Because I want to, I made a promise to someone."

I wanted to ask more but before I could, she clapped her hands together and brightened her face.

"You need to get ready for dinner."

My stomach dropped. "I'm not going to dinner."

"Oh, my dear." She shook her head slowly. "You need to go to dinner."

"I can't." The words came out faster. "I can't sit at a table with those people. I am not yet ready to face them."

"I know." She moved closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "And they know too. That's why you need to show them that you can."

I blinked. "What?"

Mrs Hartley sat down across from me, her eyes serious. "The Cross family doesn't respect weakness. If you hide in your room, they'll see it as fear, and fear, my dear, is the one thing they feast on."

"But I don't,"

"You don't have to be strong right now," she cut in gently. "You just have to look strong, even if it's just for an hour." She reached out and squeezed my hand.

I looked at her, this kind woman who had known me for all of five minutes, and felt tears prick at my eyes.

"Why are you helping me?"

"Because someone has to," she said simply. "And because you remind me of someone."

She stood, brushing down her apron. "Now. I'm going to get you ready for dinner. Mr Landon sent me to help you, but between you and me, I would have come anyway."

"Landon sent you?"

"He thought you might need assistance getting ready. The family can be... particular about appearances." She paused, her expression flickering. "He also wanted to make sure you actually showed up."

Of course he did.

I opened my mouth to argue, but Mrs Hartley was already pulling open the wardrobe doors, revealing a selection of dresses that hadn't been there before.

"When did these get here?"

"Mr Landon had them brought up while you were unpacking." She pulled out a deep blue dress, holding it up for inspection. "This one will do nicely. It brings out your eyes."

"I don't want to wear anything he chose for me."

"I know." She turned to me, her expression kind but firm. "But right now, you have to pick your battles. And this isn't one worth winning."

I wanted to argue. I wanted to tear down every dress in that wardrobe and scream that I wasn't some doll for Landon Cross to dress up.

But she was right.

This wasn't the hill I wanted to die on.

"Fine," I grumbled quietly. "The blue one."

Mrs Hartley smiled. "Wonderful. Now, let's get you ready."

---

The next thirty minutes were a blur of careful hands and gentle guidance.

Mrs Hartley helped me into the dress, a stunning slightly short gown that hugged my waist perfectly. She fixed my hair, adding a simple clip that caught the light every time I moved.

She didn't ask questions about my past. She didn't push for information about why I was here. She just talked, about the estate, about the garden, about the small things that made this house feel almost like a home.

"Landon is... complicated," she said carefully as she adjusted the neckline of my dress. "But he's not like his father."

I met her eyes in the mirror. "How do you mean?"

She paused, her hands stilling on my shoulders. "Mr Xander Cross is very difficult sometimes and hard to please but Landon..." She shook her head slightly. "Landon sees people as puzzles, he wants to understand them, he wants to figure out how they work."

"And once he figures them out?"

"He decides what to do with them." Her voice was quiet. "Just don't let him decide you're a problem."

I swallowed hard. "Is that what he thinks I am?"

Mrs Hartley met my eyes in the mirror. "I think he doesn't know what to think of you yet."

She stepped back, admiring her work. "There. You're ready."

I turned to look at myself in the mirror.

The woman staring back at me looked like she belonged in this house.

But I knew the truth.

I was just a girl from a broken family, standing in the lion's den, wearing a dress that cost more than I had ever earned in my life.

"Thank you," I said to Mrs Hartley. "For everything."

She smiled, but there was something sad behind it. "You're welcome, my dear."

She walked me to the door, pausing with her hand on the handle.

"One more thing," she said quietly. "The family will try to break you. They'll try to find your weak spots and press until you crack, don’t let them."

I nodded, my throat too tight for words.

"Good luck, Mrs Cross." She opened the door.

I stepped into the hallway, the weight of the name she'd just given me settling on my shoulders.

Mrs Cross.

Layla Cross.

I hated the sound of it but I had to get used to it.

Because this was my life now.

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