Fear surged through Nina as she quickly stepped back from Nathan’s embrace, her heart racing. Her eyes darted to Mrs. Whitlock, expecting anger, but what she saw in the woman’s expression was… disapproval, not fury.
“Come here, baby,” Mrs. Whitlock said, her voice calm but firm as she extended her hand.
Nina felt like a child caught sneaking cookies before dinner. Sheepishly, she moved away from Nathan, her steps hesitant as she approached Mrs. Whitlock. The woman took her hand without hesitation, her grip steady and unyielding, and led her away from the garden. Nina was too afraid to look back, but she could still feel Nathan’s gaze boring into her back.
As they made their way toward the garden entrance, the weight of Mrs. Whitlock’s gaze lingered on her. The woman’s expression remained unreadable, but one thing was clear—Nina had narrowly escaped tonight’s chaos. How much longer could she keep playing this dangerous game?
Even as they walked inside, Mrs. Whitlock said nothing. The silence felt heavier than any words could have been. It wasn’t until they reached Nina’s room and the door shut behind them that the woman finally spoke.
“Stay as far away from Nathan as possible,” she said, her tone clipped. “He’s trouble.”
The warning made Nina’s stomach twist in knots. She nodded automatically, but as Mrs. Whitlock turned to leave, she found her voice. “Mrs. Whitlock,” she called softly, unsure if she was being brave or foolish.
Mrs. Whitlock paused, her hand on the doorknob, but didn’t turn around. Still, it was clear she was listening.
“Did I… pass the test tonight?” Nina’s voice wavered, uncertainty coating every syllable.
The silence that followed was suffocating, stretching unbearably. Finally, Mrs. Whitlock gave a curt, “Mm.”
Nina’s heart leapt, relief washing over her in waves. After months of uncertainty, she finally had an answer.
“Does that mean I’ve been accepted into the family?” she dared to ask, her voice barely above a whisper.
Another pause—shorter but just as tense. “Yes,” Mrs. Whitlock said, her tone leaving no room for argument. “But on probation. Breakfast is by seven tomorrow morning.”
With that, she left, closing the door behind her without a glance back.
The moment the door clicked shut, Nina’s knees buckled, and she collapsed onto the bed. A long, shaky exhale escaped her lips as exhaustion and triumph coursed through her. It paid off. It finally paid off. Every agonizing second, every careful step, every sleepless night—it had all led to this moment.
She fought the urge to scream out her joy, but she couldn’t stop herself from wiggling on the bed like an overexcited child. Probation or not, she had a chance. And she would do whatever it took to turn that chance into a permanent place in the Whitlock family.
As she basked in the glow of her triumph, a knock on the door broke the spell, followed by a soft voice cutting through the moment.
“Miss Adelaide, it’s time to get you changed for the night.”
Nina straightened instantly, adjusting her posture like a puppet being yanked into form. “Come in,” she said, keeping her tone poised.
The door creaked open, and a young woman stepped in. Her face was unfamiliar—not surprising, considering Nina barely registered most of the staff in this sprawling mansion. Still, something about the maid unsettled her. Had she been here all along? Or was she new? Either way, she wasn’t about to let on.
She stared at the maid, waiting for her to make the first move. The girl hesitated, lowering her gaze as she approached, stopping just inches away.
The silence stretched awkwardly, and confusion crept in. Wasn’t she here to help Nina change out of this dramatic dress? Why was she just standing there?
“Am I missing something?” Nina finally asked, unable to hide her confusion.
The maid flinched slightly, then shook her head. Without a word, she stepped closer and began fumbling with the endless row of buttons running down Nina’s back. Her fingers trembled as she twisted and turned, clearly trying not to press against her.
The struggle was palpable. Each second felt like an eternity, and the awkwardness thickened the air. Beads of sweat formed at Nina’s temple as she resisted the urge to grab the maid’s hands and finish the job herself. Then it hit her—this girl was struggling because Nina was still sitting. And yet, she hadn’t dared to say a word about it.
“Wait.”
The maid froze, pulling back instantly as if burned. Nina stood, the fabric of her dress shifting as she did. The girl stepped aside to give her space, her movements stiff and tentative.
Once Nina was on her feet, the maid moved behind her. This time, her fingers worked quickly, undoing the buttons with surprising efficiency. Less than five minutes later, the dress slipped from Nina’s shoulders, and she stepped out of it, finally free of its constriction.
“Thank you,” she said, her tone softer now.
The maid’s eyes widened slightly, but she only nodded, lips pressed into a thin line.
Meeting the girl’s gaze, Nina added, “And next time, feel free to tell me if something’s uncomfortable. I won’t bite.”
The maid’s lips parted as if to respond, but no words came. Instead, she nodded again, her face unreadable.
She wasn’t done with her yet—at least, that’s how it seemed. She just stood there, lingering, her posture hesitant, as though waiting for further instructions. Was she supposed to remove Nina’s makeup? Help her soak in the tub? The thought made Nina tense.
“You can go. I’ll take it from here,” she said, keeping her voice calm but firm.
For a moment, the maid didn’t move. A slight twitch in her hand betrayed hesitation, as if she wanted to say something but thought better of it. Finally, she nodded, carefully gathered the discarded dress, and left the room without another word.
Nina sighed deeply once the door clicked shut, though curiosity lingered. Who was she, and why had she acted so oddly?
Shaking it off, she turned to the dressing table and settled in front of the mirror. Grabbing a wipe, she began the tedious process of removing her makeup, layer by layer. With each swipe, she felt a little closer to herself—a self that wasn’t Adelaide Whitlock. The charade could slip away now, but not entirely. Not yet.
First, she needed to lock the door.
“Adele,” she said, glancing at the mirror.
The mirror flickered, its glass surface shimmering like ripples on a pond before her reflection dissolved. In its place appeared another face—one that mirrored hers so closely it felt like staring into a ghostly twin. Adele.
She was the house’s ever-present AI, an omniscient entity programmed into every reflective surface within these walls. Her image was smooth and unblinking, with a perfect stillness that made her likeness unsettling.
It didn’t matter where someone was in this mansion—if their voice had been registered in the system, all they had to do was say her name, and she would respond. Always listening. Always watching. The thought sent a faint shiver down Nina’s spine, even as Adele’s neutral expression gazed back at her from the glowing glass.
Her voice was smooth and polite as she responded. “Adele at your service. How may I assist you?”
The idea of being constantly watched crept into Nina’s mind, and on impulse, she decided to test her suspicion. “Are my activities in this room recorded?” she asked cautiously.