Chapter six

CHAPTER 6: THE ESTATE

The town car glided through wrought iron gates that parted silently, revealing a long, tree-lined driveway. Lyra pressed her face against the window, her heart pounding as the estate came into view.

"Holy shit," she whispered.

The Blackwood estate was not just a house; it was a symbol of wealth and power. The large three-story stone mansion sat on well-kept grounds, with its windows shining in the afternoon sun.

Fountains were scattered throughout the beautiful gardens, and a circular driveway surrounded a big metal sculpture that likely cost more than Lyra's entire college education.

The car stopped at the front entrance, where large double doors stood beside limestone columns. Before the driver could open her door, one of the front doors opened.

A woman in her fifties walked out, her silver-streaked dark hair neatly tied in a bun and her posture straight.

"Deep breath," Lyra muttered to herself. "You're Jane Blackwood now. Act like you belong here."

The driver opened her door, and Lyra stepped out, channeling every ounce of Jane's practiced indifference.

"Mrs. Blackwood," the woman greeted her with a polite nod. "Welcome home. I'm Emma Hargrave, the head housekeeper."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hargrave," Lyra replied, trying to sound bored rather than overwhelmed. "It's been a long day."

Mrs. Hargrave's eyes, sharp and observant, took in every detail of Lyra's appearance. "Of course. Please, come inside. I'll show you to your quarters."

The entrance hall stole Lyra's breath. Soaring ceilings, marble floors, and a sweeping staircase that belonged in a period drama.

A massive chandelier hung overhead, crystal and gold catching the light. The space felt more like a museum than a home—beautiful, imposing, and utterly impersonal.

"The staff has prepared the east wing for you, as Mr. Blackwood instructed," Mrs. Hargrave said, leading Lyra across the hall. "He thought you might appreciate the morning light and the view of the gardens."

Lyra nodded, trying to process the fact that she now lived in a place with wings. "That was... thoughtful of him."

Mrs. Hargrave's expression gave nothing away. "Mr. Blackwood is very particular about details."

As they walked through the house, Lyra struggled to maintain her composure. Each room was more impressive than the last—a formal dining room that could seat twenty, a library with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and a sunroom overlooking an Olympic-sized swimming pool.

"This is the main living area," Mrs. Hargrave explained, gesturing to a vast open space with sleek furnishings in shades of white, gray, and black. "Mr. Blackwood rarely entertains here. He prefers the study for business meetings."

Everything was perfect, designer, and cold—like a showroom rather than a place where someone lived. There were no personal photographs, no mementos, nothing that revealed anything about the man who owned it all.

"And through here is the kitchen," Mrs. Hargrave continued.

The kitchen was a chef's dream—all stainless steel and marble, with appliances that looked like they belonged in a Michelin-starred restaurant.

"Chef Moretti comes in three times a week to prepare meals that can be easily reheated. If you have any dietary preferences, you need only let me know."

"I'll be cooking for myself sometimes," Lyra said, forgetting momentarily that Jane wouldn't be caught dead cooking.

Mrs. Hargrave's eyebrow lifted slightly. "I wasn't aware you enjoyed cooking, Mrs. Blackwood."

Lyra caught herself. "Just... occasionally. For relaxation."

"I see." Mrs. Hargrave's tone suggested she didn't believe it for a second. "Well, the kitchen is fully stocked. Feel free to use whatever you need."

They continued the tour, passing through a home gym with equipment that looked like it belonged in a professional training facility, a media room with a screen that took up an entire wall, and a conservatory filled with rare plants.

"What's through there?" Lyra asked, pointing to a closed door at the end of a hallway.

"That's Mr. Blackwood's private office. It remains locked at all times," Mrs. Hargrave said firmly. "No one enters without his explicit permission."

The warning was clear in her voice.

"Of course," Lyra replied, making a mental note. If she wanted to find anything about the real Ryker Blackwood, that office would be the place to look.

Mrs. Hargrave led her up the grand staircase to the second floor. "The east wing, as I mentioned, has been prepared for you. Mr. Blackwood occupies the west wing when he's in residence."

The housekeeper opened a set of double doors, revealing a suit that made Lyra's knees weak. The bedroom was larger than her entire apartment, dominated by a king-sized bed with crisp white linens.

Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the gardens and a seating area with a fireplace occupied one corner.

"The bathroom is through here," Mrs. Hargrave continued, opening another door.

Lyra's eyes widened at the sight of the marble bathroom with its sunken tub, separate rain shower, and double vanity. It was bigger than some apartments she'd lived in.

"And this is your dressing room," Mrs. Hargrave said, opening a third door.

The space was the size of a boutique, with built-in wardrobes, an island in the center for accessories, and a three-way mirror at one end.

"Your things have already been unpacked," Mrs. Hargrave explained. "Though I must say, there seemed to be fewer items than expected."

Lyra's cheeks flushed. Even with Jane's shopping spree, she hardly had enough clothes to fill a fraction of this space.

"I'm having more things delivered," she lied. "And I'll be shopping for the season."

Mrs. Hargrave nodded. "Very good. Now, shall we continue?"

The tour continued with a private sitting room connected to the bedroom suite, a small office "for correspondence," and a balcony that wrapped around the east side of the house.

"The staff quarters are on the lower level," Mrs. Hargrave explained as they descended the stairs. "Besides myself, there's Maria, who handles the cleaning; Thomas, the groundskeeper; and Carlos, who assists with maintenance and driving when needed. We're all live-in staff."

Four people to maintain this place seemed impossibly few to Lyra, but she kept her thoughts to herself.

"And this," Mrs. Hargrave said, opening the last door on their tour, "is Mr. Blackwood's private suite. He asked that you be shown it, though, of course, it remains his personal space."

Lyra stepped into a room that felt markedly different from the rest of the house. Dark woods, rich leathers, and deep blues created a space that was masculine and, surprisingly, lived-in.

Books were stacked on side tables, a laptop sat on a desk by the window, and a half-empty glass of what looked like whiskey stood on a coaster.

Unlike the rest of the house, this room felt inhabited.

"Mr. Blackwood values his privacy," Mrs. Hargrave said quietly. "But he wanted you to know that you're welcome here, should you need him."

Something in her tone made Lyra look up sharply. There was a softness in the housekeeper's eyes that hadn't been there before.

"You care about him," Lyra observed before she could stop herself.

Mrs. Hargrave's expression became guarded again. "I've been with Mr. Blackwood for many years. Since he was a child."

Before Lyra could ask more, the housekeeper smoothly directed her back into the hallway. "That ends our tour. Dinner will be served at seven in the small dining room unless you'd prefer to eat in your suite tonight."

"The small dining room is fine," Lyra replied, still processing everything she'd seen.

"Very good. Is there anything else you require at present?"

Lyra shook her head, suddenly feeling the weight of the day's events crashing down on her. "No, thank you. I think I'll rest before dinner."

Mrs. Hargrave nodded. "I'll leave you to settle in, then. If you need anything, there's an intercom system in each room. Simply press the button, and someone will assist you."

With that, the housekeeper departed, leaving Lyra alone in the grandeur of her new home.

Once she was sure Mrs. Hargrave was gone, Lyra kicked off her uncomfortable heels and fell back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling.

"What the hell have I gotten myself into?" she whispered to the empty room.

She sat up and looked around the bedroom….her bedroom, supposedly…and felt like an intruder. None of this belonged to her. Not the luxurious bed, not the designer clothes hanging in the dressing room, not the title of Mrs. Blackwood.

Lyra pulled out her phone, scrolling to Jane's contact. She should call her, report on her arrival, and ask for more guidance on how to navigate this strange new world.

Instead, she tossed the phone aside and walked to the windows, looking out over the expansive grounds.

Somewhere out there, beyond the manicured gardens and stone walls, was her real-life—small, ordinary, and now completely out of reach.

For six months, this was her prison. A gilded cage of luxury and lies.

Lyra's reflection stared back at her from the window, a stranger in expensive clothes, playing a role she wasn't prepared for. She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin, the way Jane had taught her.

"You're Jane Blackwood now," she told her reflection. "Start acting like it."

As she turned away from the window, the platinum wedding band felt heavy on her finger.

It reminded her of the fraud that had led her here and the man who would eventually return to claim what was rightfully his.