Chapter 3 - Shadows in the Estate
The rest of the evening passed in a blur of forced normalcy and simmering dread. After helping Julian dry off and dress in a crisp, tailored shirt that hid the crescent scar from view, I wheeled him down to the dimly lit study on the mansion's second floor. The room was lined with towering mahogany bookshelves, heavy velvet drapes blocking out the stormy Chicago night, and a massive oak desk covered in legal briefs and financial portfolios.
"Leave the medication on the side table," Julian instructed without looking up from a document he was scanning with intense focus. "And take the service elevator down to the staff quarters. Mrs. Gable will show you where you're sleeping for the night."
I hesitated near the door, my fingers curling around the strap of my faded handbag. "Sleeping here? I can't stay overnight, Mr. Bennett. My children—"
"Your children are being watched over by my security team right now," Julian interrupted coldly, his eyes still fixed on the paper. "Do you really think I didn't send someone to check on them the moment you walked into my office? They have a warm meal, a doctor is already examining Brandon's fever, and the apartment is secure. If you try to walk home in this weather at midnight, you'll freeze, and then who will be there for them tomorrow?"
I stared at him, stunned by the sheer manipulation, yet overwhelmed by a wave of profound relief. "You... you sent a doctor?"
"I told you, Clara, we're tied together by more than just an old memory," he said, finally looking up, his expression unreadable. "Now go. Marcus is hosting a dinner party downstairs tonight. I don't want him seeing you wandering the halls with that terrified look on your face. Act like a servant, keep your head down, and trust no one."
I nodded numbly and slipped out of the study, pulling the heavy oak door shut behind me.
The hallway was cavernous, lit only by the faint glow of wall sconces casting long, distorted shadows across the patterned wallpaper. As I made my way toward the service wing, the muffled sound of classical piano music drifted up from the grand foyer below, mingling with the sound of elite laughter and clinking crystal glasses. Marcus Bennett was entertaining guests.
I kept my head bowed, hurrying past a series of closed doors, when suddenly a voice echoed from the end of the corridor, freezing me in my tracks.
"Well, well. What do we have here? Another stray cat wandering the halls?"
I turned slowly to see a tall, impeccably dressed man stepping out from the shadow of an arched alcove. He had sharp, predatory features, dark slicked-back hair, and a smile that didn't reach his cold, calculating eyes. Marcus Bennett. The man Julian had warned me about.
"I'm sorry, sir," I said, pitching my voice low and trembling, channeling all my real fear into the performance. "I'm the new caregiver. Mr. Bennett sent me to the staff quarters."
Marcus strolled closer, his polished leather shoes clicking rhythmically against the hardwood floor. He stopped just inches away, invading my personal space with an intimidating confidence. He reached out, his long fingers lightly brushing the lapel of my cheap, worn jacket, inspecting the fabric with thinly veiled disgust.
"My stepbrother has terrible taste in caretakers these days," Marcus murmured, his voice smooth and oily. "Usually they last about three days before they realize Julian is impossible to deal with. What makes you think you'll survive the week, my dear?"
"I need the money, sir," I whispered, keeping my gaze respectfully fixed on the third button of his expensive silk shirt.
Marcus let out a low chuckle, his hand lingering a fraction too long on my shoulder before dropping away. "Everyone needs money, Clara—oh, excuse me, I don't even know your name. What do they call you?"
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"Sarah, sir," I lied instantly, remembering Julian’s warning not to let Marcus connect my real name to the past. "My name is Sarah."
"Well, Sarah," Marcus said, his smile turning razor-sharp. "Keep a close eye on Julian for me. Make sure he takes his evening pills. All of them. Sometimes my dear brother forgets how fragile his little world really is." He leaned in close, whispering directly into my ear. "And if he starts talking about the past—about things that happened twenty years ago—you come straight to me. Understand? I reward loyalty very well. Disloyalty, on the other hand... is fatal."
