Chapter 4: DOUBTS

       Waking up to birdsong wasn't something I was used to—only something I thought happened only in movies. The sound was not the usual city sounds of honking cars and shouting neighbors—actual birds. seconds past, and I just kept laying on the bed, blinking at the ceiling, wondering if I was still dreaming. 

The heavy curtains kept the room dark, like it was still night.

I dragged myself up, arms stretching over my head with a yawn and went for the window. Pulling the curtains apart, I unlatched the glass and pushed it open, As I shoved the glass open, sunlight came flooding in, so sudden and bright I had to blink. 

The morning air rushed at me - warm and thick with that briny ocean smell that immediately made me think of fish and chips by the pier.

 And there it was—endless blue water glittering under the sunrise, so close I could almost taste it. My fingers tightened on the windowsill. Places like this only existed in travel magazines, not in my life.

I’d slept like the dead for once. 

No nightmares, no waking up every hour. But then last night came rushing back—Mr. Blake’s cold dismissal, that final “you're gone by morning” still ringing in my ears.

My breath came out shaky. No. Not without a fight. The shower water scalded my skin as I rushed through my routine. I was still dressing when the knock came—three soft raps on the door.

Nadia.

The sight of her kind face almost made my knees buckle with relief.

“Oh dear,” she murmured, warm as fresh bread. “How’re you holding up?”

“Morning, Nadia.” I hugged her before I could stop myself. When I pulled back, her eyebrows were raised.

“Something’s eating at you.”

I shook my head. “No.”

She gave me that look—the one that saw right through me. “This is about Mr. Blake right?”

“Not really,” I muttered.

Her smile faded. “What exactly did he say to you last night?”

I twisted the edge of my sleeve before answering. "That he doesn't want any more caretakers and that I should leave by morning."

Nadia's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh sweet child." She patted my arm. "Don't worry, dear. He's always like this at first. Give him time —he'll come around."

I let out a long breath. "I wish I could believe that, Nadia. He seemed... really sure."

She gave me that look older women get when they know things you don't. "Maybe there's more going on here than you see plus I spoke to him last night and he is going to give you a chance."

I huffed out a laugh with no real humor. "I hope so, thank you Nadia. He's definitely... something."

Nadia's smile faded as she really looked at me. "Child, when did you last eat?"

I had to think. "Not sure. I was trying to find the kitchen —or you — when I bumped into him."

"Oh you poor thing." She tsked, already steering me toward the hall. "Come on, let's get some food in you. You Must be starving."

"You have no idea," I said, my stomach growling loud enough to prove it.

———

In the kitchen, she waved at the table. "What're you hungry for?"

"You don't have to—" I started toward the fridge. “I can make some—”

She cut me off with a wave. "Nonsense!" Her eyes crinkled. "After last night? I owe you. I'll cook you something proper."

With a smile, I collapsed into the kitchen chair, its legs scraping against the floor. I watched as she moved between the stove and counter, our conversation flowing as easily as the coffee she'd poured earlier. There was something about the way she listened— really listened — that made me say things I hadn't planned to share.

It was almost like I was speaking with my mother.

The rich smell hit me before I saw the plate. 

Thirty minutes later, she placed a plate of bacon and eggs in front of me, alongside a warm cup of milk.

“Wow, this smells wonderful,” I said, inhaling deeply.

“Just wait till it hits your tongue.”  she chuckled.

That first bite made my shoulders slump in pure pleasure. "Oh my God, Nadia," I groaned, barely swallowing before speaking, "this is heaven! Back home, we mostly got... well, whatever was cheapest."

Her spoon clattered against the counter. "You're joking."

I shook my head fast, already cutting another piece. "Wish I was."

A shadow crossed her face. “That’s unfortunate,” she said with sympathy.

"But now It seems I will be getting the good stuff," I said through a mouthful, grinning. "This is... mmph... too perfect."

The pink that spread across her cheeks made her suddenly look twenty years younger. "It does an old woman good to hear that sometimes."

"Then prepare for daily compliments," I teased, licking my fingers.

Her laughter followed her as she cleared my spotless plate. "I've got town business today," she mentioned casually. "Might not be back till supper."

