chapter 5 " Enter the lions den "

The Carter estate sat at the top of Silver Ridge Drive like a crown above Brentford. The gates were iron and gold-plated, the security camera lights blinking like silent sentries. Helena stood outside the front entrance, her backpack slung over her shoulder, heart drumming against her ribs like a trapped bird.

She rang the bell.

The door opened, not to a housekeeper or butler—but Greg himself. His hair was still damp, shirt loose, collarbone sharp. He looked… normal. Which somehow made everything worse.

“You’re early,” he said, stepping aside.

“I didn’t come to chat,” she snapped.

He smirked. “Shame.”

She followed him inside. The place was silent. No music, no laughter. The living room looked like a catalog—immaculate, lifeless.

He pointed to a small linen closet by the stairs. “Cleaning supplies are in there. Start with the hallway and then upstairs.”

She gave him a sharp glare. “Is this the part where you sit back and watch like a bored prince?”

Greg arched a brow. “No. I’ll be in my room. Don’t break anything.”

As he disappeared up the stairs, Helena opened the closet and grabbed the mop, cleaner, and a rag. Every part of her wanted to scream, throw the bucket at the back of his stupid head and storm out.

But she didn’t.

She scrubbed. Floorboards, corners, the dust-trapped shelves. The house might’ve been cold and stiff, but its silence said more than any gossip in school.

No family photos. No laughter echoing from the walls. Just high ceilings, marble floors, and emptiness.

After an hour, she made her way upstairs, pausing at the door at the far end of the hall—Greg’s room.

She knocked.

“Come in,” came his voice, low and unreadable.

She stepped inside—and froze.

The room was dim, only the light of a laptop screen glowing. Greg sat at the edge of the bed, arms crossed, watching something on his phone. The room itself surprised her. Not messy, but not soulless either.

A sketchbook sat half-open on the desk beside a silver pen. Trophies lined the shelves, but not for sports—debate. Chess. Photography. Things no one at Brentford ever mentioned.

“You clean like someone who’s done it before,” Greg said without looking up.

“Maybe because I have,” she snapped. “Some of us didn’t grow up with maids and imported marble.”

That made him smile, just a little. “Touché.”

Helena glanced around—and that’s when she saw it.

A photo frame on his bedside table. A girl. Long dark hair. Sharp eyes. Smiling.

She looked exactly like her.

Helena stepped closer. Her fingers hovered near the glass.

“Who is she?” she asked.

Greg’s voice was tight. “Don’t touch that.”

She looked back at him. “She looks like me.”

“That’s not your business,” he said, standing abruptly. He grabbed the frame and shoved it into a drawer.

Helena frowned. “What happened to her?”

Greg turned away, walking to the window. “She left.”

“Just like that?”

He looked over his shoulder. “You ask too many questions.”

She dropped the cloth into her bucket. “You blackmailed me into cleaning your house. Least you can do is not be cryptic.”

Greg’s jaw tightened. For a second, he looked like he might tell her something. But then—

“Just finish the bathroom before you leave.”

Cold again.

Helena bit back her frustration and moved down the hall.

Meanwhile, Outside in a Parked Car Across the Street

Tessy sat behind the wheel of her black convertible, gripping the steering wheel. She had followed Helena out of concern—but now she was worried for an entirely different reason.

Who was that girl in the picture?

Why did Greg look at Helena like he wanted to break her and protect her at the same time?

She pulled out her phone and texted Theo.

Tessy: Greg is up to something. She’s inside his house.

Theo: Tell her to get out. Now.

But she didn’t have the courage to barge in.

Back in the Carter House

Helena finished the upstairs bathroom and returned her supplies to the closet. As she headed back downstairs, Greg appeared at the bottom of the staircase.

“Done?”

“Sparkling.”

She moved past him toward the door.

“Wait,” he said, and for once, his voice lacked that usual cruel lilt.

She turned.

Greg looked at her differently now. Less like prey, more like a puzzle.

