Chapter 3 A house of secrets

Melody's first official day in the mansion began before sunrise.

By the time the first bell rang through the east corridor, she was already dressed in her black-and-white uniform, her hair tied into a neat bun, her hands trembling slightly from nerves. The early morning chill slipped through the window cracks, but she barely noticed. Her focus was on doing everything right - perfectly, quietly, invisibly.

The mansion had rules, and rules in a place like this weren't just suggestions - they were survival.

Downstairs, the servant's kitchen buzzed with motion. Cooks chopped vegetables in rhythmic unison, maids ran trays up and down stairs, and the scent of coffee mixed with freshly baked bread filled the air. It should have felt warm. It didn't.

Mrs. Grant stood in the center like a conductor of an invisible orchestra.

"You're on the east wing," she said to Melody without looking up. "Start with the floors. Then the windows. You'll learn the rotation by the week's end - or you'll be replaced."

Melody swallowed her fear and nodded

Later That Morning

As Melody scrubbed the floors of the east hallway - her knees aching against the hard tile - she couldn't help but glance at the gold-framed portraits lining the walls. The Calloways. Elegant. Distant. Always watching.

"Careful where your eyes wander, new girl," came a voice behind her.

She turned to see Lillian - a senior maid with sharp cheekbones and a sharper tongue - leaning against the wall with a smug smirk.

"Too much curiosity gets you reassigned. Or worse." Lillian tossed a cloth at her feet. "You missed a spot."

Melody bit her tongue. There was no point in replying. Not yet.

But as Lillian walked away, Melody caught her whispering to another maid. A quiet laugh. A nod toward the grand staircase.

"She'll last a week," one of them said

The Forbidden Wing

That afternoon, while delivering clean linens, Melody passed by the western hall - a corridor draped in deep red velvet, lined with heavy double doors. One door stood slightly open. Inside was a grand room with bookshelves stretching to the ceiling and a desk carved from dark oak.

She knew she shouldn't, but something compelled her.

She took one quiet step closer and peeked inside.

Adrian was there.

Not at the piano this time - but at the window, one hand tucked into his pocket, the other holding a glass of something dark. He stared out into the garden, his jaw set in a way that made her heart flutter.

He hadn't seen her.

But just as she turned to leave, the floor creaked beneath her.

His eyes snapped toward the door. Icy blue, sharp like glass. "Who's there?"

Melody froze.

"I-I'm sorry," she stammered. "I was just passing. I didn't mean to intrude."

He studied her for a moment. Silent. Then, "Don't let it happen again."

His tone was emotionless, but his eyes lingered a second longer than they should have. Like he was trying to remember something. Or someone.

Melody fled before he could say more.

Back in Her Room

That night, Melody sat on the edge of her cot, still shaken from the encounter. Adrian Calloway was cold, yes - but not cruel. There was something deeper beneath his sharpness. A loneliness. A sadness he carried like a second skin.