CHAPTER 9: TENSION

For the past two weeks, Eva had studied the manor like a soldier mapping her enemy's territory.

 Jeremi's top-floor chamber the one no one dared approach held answers. She could feel it in her bones. Ellen’s fragmented letter, her father’s panicked reaction, and Jeremi’s subtle evasions had all led her here.

But the room was nearly impenetrable.

No one entered without clearance from Abrams Eliot . Jeremi’s shadow, watchdog, and enforcer. Even the maids who cleaned it did so under Abrams’ sharp eyes, cameras buzzing in every corner.

Except… today.

Eva had overheard Beatrice whispering that Abrams had received a call from the mainland estate. That Jeremi was on his way there and will tke a while to get back.

 Her only chance.

 She had carefully observed the maids’ uniforms for days simple navy gowns, white collars, sensible black shoes. She stole one early that morning from the laundry room, adjusting it to fit.

 Hair tied in a tight bun. No perfume. Minimal makeup.

 She looked… invisible. Just another face in the house.

 “Shift rotation for the third floor,” Abrams announced outside the staff quarters. Eva slipped in among them, silent and obedient. She carried a cleaning basket like the others.

 She didn’t speak. Just nodded.

Two maids were chosen for Jeremi’s floor.

 Eva was one of them. Today was definitely her lucky day . She thought.

 The elevator opened to the private floor. One hallway. One massive black door at the end, flanked with gold trim.

“Only thirty minutes,” a guard reminded them. “Camera will monitor every second.”

Eva’s heart pounded. But she kept her head low.

 The real maid beside her began wiping the windows while Eva pretended to dust the hallway. As they neared the room, her pulse raced.

They entered.

 The room took her breath away. It wasn’t just a bedroom. It was a sanctuary.

 The walls were lined with polished oak shelves, floor-to-ceiling, filled with leather-bound books, locked drawers, and antique artifacts. There was a grand piano, covered in velvet. A crystal decanter of untouched brandy on a side table. A digital fireplace crackling beneath an oil painting of a woman she didn’t recognize.

This was not the cold businessman’s room. This was Jeremi’s soul on display.

 And for some reason she feels the room he had given her was ugly.

 She watched the maid scrub the marble floor near the window. Then timing everything. Eva slipped into a side chamber when the other maid turned.

Five minutes later, Abrams got a call. Something urgent. He left his post by the monitors temporarily, trusting the camera footage would cover the rest.

 When the cleaning shift ended, only one maid exited.

 Eva stayed hidden.

Alone in the Room

She waited behind the heavy velvet curtain, holding her breath, until silence fell. Then she stepped out, slowly. The room was still.

 She wandered into an inner room his study. The drawers were mostly locked, but one leather-bound folio on the desk caught her eye. It had a soft red ribbon.

 Inside was a stack of letters, some opened, some sealed. And then she went back to the bedroom, moved toward the desk beside the fireplace, where a small locked drawer was she opened it and found a couple of letters too. One of them bore Ellen’s handwriting.

Her breath caught as she unfolded it:

 Jeremi,

  I can’t go through with this. I’m pregnant. And I won’t be at the wedding.

You may never forgive me, but I had to do what I thought was right.

 Ellen

 Eva’s fingers trembled. She read it again. And again.

Jeremi had received this letter before the wedding. He had known Ellen was pregnant with their child. He hadn’t told anyone. And he had still has not asked her about the baby. Now she remember him asking her why she came late to the wedding. And then it strucked her.

Does he think she was carrying his child? Or does he know about her being fake . Since he and Ellen had a lot of intimate time together then he must know she is a fake .

Had he planned this?

Had he always known? To torture her? Eva backed away, heart slamming. Tucking the letter back where she took it. She needed to get out. Now.

 She returned to the main door and gripped the handle. It wouldn’t budge.

 She twisted harder. Nothing.

 “Locked,” she whispered, panic starting to rise. She turned to the intercom panel disabled.

 “No, no, no” She felt her pockets. No phone. No watch. Not even God can save her from this. She had come with nothing to trace her.

She rushed to the walls. “Beatrice!” she screamed. “Somebody!” Her voice echoed in her ears… but not beyond.The room was soundproof.

 Of course it was.

The room had gone still. Eva sat on the edge of Jeremi’s massive bed, her mind racing with everything she’d just uncovered. The letter from Ellen burned in her memory like a brand. Her entire body ached with exhaustion from fear, from tension, from the growing unease that she was in far deeper than she imagined.

She tried the door once more. Still locked.

Beads of sweat formed along her hairline. Her legs felt weak. The air was heavy with Jeremi’s cologne dark, woodsy, masculine and it surrounded her like a presence, invading her senses.

 Eva looked back at the bed.

 It was king-sized—larger than any bed she had ever seen. The headboard was carved from rich mahogany, intricately detailed with patterns of ivy and thorns. Deep navy sheets draped over a thick mattress that looked like a cloud, while velvet pillows were stacked in soft abundance. It was commanding, seductive, regal.

 Her heart pounded.

“I just need to rest... just a little,” she whispered to herself.

 She crawled across the bed, sinking into it. The fabric was cool beneath her skin. The scent of him lingered on the pillows so familiar, so maddening.

She curled up at first, trying to think logically. But the silence, the softness, the scent of Jeremi , it was too much.

Too intimate.

Too dangerous.

Her hand moved to her neck, brushing the soft fabric of the borrowed maid’s uniform. Her skin felt sensitive almost electric. A strange warmth unfurled within her. A tension she hadn't noticed before.

 Her body was betraying her.

She lay flat on the bed, eyes fluttering closed, her breath growing shallow. One hand wandered lower, as if possessed by something not fully her own curiosity, longing, something forbidden. A soft moan escaped her lips. She arched slightly, breath catching.

“Jeremi...” she whispered before she even realized she’d said his name.

 That single word spoken in that moment jolted her.

 Her eyes snapped open. Her breath ragged. She sat up quickly, shivering with shame.

What am I doing? She pressed her palms to her face, then clasped her hands together in prayer.

“Sancta Maria, ora pro me... libera me de peccato carnis... libera me... libera me...”

 (Holy Mary, pray for me... deliver me from the sin of the flesh... deliver me... deliver me...)

 They were the safe words, the prayers Sister Margaret had taught her whenever her body warred against her soul.

 Eva whispered them again and again until the heat in her blood began to cool, replaced by guilt. She wrapped herself in one of Jeremi’s throws, curled up in the middle of the enormous bed, and whispered one final time:

 “I’m not her… I’m not Ellen...”

 Sleep took her slowly, then all at once. The soft rise and fall of her breath became the only sound in the room. Then the sound of keys turning in the door.

Click.

A whisper of movement. Leather shoes on marble. Laughter.

 A female voice.

“Your room is still as cold and neat as ever, Jeremi.” Maya.

 Eva’s eyes shot open but she didn’t move. She was still in the bed, still wrapped in his throw.

 She sprang up silently, heart pounding, and dove into the shadows behind the curtain once more, just as the door creaked open fully. Their silhouettes crossed the threshold.

"Make yourself comfortable,” Jeremi’s voice said. “I won’t be long.”

 Eva didn’t breathe.