Chapter 3 The Man in the Hallway

The Blackwood Estate was a maze of marble and shadows, and by the time I learned my way from the staff wing to the main kitchen, I'd already gotten turned around twice. Thankfully, no one noticed-or at least no one said anything. Mrs. Harrington was too focused on the breakfast schedule to bother with my wandering.

By seven-thirty, the kitchen was a flurry of motion. Stainless steel countertops, hanging copper pots, and at least four cooks working in silent coordination. I was handed a list-coffee service, table settings, and clean-up. Simple, repetitive, invisible.

That was what I needed to be: invisible.

While cleaning trays, a younger maid at the hotel asked, "You're the new one?" With her hair in a tight bun, she spoke in a light accent that might be French.

"Yeah. Ayla."

She spoke her name, followed by her first smile of the day. Every new beginning at work starts with the most stressful day, according to experience.

"You've worked here long?"

"Three months. Long enough to know the rules matter more than the people."

I glanced at her. "What do you mean?"

She looked around, then leaned in. "Don't talk to the guests. Don't speak unless spoken to. And don't-whatever you do-draw attention to yourself."

I nodded. "No one will ever have to worry about that."

However, I understood the statement went against reality.

I wished for someone to pay attention to me even though I said I didn't want this.

Together with Claire, we received instructions to serve breakfast trays in the east dining room at approximately eight o'clock. The building remained silent before our steps made small echoes upon the brilliantly maintained floors. My hands shook gently as I held the silver tray, which made the china items gently ring against each other while I walked.

A broad corridor spanned from one side to another, featuring large windows opposite dozens of oil paintings. Thin curtain fabric allowed sunlight to create stretched golden streaks across the marble floors. The silence here was deeper-thicker.

Then I saw him.

A man emerged from a nearby section of the passage. The man stood at least six feet tall while donning a well-fitted navy business suit paired with dark hair. His presence was immediate. Commanding. His wealth didn't define his presence because he carried power with the same authority as royal leadership.

My heart stopped.

Without checking his name tag, I instantly recognized him as Dominic Blackwood.

Dominic Blackwood.

From his position several yards away, I noticed how the sharp lines of his jaw combined with the set of his shoulders and the frosty flames in his eyes. To me, the photograph on my pillow revealed eyes that matched the person standing ahead.

He was older now, of course. But he hadn't lost the weight of presence-if anything, it had solidified with age. And though he didn't look at me, my entire body went rigid as he walked past us without a single glance.

Claire bowed her head slightly. I did the same, but I couldn't help stealing one more look.

He didn't stop.

Didn't turn.

Didn't even blink in my direction.

I was nothing to him.

Time passed in a hazy stream throughout the rest of the morning. I wrapped up my work while avoiding eye contact and pushing away the anxious feeling rising in my belly. What did I expect? Did he see me? Perhaps he would feel something inside? An invisible force within his inner being would unknowingly call out my name.

I was foolish.

Back in the staff quarters during lunch, I barely touched my food. Claire noticed but didn't push.

"You're quiet," she said gently. "Bad morning?"

I shook my head. "Just... a lot to take in."

She smiled. "It always is. They live in a different world here. We're just ghosts in it."

I finished my shift before going back to my room to close the door. The quiet space felt oppressive because I carried too many unspeakable burdens with me.

I brought the picture to my eyes one more time for a long look.

"You're here," I whispered. "So am I. What now?"

For the first time, doubt crept in. What if my mother was wrong? What if I was wrong? What if he wasn't my father, and this was all just a coincidence?

But something deeper-something stubborn-told me I wasn't.

I didn't come here for a job.

I came here for the truth.

And whether he wanted to see me or not, I would find it.