“Why do you care about people like Tessy?” he asked. “People who don’t matter.”

Helena raised a brow. “Because I was her. Because I still am.”

Greg studied her face. “You’re braver than you look.”

She met his eyes, steady. “And you’re lonelier than you pretend.”

For a second, something flickered behind his gaze—vulnerability. Then it was gone.

“See you next week, maid,” he said, retreating into the dark.

Helena closed the door behind her, the cold air biting at her skin as she stepped outside.

But the worst chill still clung to her bones—from the girl in the photo.

Who was she?

And what had Greg done to her?

Helena stood at the edge of the quiet road, wrapping her arms around herself. The cold bit into her sweater as if punishing her for stepping into the Carter house. A yellow cab slowed in the distance, and she flagged it down with a shaky hand.

As it pulled up, her eyes drifted once more to the mansion behind her. Cold walls. Guarded windows. And a boy who looked at her like she reminded him of a ghost.

She got in and gave the driver her address.

As the cab pulled away, she didn’t see the sleek silver car pulling up to the Carter estate from the opposite end of the street.

Inside the Carter Mansion

The door slammed open.

“Gregory Carter,” Bianca’s voice cooed like a twisted lullaby.

Greg turned from the window, startled. “Bianca? What are you—?”

She tossed her purse on the couch and crossed the space between them like a panther. Her heels clicked sharp against the marble floor. “What am I doing here?” she purred, looping her arms around his neck. “I’m here for you, sweetie.”

Before he could speak again, her lips brushed against his cheek, then his jaw, then lower—until she kissed him softly, deliberately, like she was claiming territory.

Greg froze.

“Didn’t you miss me?” she whispered, trailing her fingers through his hair.

He hesitated. “I… I did.”

He tilted his head and kissed her neck, gently at first, then with more pressure. But even as his lips moved against her skin, his eyes remained open—unmoved. Elsewhere.

Bianca didn’t seem to notice—or maybe she didn’t care. She leaned in, smirking.

“I heard you have a new maid,” she said mockingly, dragging a perfectly manicured nail down his chest. “That poor scholarship girl… Helena, is it?”

Greg stiffened.

“You know, people are starting to talk,” she continued. “That you’ve taken a sudden interest in her. Cleaning your house? That’s a new one.”

He pulled back, jaw tightening. “It’s nothing. She owes me.”

Bianca’s smile widened—dangerously. “Everything you do has a reason, Greg. And when you don’t tell me why… I get jealous.”

She stepped back, crossing her arms. Her voice lost its sweetness.

“Is she like the last one?”

Greg’s expression darkened instantly. “Don’t.”

Bianca tilted her head. “You think I don’t remember, Greg? Sophia? The way she disappeared like smoke? You never did tell me what happened.”

He turned his back to her, running a hand down his face.

Bianca’s voice lowered. “You can keep collecting girls who look like her, but it won’t bring her back.”

He turned, eyes like glass. “I said. Don’t.”

For a moment, they stared at each other. Silent. Tense.

Then Bianca laughed softly. “Fine. I’ll drop it.”

She brushed past him, her fingers trailing across the edge of the table before grabbing her purse. “Call me when you’re done playing house.”

And with that, she walked out—heels echoing all the way to the front door.

Meanwhile, Across the City

Helena sat in the cab, arms still crossed as she stared out the window.

She couldn’t shake the image of that girl’s photo.

The resemblance was too strong. The curve of her smile. The arch of her brows. It wasn’t just a look-alike. It felt like a warning.

Her phone buzzed.

Tessy: You okay?

Helena: Fine. Weirded out. Tired. I’ll explain tomorrow.

Tessy: I have something to tell you. Something about Greg.

Helena stared at the message for a long second before replying.

Helena: Then we meet tomorrow. And you better not hold anything back.

She closed her phone, heart pounding again. Except this time, it wasn’t from fear.

It was from the gut-deep feeling that something wasn’t just wrong with Greg Carter… something was buried.

And she might be digging up the pieces.