My fork froze mid-air. "Wait — what? Nadia, no! What if Mr. Blake tosses me out on my ear? What do I do?

Nadia patted my hand, her rough fingers warm against my skin. "Darling, you don't need me standing behind you. Had a good long talk with him last night remember and I got you one week to show your self. If it doesn't work out... well." She shrugged, but her eyes stayed kind.

My mouth fell open. "I really appreciate you doing that for me.

"Of course honey, everyone deserves a chance," she said, so caring..

"But Nadia—"

Her hand squeezed my shoulder, firm and steady. "Listen here, Samantha. You're sharper than most who walk through these doors. Walk tall and show him exactly why you deserve this job—i believe you."

I had to swallow hard past the lump in my throat. "Thank you, Nadia."

She gave my fingers one last squeeze. "You'll be just fine, dear. He's all bark, really."

I wiped my sweaty palms on my pants. "His bark sounds an awful lot like 'get out' to me."

"That was before," she said, winking. "Now he knows you're good people. So don't make a liar out of me."

I sucked in a shaky breath and nodded.

Nadia pushed back from the table with a groan. "Lord, look at the time. Best get moving."

As her footsteps faded down the hall, the reality hit me like a bucket of cold water. This was it - my one shot.

Hands trembling, I threw together Blake's breakfast - toast golden brown, eggs fluffy as clouds, cheese melted just right. The hot chocolate I made extra careful, just how Nadia showed me. Setting the tray down, I wiped my palms on my apron and stared at the stairs like they led to the gallows.

My hands were trembling so bad I had to wipe them twice on my jeans. "His 'bark'? “My voice cracked. "Sounded more like 'get the hell out of my house' to me."

Nadia's wink came with that little snort—laugh. "That was last night," she said, poking my shoulder. "Now he knows you will one of the good ones. Don't go proving me wrong now alright?"

I tried to breathe in but my chest hitched halfway. Nodding was all I could manage without my voice breaking.

Nadia groaned like her bones ached as she pushed up from the table. "Sweet Jesus, look how late it's gotten." She shook her head at the clock. "Quit your worry child."

I listened to her slippers scuff down the hallway —that slow shuffle-walk she did she I met her. Then silence. Just me. And the sudden, sickening drop in my gut that said: No safety net this time. This was really happening.

My hands shook as I arranged the breakfast tray—toast golden-brown, eggs still steaming, hot chocolate swirling with melted marshmallows. The dining table felt miles too wide as I set it down, my throat tight. One deep breath. Then another. 

The stairs creaked under my weight as I climbed.

I knocked on his bedroom door. No answer.

I knocked again. Still nothing.

My fingers hovered over the doorknob, cold against my palm. The door gave way with a sigh.

Oh my word…

His room didn't just feel bigger - it felt like another world. Not flashy rich, but the kind of wealth that whispers. Charcoal walls soaked up the lamplight, turning it honey-gold. Those windows—floor-to-ceiling windows framed the far wall, allowing a glimpse of the sky. Sheer curtains swaying gently from the morning breeze.

The bed was a damn monument. Black sheets stretched tight enough to bounce a coin off—it looked almost too perfect to be slept in.

Leather headboard gleaming. The fireplace smelled like winter mornings and expensive whiskey. My fingers itched to touch the marble.

Books lined the walls—some spines cracked, others pristine. There was a lion portrait, which watched me with predator’s eyes. But the portrait above the bed? That froze my blood. Mr Blake’s painted gaze pinned me in place, relentless. No escaping those eyes—another reminder of who he was.

Everything stood precise—a modern wooden desk with a black leather armchair near the fireplace, and a low coffee table with decanter catching the light, not a speck of dust. Even the air felt ordered.  

Then the balcony snagged my attention. Through those glass doors, the world dropped away into ocean and sunrise. I could almost see him out there, silhouetted against the dawn, drink in hand like some modern-day king.  

My foot shifted forward on its own—  

A door in the corner. Smaller. Hidden. Les prominent. What—?  

And before I could take another, a deep, furious voice shattered the silence.

"YOU AGAIN?!".....

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