The linen room door creaked shut behind her. The sound of the closing door swallowed by the thick velvet walls.
Ashley didn't breathe until she turned the corner and melted into the hallway's silence. She walked quickly, too quickly, but the thunder in her chest hadn't stopped since those voices whispered their venom in the dark.
"We should've burned everything that belonged to him."
Even now, the sentence echoed. She didn't know what it meant, nor who had written it. But something told her it wasn't meant for her ears—or anyone else still living.
She reached her room and closed the door softly. The weight of the folded letter inside her apron dragged on her nerves like an anchor.
Ashley pulled it out carefully, like it could vanish. Her thumb skimmed the handwriting again. It had sharp strokes and ink pressed too hard-like the words hurt the writer to release.
She flipped it again. Still nothing more.
But there was something in those words, a longing too rich to be fiction. And it was here, in this house.
She exhaled hard and tucked the letter under a loose floorboard beneath her bed. Just as her hand slid out, the bell rang in the hall.
It was a staff call.
Ashley stood, smoothing down her apron and skirt. Whatever secrets this house held, she'd survive them. She always survived.
The grand foyer was already filling when she arrived. Maids were lined up like marionettes. Butlers were all straightened. Even Elise had her mouth clamped shut, and her lips were white with pressure.
Ashley took her place at the end of the line.
At the top of the staircase stood Luke Cross, as imposing as ever, in his tailored black suit, hands clasped behind his back like a man who owned not just the house—but the people in it.
"Today marks the return of my son," he began, his voice cutting through the hush like a scalpel. "Jake Cross has arrived."
A few maids shifted nervously.
"You will greet him with respect. You will not speak unless spoken to. You will make no errors. None."
Ashley's throat tightened. She had no idea why, but something in her gut coiled.
And then, the grand doors opened.
And he walked in.
Jake Cross.
He moved like he didn't just belong—like everything belonged to him.
Tall, broad-shouldered, face carved from cold ambition. His coat was grey, his boots black, and his eyes… His eyes? They looked like flat steel.
He scanned the room like he was appraising property.
Ashley held her breath.
His gaze swept the line of servants and he seemed unimpressed and indifferent.
He took off his gloves slowly and deliberately. He tossed them to a nearby butler without looking.
"Lower heads," Jake said, with his voice flat. "Straighter spines too. I didn't realize the standards here had become so... casual."
The staff dropped their gazes instantly.
Ashley didn't.
She stared straight ahead, eyes burning.
Congratulations, heir.
You managed to insult a room without breaking a sweat.
Jake paused as his eyes landed on her for a fraction too long—but only a flicker. Then he turned his back on all of them and climbed the stairs.
Mr. Cross dismissed them.
But just as Ashley turned, his voice stopped her.
"Ashley."
She turned. "Yes, sir?"
"You're assigned to Mr. Jake Cross's quarters. You'll manage his rooms and laundry, report directly to Mrs. Reed. Effective immediately."
Elise's head whipped toward her.
Ashley blinked. "Sir, I—"
"You're capable. Or am I wrong?"
Ashley pressed her lips together. "No, sir."
"Good."
Elise blinked beside her. "Sir, she's already responsible for—"
"I said," Mr. Cross snapped, "Ashley will take care of it."
Elise fell silent.
Ashley didn't argue. She nodded once, tightly. Then turned on her heel and walked away with her fists clenched.
By late afternoon, Ashley found herself outside the heir's private suite. She'd knocked twice. No answer.
She stepped inside quickly, balancing a stack of fresh towels and hoping to escape without—
The bathroom door opened, and out stepped Jake Cross.
He was not shirtless. He was fully dressed, and impeccably tailored in black. His presence filled the space like a new temperature.
Ashley froze, with a towel in her hand.
He didn't speak right away. Just looked at her, like one might examine a particularly dull piece of silverware.
Then he said—
"You walk into rooms like you belong," he said dryly. "You don't."
Ashley didn't flinch. She placed the towels neatly on the marble counter.
He raised a brow.
"Nothing to say? Or is it that charming silence that got you promoted?"
Her fingers twitched. But her face remained neutral.
I hope your ego drowns in the tub you just stepped out of.
