Chapter 2 A job in the mansion

Melody stood at the edge of the grand foyer, her breath caught somewhere between awe and dread.

The Calloway Mansion was everything her small, cozy house had never been - vast, marble-floored, lined with ornate mirrors and chandeliers that glittered like frozen stars. The air inside was cold, as though the building had forgotten how to feel warmth.

"Don't gape," Mrs. Grant said sharply, not slowing her stride. "This is a place of order, not fantasy."

Melody lowered her gaze and clutched her bag tighter.

They passed a row of portraits-oil paintings of stern-faced Calloways, generations old, all staring down like silent judges. Their eyes seemed to follow her.

Servants in pressed uniforms moved quietly through hallways, never speaking, their faces as expressionless as marble busts. It was another world. One where she didn't belong.

Mrs. Grant led her through a servant's corridor, narrow and dim, down a flight of back stairs that creaked under their feet.

"You'll report at six sharp each morning. Breakfast prep, laundry rotation, silver polishing, and cleaning the east wing. You'll eat after the rest and sleep in the attic quarters."

Melody nodded, her throat tight. She wanted to ask about the Calloway family. About the young man she had briefly read about in the newspaper - Adrian Calloway, the only heir, known for his cold demeanor and scandalous broken engagement.

But she stayed silent. It was better to observe first, speak later.

The Quarters

Mrs. Grant opened a small wooden door at the end of a narrow hall.

"This is yours."

The room was no larger than a closet - one window, a cot, a dresser, and a cracked mirror. But it had clean sheets and a door that closed. It was more than Melody had hoped for.

"Uniforms are in the closet. You'll wear black and white, and hair tied back."

Melody looked down at her calloused hands and the only pair of shoes she owned. They were scuffed, worn from walking through ash and graveyards.

"I understand," she murmured.

Mrs. Grant paused. For the first time, her face softened - just slightly.

"You may not feel it now, but this house has saved many girls worse off than you. Mind the rules, Melody, and you'll survive."

Not thrive. Not belong. Just survive.

That Night.

Exhausted and aching from her first shift - scrubbing baseboards, carrying linens, and learning the maze-like layout of the mansion - Melody collapsed onto the thin mattress of her cot.

She gazed out the small window. Stars glittered above the Calloway estate just like they had above her childhood home. But here, they felt more distant.

Then she heard it - a melody drifting through the halls.

Faint piano music. Soft. Mournful. Coming from somewhere deep in the house.

She rose, barefoot, and crept to the edge of her hallway. The music wrapped around her like a question. Curious, she followed it.

Peeking from behind a curtain near the drawing room balcony, she saw him.

Adrian Calloway.

Alone at the piano.

He was nothing like the cold headlines had described. In this moment, he looked... lost. Beautiful in a tragic, untouchable way. As if the music was the only thing keeping him together.

Melody didn't breathe. She just watched, captivated, her hand pressed lightly to her chest.