Aria Grace
I was told to move into the room right across from Vincent Blackwood. As if living under the same roof wasn't bad enough, now I had to stay right across from him. And the room, if you could even call it that… was a freaking closet!
Literally. A walk-in closet that had been cleared out just for me.
Empty shelves lined the walls, and in the middle sat a thin floor mattress. A single lamp rested in the corner, its light throwing long, lonely shadows across the bare floor. No windows, no furniture, just four suffocating walls and a door that shut me in.
The room I'd been staying in before was small too, but I shared it with another maid named Calsey. It had a window that opened to the lake behind the mansion… a glimpse of freedom I already missed. The Blackwood family usually treated their maids decently, but I had a feeling Vincent didn't like that for me. Which is probably why he had me moved here, right across from him, trapped in a closet.
Still, I couldn't afford to be ungrateful. At least he hadn't sent me to live in the stables. And honestly, even this empty closet was bigger than the room I used to share with my sister back home. Besides, it's only for a year. One year, and I'll walk out of this hell… straight back into my old one. At least that one was familiar.
I never had an easy life. My biological father died when I was six, and after that, it was just me and my mother. We were never particularly close. She was always working, always tired. I understood even then that love wasn't something she could afford to show.
When I was eight, she met Steve, my stepfather. I don't have many words for that man, but none of them are good. He was abusive, a drug addict, and a predator. I still don't know what my mother saw in him, but a year later, she was pregnant with my sister, Ana. I was nine when Ana was born, and from the moment I held her, I knew I had to protect her from him.
From eight to fifteen, my life was a cycle of fear and survival. My mother worked long hours, leaving me and Ana alone with Steve. I took the brunt of his anger so she wouldn't have to. When I was fifteen, my mother finally divorced him, and he disappeared – vanished like smoke.
That was ten years ago. Ana's seventeen now, and I'm still taking care of her. It's what I've done my whole life. What I've always had to do. Now that I'm trapped in this new kind of hell, I still can't stop thinking about the old one. It's been over a month since I last saw my mother and sister. Before I left, I didn't expect to get paid for my work last month, but Vincent Blackwood surprised me. It wasn't much, but it was enough to make a difference. I sent every penny to them. I don't know what shape their lives are in now, but I can only hope that the money helped, even just a little.
It has been two days since I moved into the room across from Vincent's, and in those two days, I haven't seen him once. All I've heard are the soft clicks of his door… once in the morning when he leaves for work, and again late at night when he returns. The silence between those moments feels almost peaceful, and maybe that's why the past two days have been easier than last month. Or maybe I'm just getting used to the exhaustion.
My routine hasn't changed. I wake up at five every morning, clean until my hands ache, and move through endless chores until the day fades into night. I only get to rest once Vincent Blackwood comes home, long after everyone else has gone to sleep. I barely eat, not because I'm denied food, but because fatigue has stolen my appetite. And even when I do eat, the meals hardly tempt me. Breakfast is a bowl of bland oatmeal and a single banana. Lunch is lentil soup, a garden salad, and a piece of grilled fish with nothing but salt. Dinner depends on what Vincent leaves behind. Most nights, that means cold leftovers and silence for company.
Today was Saturday, and on weekends, Mr. Blackwood was usually gone from dawn till late at night. But when I came downstairs after finishing the rooms upstairs, one of the maids informed me that tonight would be different, Mr. Blackwood was having dinner at home, and he was expecting a guest.
After an exhausting afternoon came an equally exhausting evening. I spent hours helping the cooks prepare dinner, then scrubbing down the kitchen with the other helpers until every surface gleamed. By the time the clock struck seven, my arms ached, and my head felt heavy. That's when Erica told me to go shower and change into a fresh uniform. Mr. Blackwood's guest was due to arrive at any minute.
All I wanted was to collapse on my bed, but instead, I forced myself toward the maids' bathroom at the far end of the hallway. Since I moved into the closet-turned-room, I no longer had a bathroom of my own. The one assigned for staff use was small, cramped, and always cold, but at least the water worked. It was just a hassle to walk that far every time.
After showering, I changed into a freshly pressed grey uniform: a knee-length dress with short sleeves, a white apron tied neatly around my waist, and a small collar that brushed against my neck. I folded my dirty clothes neatly and left them in my room. I'd have to wash them later before sleeping. Once I was ready, I hurried downstairs only to find that Mr. Blackwood's guest had already arrived.
Erica spotted me the moment I stepped off the last stair. "Took you long enough," she said softly, though there was no sharpness in her tone, just weariness. She gave me a once-over, noticing the faint shadows under my eyes, and sighed. "You look exhausted," she murmured before straightening up. "Grab the whiskey and ice, will you? Mr. Blackwood's guest is already here."
I did as I was asked without wasting a second. I steadied the silver tray in my trembling hands, careful not to clink the glasses. Two crystal tumblers gleamed under the soft chandelier light, the faint scent of oak and smoke rising from the freshly poured whiskey. I took a breath, then another, before pushing open the door.
Vincent sat on the couch, his suit jacket gone, sleeves rolled up, the edge of a smirk playing on his lips as he spoke to the man sitting opposite him… tall, broad, with sharp blue eyes that looked vaguely familiar. The way he looked at me told me he knew exactly who I was.
Nik. Riley's brother.
I froze mid-step. My palms became cold.
He turned when he noticed me, but before he could say anything, Vincent's voice cut through the air. "Bring the glasses here," he said evenly. His tone wasn't harsh, but it was commanding enough to make my hands tremble.
I tear my nervous gaze from Nik to back at Vincent, "Yes, sir."
I walked over to the coffee table, my steps were small and careful. I placed the glasses down, and that's when I saw them – dozens of photographs spread across the table, like a deck of cards.
My breath caught.
They were of Ana and Mom.
At school. At work. At the supermarket. Coming home with groceries. Sitting at a café.
My sister. My mother.
My throat went dry as I stared at them, my body rooted to the spot. For a moment, I forgot where I was, who was in front of me, or that I was supposed to stay silent. The words slipped out before I could stop them.
"W–Where did you get these?"
Vincent looked up at me slowly. His calmness was worse than any anger. He tilted his head just slightly, watching me squirm. "You seem surprised."
I blinked fast, trying to keep my tears from falling. "Please… what are these doing here?"
He set his glass down with deliberate care. "Relax, Grace," he said, voice low and dangerously soft. "Your family is safe."
My lips parted, but no sound came out.
"As long as you keep doing your job properly," he continued, "they'll stay that way. No harm, no interference, no accidents." His eyes met mine… cold, steady, and merciless. "But if you ever think of running, lying, or breaking the terms of our deal…" He leaned back in his seat, a faint smirk touching his lips. "Let's just say I'll stop protecting them."
I could barely breathe. My chest ached as I forced out a whisper. "You said you wouldn't hurt them…"
"I haven't," he interrupted. "And I won't unless you give me a reason to. Remember, Grace," he said softly, almost kindly, "Your family is safe as long as you remember who keeps them that way."
The room went silent. Even Nik, who had no idea what was really happening, shifted uncomfortably to the tension hanging in the air.
And in that moment, I knew… I wasn't just his maid. I was his prisoner.
I stood there, frozen, my fingers digging into my palm as I clenched my hands into tight fists. My vision blurred for a second before I managed to compose myself. "Yes, sir," I whispered, my voice cracking.
Vincent picked up his glass again and dismissed me with a flick of his hand, eyes already back on Nik. "That'll be all."
I turned to leave, but as I did, I caught a glimpse of one last photograph… Ana smiling at the camera, sunlight on her face. I bit down on my lip to keep from crying.