He stepped closer, only a little.
"I've heard of servants that obey. I haven't met one who glares."
Her voice was quiet, till she muttered. "Arrogance isn't a personality."
Jake stopped.
"What did you say?"
Ashley looked up, blank-faced. "I didn't say anything."
The tension hung like a fog.
For a second, his gaze sharpened, like he almost… almost saw her. But then, like everything else about him, it turned cold again.
"Leave," he said flatly.
By late afternoon, Ashley stood outside Jake Cross's private wing, towels stacked in her arms. She knocked. No answer.
She knocked again.
Still nothing.
She sighed, nudged the door open, and stepped inside.
The room was immaculate—of course it was—but colder than the rest of the mansion. It smelled faintly of cedarwood and control.
She placed the towels down, planning to leave quickly.
But then the en-suite door opened, and he walked out.
Fully dressed. Hair slick. Watch glinting.
His presence sucked the air from the space.
Jake stopped when he saw her. His eyes didn't widen, didn't blink.
"You walk in like you own the place," he said blandly. "You don't."
Ashley turned her face toward him slowly. "I knocked."
"And yet here you are."
She stared at him, heart steady.
"Nothing to say?" he asked. "Or are you one of those types who thinks silence is noble?"
She lowered her eyes just slightly.
"You're not worth the air it would cost me to answer."
But her mouth moved before her filter could catch it.
"Arrogance isn't a personality."
The room froze.
Jake stepped forward. His eyes narrowed, but he didn't raise his voice.
"What did you say?"
Ashley looked up, calm. "I didn't say anything."
His jaw twitched.
But then he stepped aside and waved her toward the door.
"Leave."
She didn't rush. She walked past him with her head high.
That evening, Ashley was scrubbing the edge of the marble fireplace in Jake's sitting room. The place already gleamed, but she needed the distraction.
Her mind was too loud.
Jake's words. His face. That empty, frigid look he wore like armor.
The blood in her arms felt like fire.
You will not break me.This isn't new. I have dealt with men like him. Men who think i am made of silence and obedience. I do not in any way whatsoever, fit their opinions.
Mid thought, the door creaked open.
Ashley turned, and immediately sighed. It was Andrew Cross.
He leaned in the doorway like he was posing for a bad portrait. He had a wine glass dangling from his fingers.
"Didn't expect you to last the whole day," he drawled.
She didn't respond.
"Jake's not one for maid-chatter. You must've impressed him with your... silence."
Ashley continued wiping the edge of the table, pretending he wasn't there.
Andrew stepped inside.
"You know, most help learn that invisible means quiet. You're a bit slow on that."
Still nothing.
"Is this your thing? Pretty face, no voice?"
Ashley dropped the cloth on the tray.
"I'm working."
He smirked. "And I'm talking."
She picked up the tray with the empty teacups and turned to leave.
Andrew stepped in front of her.
"Easy now," he said, brushing a finger along the tray's edge. "One mistake and you're out. And you wouldn't want to break something expensive, would you?"
Ashley froze.
"Or maybe... you would."
He tilted the tray just slightly.
Ashley's patience snapped like glass.
She lifted the tray… and dropped it.
Plates, cups, glass—crashed to the floor in a messy, shattering symphony.
Andrew stumbled back.
"Are you mad?!"
Ashley's voice was calm. "Oops."
The room went still.
Then—the door opened.
Jake just stood there flabbergasted. With his eyes sharp, and his jaw clenched.
"What's going on?"
Andrew gestured at the mess. "Your maid just lost her damn mind!"
Jake looked at Ashley.
She stared back, unbothered.
"Is that true?" he asked.
She tilted her head. "I dropped a tray."
"Deliberately?"
She didn't answer.
Jake stepped forward, slowly.
"Clean it."
Ashley bent, not for him—but to prove she wasn't afraid.
As she picked up a piece of cracked porcelain, her fingers shook. It didn't shake from fear, rather it shook from fury.
They think I'm powerless. Let them.
She stood as Jake turned to leave.
"You'll report to me in the morning," he said over his shoulder.
Ashley didn't blink. "Yes, sir."
As the door shut behind him, she whispered to the floor:
"Next time, it won't be a tray."