Chapter 3 Behind the mask

Vivian's pov

I gazed at the man before me, still gripping my clothes. His attire was impeccable, a stark contrast to the rugged figure I encountered in the bush. Although both shared piercing blue eyes, this man's hairstyle and build were distinctly different. The mask and gloves, however, sparked unease.

Why the gloves? Had he recently committed a crime?

"Release my clothes," I said firmly. "I won't run."

"Like you could," he retorted, a hint of amusement in his voice.

His tone was unfamiliar, distinct from the bush encounter.

"On your knees!" he ordered.

"Why?" I asked, rooted in place. Life had taught me to question authority.

The man's eyes narrowed. "Did you just question me?"

He settled into a chair, his gaze never leaving mine.

The man's eyes seemed to bore into my soul, as if daring me to disobey. But I stood firm, refusing to yield.

"Who are you?" I demanded, my voice steady. "What do you want from me?"

A hint of surprise flickered across his face, followed by a calculating glint.

"You're bold, I'll give you that," he said, leaning back in his chair. "But boldness can be a liability."

He gestured to the floor.

"Kneel, Vivian. It's not a request."

I hesitated, weighing my options. But something in his tone made me realize that resistance might not be the best choice.

Slowly, I sank to my knees, my eyes locked on his.

"What do you want from me?" I repeated.

The man leaned forward, his blue eyes piercing.

"What do you think?" he asked.

"I don't owe you anything," I replied, sitting down instead of remaining on my knees.

My action wasn't defiance, but necessity – my toes ached terribly, and I wouldn't indulge him in unnecessary suffering.

He smirked, noticing my changed position.

"Don't dare me!" he warned, his smile still playing on his lips.

I met his gaze, puzzled.

"Who's daring you?" I thought, my eyes locked on his. "I won't be intimidated."

"Get on your knees!" he growled, his cold voice sending shivers down my spine.

I pretended ignorance, remaining seated, but his anger was palpable.

He rose from his chair, his face darkening. His hand instinctively went to the gun beside him.

I gasped, fear gripping my heart. "Is that... real?" I stammered.

"When I shoot you," he sneered, "you'll find out – probably in hell, because you'll be dead by then."

My bravery shattered, I swiftly dropped to my knees, my heart racing.

"Please," I whispered, eyes fixed on the gun.

His gaze lingered on me, a mix of frustration and fascination.

"You're stubborn," he said, holstering the gun. "I like that."

He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming.

"But," he whispered, his breath on my skin, "you'll learn to obey."

I trembled, unsure if I should defy him further.

The guard's whispered words seemed to alter Lincoln's demeanor. He pocketed the gun and turned to leave.

I will be back for you ,take her to where she belongs," he ordered, striding out of the room.

The guard turned to me. "Stand up and follow me."

I obeyed, trailing behind him as we navigated the mansion's opulent corridors. The grandeur surrounding me was breathtaking – crystal chandeliers, marble floors, and exquisite artwork.

We reached a separate wing, and I assumed this was the maids' quarters. Rows of doors lined the hallway, with maids bustling about, attending to their duties.

The guard stopped at a door marked "23" and opened it.

"Your new home," he said, gesturing for me to enter.

I stepped inside, taking in the simple yet cozy space. two bed space , two dresser, and a small closet comprised the modest furnishings. I guessed I'm having a roommates.

A maid, with a warm smile, greeted me. "Welcome, Vivian. I'm Emma. I'll help you settle in."

I regarded Emma silently for a moment before responding to her warm greeting. Making friends wasn't my habit, and our age difference made me wary.

Once the guards departed, leaving us alone, Emma's gaze fell upon my injured leg. She gasped and urged me to sit, offering to tend to my wound. Grateful for her kindness, I accepted.

As she worked, her gentle touch eased my discomfort. After finishing, she handed me a set of maid's attire.

"Change into these," she instructed.

I hesitated, eyeing the uniform with distaste. But it was better than my tattered clothes.

I retreated to the bathroom, welcoming the warmth of the shower. The water washed away some of my anxiety, but questions lingered.

As I changed into the crisp maid's uniform, Emma waited patiently outside.

As she showed me around the mansion, I couldn't shake off the feeling that there was more to my presence here than met the eye.

"What's Lincoln's true intention?" I wondered. "

Hey! I said

"I'm not hey!" Emma corrected, smiling.

"Sorry about that," I replied. "Can you tell me about this place?"

Emma's expression turned somber. "It's a dangerous place you wouldn't wish to live. To survive, you must be strong and cautious. Never disobey Lord Lincoln."

"Lord Lincoln?" I repeated, confirming the name. "He seems to be the boss here."

Emma nodded.

"Why are you here?" I asked, curiosity getting the better of me.

"Not everyone here is happy to be here," Emma said, her voice barely above a whisper. "We were all forced by one circumstance or another."

I sighed, overwhelmed. "This is more than I thought."

My mind racing, I asked, "Is he always wearing a mask and gloves?"

Emma leaned in, her eyes darting around the room. "Yes, no one has ever seen his face. We don't know why he wears those."

I frowned, intrigued. "Is he hiding something?"

Emma's gaze met mine, filled with a mix of fear and warning. "Don't ask questions, Vivian. Just obey and stay safe."

Suddenly, footsteps echoed outside the room. Emma's eyes widened.

I turned to see who Emma had noticed, and a group of maids approached. Emma bowed hastily and scurried away.

The lead maid stepped closer, her eyes scrutinizing me. "You're new here?"

I nodded.

"Then you should know better than to not greet," she said, her tone sharp.

"I'm a maid, just like you," I replied, confusion etched on my face.

Her expression darkened, and she stepped on my recently injured toes. I screamed in agony.

A nearby guard rushed over. "What's going on here?"

The maid's demeanor shifted, and she laughed. "Nothing, just playing."

I glared, tears welling in my eyes. "Just playing?" I repeated, incredulous.

The guard's gaze lingered on me before turning to the maid. "Lord Lincoln wants to see you," he said, his voice firm.

My heart skipped a beat. What did Lincoln want now?