Chapter 1: The Grand Hallway
The marble floor of the foyer always felt colder than the rest of the mansion, especially when my knuckles were scraped raw against it. I knelt beside Toby, his small shoulders shaking beneath the dirty tattered tunic that Elena had forced him to wear instead of proper clothes. He clutched the bright yellow cleaning sponge in both hands, tears cutting clean tracks through the dust on his pale cheeks. My own hair was pulled back into a tight bun, every strand in place because loose hair invited criticism, and my gold hoop earrings caught the harsh glare of the crystal chandelier overhead.
"Do it over!" Elena's voice cut through the cavernous space like a glass cutter. She stood over us, her crisp white button-down shirt unblemished, her thick gold chain necklace resting heavily against collarbones that had never known honest labor. Her khaki trousers were pressed to a knife-edge.
I reached out to cover Toby's small, trembling hand on the sponge, my breath catching in my throat. I couldn't risk shouting back. If I lost my temper, Elena would throw us out onto the highway with nowhere to go. My sister had trusted me with Toby before she passed away, whispering that I had to keep him safe from the Vance family's cold machinery. But staying here, hiding in plain sight as a domestic tutor while my nephew was treated like an indentured servant, was eating my soul alive.
The heavy oak and iron double doors at the main entrance swung inward before I could answer. A crisp autumn wind swept across the marble, bringing the scent of rain and cedar. Arthur Vance walked through with the heavy, unhurried stride of a man who owned half the county and believed the other half was leasing from him. His silver-white hair was immaculate, and his tailored navy blue double-breasted suit fit with the effortless precision of bespoke Italian tailoring. His light blue dress shirt and patterned silk tie were unruffled by the weather outside. Flanking him were two silent bodyguards in dark coats who paused at the threshold, blending into the mahogany shadows.
Toby didn't look up at first, his gaze locked on the soapy smear on the white marble. But then the familiar click of Arthur's leather-soled shoes against the stone made the boy turn his tear-stained face upward. Without a word of warning, Toby dropped the yellow sponge into the bucket of gray water, scrambled to his feet, and ran straight toward the older man.
He buried his face directly into Arthur's navy blue suit jacket, his small fists grabbing fistfuls of expensive wool as he sobbed out a single, desperate word.
May you like
"Daddy..." Toby whimpered against the cloth, though Arthur was old enough to be his grandfather.
Arthur froze mid-step, his body stiffening under the unexpected impact. For a long, agonizing second, the silence in the grand hallway was absolute, broken only by the boy's ragged breathing and the distant ticking of a grandfather clock in the library.
