"Okay," Nina said, her voice quiet but firm. She meant it.
And honestly? She instantly admired Janet Whitlock. It took real strength to be this open, to lay bare emotions she had spent months locking away. For the first time, Nina saw her not as the cold, distant Mrs. Whitlock, but as a grieving mother, still trying to find her footing in a world without her daughter.
Janet nodded slightly, her gaze lingering on Nina. It was different this time—not like the scrutinizing look she had given her the night before when she had suspected secrets were being kept. No, this was deeper. It was the first time Janet was really seeing her.
And just like that, her eyes welled up again.
"Why are you crying?" Nina asked, startled. Janet had just calmed her down, and now she was falling apart.
Janet let out a small, shaky breath. "You look so uncannily like Adelaide. It terrifies me sometimes. I wouldn’t have believed it when Rose first told me she had seen someone who looked exactly like her until I saw you." She paused, shaking her head as if still struggling to process it. "She’s the one who found you."
Nina’s heart lurched at those words. Rose knew. She had known from the very beginning that Nina wasn’t Adelaide. Not only that—she had been the one to lead them to her.
The weight of that realization settled over Nina. Rose had seen through the lie from day one. And yet, in all the time Nina had spent in this house, she had never once let it slip. She had never treated her differently.
But how had Rose known her? Nina had no recollection of ever crossing paths with her before stepping into this house.
"You look surprised." Janet gave a brief, knowing smile. "You didn’t know, did you?"
Nina shook her head.
"Well, you wouldn’t have. She never would have told you. Rose is one of our most loyal staff members. If you ever need help, you can trust her." A distant look crossed Janet’s face. "Adelaide wasn’t particularly close to the maids, but she tolerated Rose. When she was struggling through her illness, sometimes she’d call on Rose before she even thought to call on me."
There was something so heartbreakingly raw in the way she said it, in the way her voice wavered just slightly.
Before Nina knew what she was doing, her hands reached for Janet’s.
Janet flinched, just barely, as if startled by the touch. Then, slowly, her fingers curled around Nina’s.
"I miss my baby so much," she whispered, voice thick with grief. "She didn’t deserve to die like that. Maybe if we had tried harder, fought harder… maybe she’d still be alive."
Nina squeezed her hands gently. "You did the best you could, Mrs. Whitlock. No one could have done more."
Janet’s lips trembled, and for the first time, a spark of hope flickered in her eyes. "You think she’d believe that?"
Nina held her gaze and nodded. "I know so."
Janet nodded, her voice soft. "Thank you." A pause. Then, almost hesitantly, she added, "For the record, when we’re alone, you can just call me Janet."
Nina blinked, the words taking a moment to fully register. Janet. Not Mrs. Whitlock. Not a title wrapped in cold formality, but something personal.
By the time Nina managed to process it, Janet was already pulling away, wiping her face dry with a quiet resolve. The vulnerability from just moments ago slipped away as she straightened her posture, regaining the controlled, poised demeanor Nina was more familiar with.
"Breakfast is in thirty minutes. Don’t be late," Janet said, glancing at the clock before turning toward the door.
"Okay," Nina murmured, still dazed, still trying to grasp the shift that had just taken place between them.
And then, without another word, Janet walked out, leaving Nina alone in the silence of her room—and with the strange, lingering warmth of being seen.
Now alone, Nina sprang to her feet, a renewed energy buzzing through her. She wasted no time going through her morning rituals—freshening up, brushing her hair, and making herself look presentable.
Once she was done, she slipped into one of the dresses she had picked out from the mall—a soft, flowery piece with adjustable straps. The fabric was luxurious against her skin, fitting her so perfectly that it felt like it had been designed just for her. Like she was meant to wear it.
She paused at the dresser, tilting her head this way and that, taking in her reflection. Not bad. A touch of blush added just the right amount of color to her cheeks, and for a brief moment, she allowed herself to admire the effect.
By the time the clock inched toward seven, she was already at the door, stepping into the hallway.
For a household brimming with maids, the Whitlocks’ staff were practically ghosts. No idle chatter, no footsteps echoing through the halls—just an eerie, polished emptiness. Where did they all go when they weren’t needed? That was something Nina intended to figure out later, particularly since she needed to find Rose.
As she walked down the corridor, her steps slowed when she reached a particular spot—a grand, high-ceilinged mirror bathed in warm, flattering light. The temptation to stop and admire herself again was strong. But she knew better now. And if there was one thing she had learned, it was that Adele was a tattletale of the highest order. Best to tread carefully.
With a subtle shake of her head, she continued on, resisting the urge to preen under Adele’s ever-watchful gaze.
As she stepped into the formal dining room, the soft murmur of conversation reached her ears. Mr. and Mrs. Whitlock were already seated, their voices low, their expressions calm—almost relaxed.
But the second they noticed her, their discussion came to an abrupt halt. Their eyes shifted toward her in unison, their attention now fully on her.
Were they talking about her?
Nina swallowed, her palms suddenly feeling a little clammy.
Janet offered a small smile, her tone light yet unreadable. "Perfect timing. We were just talking about you."
Oh, great. That could mean anything.
For the briefest moment, she hesitated, forcing a polite smile as she moved forward.
Mr. Whitlock didn’t say anything right away—just observed her with that sharp, assessing gaze of his. The kind that made it impossible to tell whether he approved of her or was quietly picking her apart.
Nina slid into her seat, back straight, hands resting carefully on her lap. Whatever this conversation was about, she just had to hope it wasn’t aiming to be disastrous.