Chapter 4

Aurea’s POV

   Two weeks. That was exactly how long I had managed to survive within the daunting, suffocating walls of the Rossi Estate, and against all historical odds, I had actually managed to establish a functional routine.

From day one, the very moment the heavy iron gates of this property slammed shut behind me, I had set strict internal rules for myself. They were survival tactics, really: keep my head completely down, blend into the background like a shadow, and do whatever it took to avoid crossing paths with the brothers. So far, everything was going exactly according to my plan. I hadn't seen a single, solitary glimpse of either of them all week. The absolute absence of their crushing presence made it much easier for me to actually breathe.

I spent my grueling days working alongside the rest of the household staff, dusting endless rows of ancient books, polishing gold-rimmed mirrors, and ensuring the estate looked immaculate. Along the way, I had even managed to make a few friends, which surprisingly made the overwhelming estate feel a bit more like a home rather than a prison.

My absolute favorites by far were Rita, one of the sharp-tongued senior maids who practically ran the upper floors, and Leo, my wonderfully dramatic friend who took care of the estate’s sprawling gardens. Leo had an infectious energy that could instantly brighten even the bleakest of days.

"Darling, if you scrub that floor any harder, you're going to break right through the marble," Leo chuckled softly, looking straight down at me.

He was leaning casually on the handle of his broom, watching me aggressively wipe down the grand hallway's pristine flooring. He tossed his stylishly messy brown hair back with a dramatic flourish and gave me a warm, playful wink.

"Take a deep breath, girl," he whispered, glancing around the empty corridor. "The devils aren't even in this house today. They flew out for some high-stakes meeting in Milan hours ago."

I managed to force a small smile onto my face, but the knots of tension twisting tight in my shoulders wouldn't completely fade. I wrung out my cloth into the soapy bucket, the splash sounding loud in the cavernous space.

    "I just want to make sure everything is absolutely perfect, Leo. I can't risk losing this place. I don't have anywhere else to go," I confessed, stopping my movements on the floor for a brief, heavy second.

"You won't lose it," he sighed, his dramatic persona slipping away as his expression softened with genuine, protective care. He leaned a little closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. "But though, I'd watch my back if I were you. She's been glaring absolute holes into the back of your head all morning, that stupid bitch." He finished his sentence with a deeply annoyed, disgusted look on his face.

I followed his gaze, glancing across the sweeping corridor toward the far end where Lyra, another senior maid, who was organizing a linen closet. Leo wasn't wrong. Ever since the very first day I had started, Lyra had been looking at me like I was a literal piece of garbage scraped off the city sidewalks. I didn't know what I had done to offend her, or if she simply despised my very existence on principle, but her cold, sneering side-eyes and hostile murmurs always made my skin crawl with discomfort.

But a jealous coworker wasn't the only thing making me increasingly uneasy in this house.

Over the past few days, a strange, suffocating sensation had started to follow me wherever I went. Whether I was dusting the high shelves of the grand library, polishing silver in the dining hall, or walking alone through the cobblestone courtyard, I frequently felt the heavy, intense weight of eyes burning into the back of my neck. 

   Yet, whenever I quickly spun around on my heel to catch whoever was staring at me, the hallways were completely empty. I always found nothing but shadows, leaving me to anxiously wonder if the trauma from my past was catching up to me and if I was just losing my mind.

By the time night finally fell, the sheer physical and mental exhaustion of carrying that constant, low-level anxiety completely caught up to me. After bidding Leo a quiet goodnight down, I crawled into my small bedroom. It wasn't anything fancy like the rest of the estate—just a small, modest space tucked away in the standard maid quarters on the lower levels. It was basic, it was completely quiet, and most importantly, it felt safe. I quickly finished my brief evening routine and drifted into a heavy, restless sleep the very second my exhausted body hit the mattress.

I woke up in the dead of night, my heart racing and my throat painfully, completely dry. I had been having a terrible, nightmare about being chased by two tall, faceless men through a labyrinth of pitch-black shadows.

“What kind of dream is this?” I thought to myself, shivering as I reached out blindly into the dark for the glass on my nightstand. My fingers tapped against an empty pitcher. I suddenly realized with a groan of frustration that I had completely forgotten to refill my water before bed. There wasn't a single drop left in my room.

Sighing at my own forgetfulness, I slipped out from under the warm covers. Wearing only my thin pajamas, I stepped into the cold hallway. As soon as I stepped out of my room, the cold air brushed against my face. I took in a deep breath and started walking along the hallway of the maid quarters. Everything here was pitch black, but after two weeks of navigating these halls, I knew my way around perfectly. The entire estate was asleep. There was no risk of drawing attention, so I didn’t even bother to cover myself up.

   lightweight set, but it offered absolutely no protection against the chill of the house.

I quietly walked through the dark, silent corridors, guiding myself purely by the faint, silvery moonlight filtering through the high, arched windows, until I finally reached the massive kitchen.

The vast room was cast in deep, eerie shadows. I didn't bother turning on the overhead lights, not wanting to risk waking up any of the staff or the guards posted near the wing. Depending purely by touch, I walked over to the marble counter and reached into the darkness for a glass cup from the drying rack.

My fingers brushed against the smooth glass rim, but my grip slipped.

Clack.

The cup tumbled off the counter, bouncing once or twice on the soft runner rug before rolling across the hard, exposed tile floor.

"Gosh," I whispered into the deafening silence, my voice sounding like a shout in the empty room.

Panicking that the noise might draw a security guard, I immediately bent down, reaching out blindly into the gloom to grope around for the glass before it could roll any further across the tiles.

But my fingers froze an inch from the floor.

The air in the kitchen suddenly turned freezing cold. The hairs on my bare arms stood straight up as a terrifying, overwhelming presence materialized directly behind me, blocking out the faint moonlight. Before I could even process the danger or stand back up, a large, warm hand reached down and grabbed me.