Chapter 2: A strange text

Nadia’s POV

The night air is freezing, biting through the thin fabric of my worn coat as I walk the final stretch to the Bennetts mansion.

By the time I reach the massive, wrought-iron gates, it’s already 1:00 AM. The towering stone structure of the mansion looms ahead, dark and imposing against the night sky. But to me, it’s been a guilded prison.

I quietly unlock the heavy oak front door, slipping inside with the practiced stealth of someone who has spent five trying to remain invisible. I hold my breath, waiting to see if the creak of the floorboard will alert anyone.

But before my feet can even reach the threshold of the foyer, a loud, explosive shatter echoes through the silent house.

A dark green wine bottle flies through the air, colliding violently with the marble floors just inches away from my sneakers.

Sharp, glittering shards of glass exploded outward, slicing through the air and scraping against the leather of my shoes. I freeze, my body locking up instantly as adrenaline floods my vein.

Up on the grand, mahogany staircase stand s my cousin, Alex. He is leaning heavily against the wall, a half empty glass of amber liquid in his hand.

His eyes are bloodshot and a malicious smirk is plastered across his face. He is completely drunk.

“Ooops. Sorry, cuz,” he sneers, his voice slurred and dripping with mock sympathy. He chuckles, a wet disgusting sound that makes my stomach turn. “Didn’t see you in the dark. You should really wear brighter clothes. Or, you know… just stay out of my way.”

He takes a messy gulp from his glass, turn around and stagger back upstairs, his heavy footsteps fading down the carpeted hallway.

I stand in the darkness of the foyer, my hands clenching into fists until my fingernails bit my palm. My heart hammering fiercely.

If that bottle had been aimed just a few inches higher, it would have struck my face. It could have blinded me. And yet, there will be no apology, no consequences.

With a silent, bitter sigh, I walk to the utility closet at the end of the hall. I grab the heavy push broom and the metal dustpan, returning to the foyer to clean up his mess.

This is my routine, my role in this house. I am the maid they didn’t have to pay.

I sweep up the large chunks of green glass, then went down on my knees with a damp paper towel, to wipe off the sticky, sweet smelling wine, making sure not a single shard remains to prick anyone’s feet. If my aunt finds even a speck of glass tomorrow, I will be the one to be scolded for it.

Once the floor is clean, I ascend the grand staircase, my steps silent and cautious. I pass by my uncle, Lucas’s study and I can’t help but notice the warm light spilling out onto the dark hallway.

The doors is slightly open and the sound of hushed, panicked arguments drifts through the gap. I pause. My body shrinking into the shadows of the corridor.

“What the hell were you thinking, Lucas?!” My aunt, Rosalind’s voice shrieks. Though she is desperately trying to keep her voice down. It is a high pitched fragile sound laced with pure terror. “How could you borrow money from someone that dangerous. Do you have any idea who that man is? He will kill all of us! He will take everything we own!”

“Shut up, Rosalind!,” my uncle roars back, his voice a low, threatening rumble. “Do you think I had a choice? The investments failed! If I didn’t take that loan, we would have been on the streets months ago. You have been basking in this luxury, buying your designer bags and hosting charity galas, all thanks to that money. So do not dare lecture me now! Or have you forgotten what we did five years ago to secure this lifestyle in the first place?”

“Don’t you dare bring up five years ago,” Rosalind hisses, her voice trembling. “That was different. That was—"

“That was a transaction, Rosalind,” my uncle interrupts coldly. “And this is just another transaction. I’ll find a way to settle this, I always do.”

I shrink back further into the cold hallway, my breath shallow and cold. Who did my uncle borrow money from? And what exactly happened five years ago?

A heavy, suffocating dread settles in the pit of my stomach. Anytime my uncle and aunt speak of the past, it feels like they are dancing around a massive dark secret — one that felt dangerously close to the fire that had taken my parents lives.

Before they would hear me breathing in the hall, I hurry down the corridor to my room. It is the smallest room in the entire mansion, situated at the far end of the service wing.

While my cousins have sprawling suites with walk-in closets and private balconies, my room is barely larger than a walk-in closet itself. It contains a single bed, a small wooden desk, and a wardrobe with a loose door.

I step inside, close the door and immediately turn the lock, checking it twice to ensure it is secure. I collapse onto my small mattress, pulling the thin sheets up to my chin. My entire body is shivering, not from cold, but from the exhausting tension of living in this house.

I close my eyes, but sleep refuses to come. Every time I drift off, my mind replays the cold, piercing blue eyes of the man from the VIP lounge.

Just as my eyelids begin to flutter close, my phone buzzes on the nightstand. I reach for it, squinting through the dark.

It is an unknown number. There’s only one line.

'Sleep well, piccola. I’ll see you soon.'