In a city where buildings stretched toward the sky like concrete claws, there stood a house unlike any other. Some called it a mansion. Others called it a fortress. But to those who truly knew the Wood family, it was neither.
It was a cage.
The Wood estate sat behind thick iron gates and hedges trimmed to cruel perfection. Inside lived the Wood family: Mr. Gregory Wood, the sharp-eyed tycoon with a temper hidden beneath his tailored suits, and Mrs. Victoria Wood, a woman made of glass and diamonds—beautiful, brittle, and cold. Their wealth was unmatched in the city. Their presence, unforgettable.
And their daughter, Margo? She was their crown jewel. A porcelain girl with doll-like features, always dressed in the latest designer clothes. To outsiders, she was spoiled, elegant, adored.
But inside the mansion's towering walls, Margo Wood was something else entirely.
"Margo, put that down!" Mrs. Wood's voice echoed from the dining room.
Margo didn't flinch. She calmly dropped the antique vase she'd been toying with and stared at her mother with blank eyes.
"It's just a stupid vase," she muttered.
"That vase was a gift from the mayor," her father said, stepping in. "You treat our home like a playground."
Margo shrugged. "Maybe I'm just bored."
Their glares were knives. But she didn't care. Not really.
Because the only person she truly cared about wasn't them.
It was Julia.
Julia had been the maid for nearly ten years. She knew every corner of the house, every crack in the ceiling, every mood swing of the Woods. She wore hand-me-down shoes and tied her hair back in a bun that never quite held. But she had soft hands. Kind eyes. And when Margo cried—really cried—it was Julia who wiped her tears.
She was more than help. She was home.
And Margo ruined that.
That night, the wind howled like wolves outside. It was past midnight, but Margo was wide awake.
Her bare feet padded silently down the dark hallway. She didn't bother with slippers. She wanted to feel the cold of the marble floor, like a punishment.
The study was dark. She opened the door and crept inside.
The safe was tucked behind a canvas painting of her father shaking hands with some politician. Margo pulled it aside and knelt in front of the lock.
"Left, 10... right, 30... left, 15…"
Click.
She reached in and grabbed two thick wads of cash.
A light flicked on behind her.
"Margo?"
Her heart skipped.
"Julia…" she whispered, turning slowly.
The maid stood in the doorway, wearing a loose sweater and sleep-tousled hair.
"What are you doing?" she asked softly.
"I—I wasn't…" Margo clenched the money tighter. "I was just looking."
Julia stepped forward. "That's not something you look at, sweetheart."
"I needed it," Margo said quickly. "I was going to… give it back later."
"You shouldn't be in here. You know that."
Margo's lips trembled, but she set her jaw.
"You're going to tell them, aren't you?"
Julia's expression darkened. "I should. But I don't want to. Not if you tell the truth."
"I didn't do anything wrong," Margo said. "You don't understand!"
"I understand more than you think." Julia's voice cracked slightly. "You're scared. I see it. But lying won't protect you forever."
Suddenly, another door opened.
"What's going on here?" Mrs. Wood's icy voice sliced through the silence.
Julia's head turned. "Ma'am—"
"She was taking the money!" Margo burst out. "I caught her!"
The words burned her tongue.
Julia froze. "What?"
Mrs. Wood's face twisted with rage. "What did you just say?"
"She… she was in the safe," Margo continued, eyes wide, voice shaking. "I tried to stop her."
"Julia?" Mr. Wood appeared behind his wife, still tying his robe.
"That's not true!" Julia's voice rose, finally. "She—she opened the safe—"
"Are you accusing my daughter of lying?" Mr. Wood's voice was thunder.
Julia backed away, stunned. "No, I just—please, she's confused—"
"You think we're fools?" Mrs. Wood snapped. "We trusted you!"
"I didn't—"
"You're fired," Mr. Wood said flatly. "Pack your things. You're out by sunrise."
Julia stared at them all.
At Margo.
Margo wouldn't meet her eyes.
"I'm sorry," Julia whispered, to no one in particular.
Then she turned and walked down the hall. Her footsteps were slow. Dignified.
Margo stood still, hands still clutching the stolen bills. She dropped them. They scattered like fallen leaves.
The sun had not yet risen when Julia dragged her old suitcase to the gates. The mansion was still sleeping—everyone except one.
"Margo?" Julia turned as the girl ran barefoot across the lawn.
"I lied," Margo gasped, stopping in front of her. "I lied. I'm sorry."
Julia's face was unreadable.
"I didn't want them to get mad at me. I didn't want to go too. I was scared." Her voice broke. "But you didn't deserve it."
Julia didn't speak.
"Say something," Margo whispered.
"I'm not angry," Julia said at last. "But I'm hurt."
Tears poured from Margo's eyes. "You were my only friend. I didn't mean to—"
"You did."
They stood in silence for a long moment.
"I love you, Julia," Margo said, voice small. "You were my family."
Julia stepped forward, slowly wrapped her arms around the girl, and held her close. Margo clung to her, sobbing into her chest.
Then Julia pulled back.
"This place… it's not good for you."
"I know."
"I hope one day, you'll leave it. Before it turns you into one of them."
Margo nodded through tears.
And then Julia walked away.
Margo stood at the gates until the morning sun bled over the rooftops. Her arms were cold. Her heart, colder.
At breakfast, no one spoke of Julia.
"She was a thief," Mrs. Wood said casually as she stirred her tea.
Margo didn't eat.
"She's gone. That's what matters," her father added.
Margo looked at her plate. The eggs looked rubbery. Her juice, bitter.
She whispered, "She wasn't a thief."
Her parents looked up.
"What did you say?" her mother asked.
Margo looked them both in the eye. Her voice was calm now.
"She didn't steal anything. I lied."
Silence.
Mr. Wood's fork clinked against his plate.
"Don't joke about that, Margo," he said. "It's done."
Margo stood up. "I'm not hungry."
She left the table.
In her room, she closed the door and stared at the dolls lining her shelf. Each one frozen in a smile. Each one silent. She picked up the smallest one—Julia had given it to her on her tenth birthday.
Margo held it tight.
And she cried again.
But this time, she didn't stop.