Indeed whispers had a way of changing shape. In the Montoya mansion, they slithered through corridors, slipped beneath doors, and clung to corners where servants gathered to rest their aching feet. By morning, they were harmless murmurs but by evening, they had already grown teeth.
Maxie felt it the moment she stepped into the kitchen. Conversations seem to pause—just for a second too long.
Someone cleared their throat. Another pretended to focus on chopping vegetables with exaggerated care. The air was just thick with unspoken words and questions no one dared to ask aloud.
She walked to her assigned corner and began peeling potatoes, her movements were steady and precise. Years of discipline had trained her hands to remain calm even when her chest tightened.
"She thinks she's special now."
The voice was low, but not low enough.
Maxie did not look up.
"She caught the master's attention. Did you see that yesterday?"
"I did. He called her name."
"That's never happened before."
The knife in Maxie's hand paused for half a heartbeat before continuing its rhythm. Peel. Turn. Peel. Turn.
She had known this would happen because in houses like this, attention was currency—and danger. The moment a servant was noticed, the others sharpened their opinions. Some with envy, others with fear and always, with speculation.
"She's clever," another voice said. "Always quiet. Always watching."
"Or pretending to."
Maxie placed the peeled potatoes into a bowl and moved on to the next task. She reminded herself of the rules she lived by.
Do not react.
Do not explain.
Do not invite curiosity.
Yet whispers had never needed permission. Later that afternoon, as she carried fresh linens down the west corridor, two maids stepped aside to let her pass. Their smiles were polite but stiff.
"You've been here longer than us," one said casually. "You must know how things work."
Maxie inclined her head. "I only do my duties."
The maid's smile faltered slightly.
"That's not what we meant."
Maxie continued walking.
Behind her, the whispers followed like shadows.
"She acts innocent."
"Women like that are always the most dangerous."
Dangerous.
The word lingered in Maxie's mind long after she returned to her quarters. She sat on the edge of her narrow bed, folding her uniform with care. Dangerous—for working hard? For being quiet? For surviving?
She pressed her lips together and exhaled slowly.
In the mansion, survival came with labels. And once given, they were rarely taken back.
That evening, the household gathered for dinner service. Maxie stood near the wall, ready to assist if needed. Her eyes stayed lowered, trained on the polished floor.
Then she felt it again.
That presence.
She did not need to look up to know who it was.
Mr. Ethan Montoya stood at the head of the dining room, speaking to a guest. His voice was calm, measured, carrying the authority of a man accustomed to being obeyed. As he gestured, his gaze briefly shifted.
It landed on her.
Just for a moment.
Not curious.
Not judging but observant.
Maxie's fingers curled slightly around the tray she held. Her heart beat once—hard—before settling back into its controlled rhythm.
She lowered her head further and when the gaze moved on, a breath she hadn't realized she was holding escaped her lungs.
But she knew that the whispers would grow louder tonight.
And they sure did. In the servants' quarters, the talk was relentless.
"Why her?"
"Do you think she's hiding something?"
"I heard she doesn't even live alone."
"That explains the money she sends away."
Maxie lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling as the voices washed over her. She had learned not to cry. Tears solved nothing and attracted attention she could not afford.
Still, a quiet thought pressed against her chest.
If they already believed the worst of her, how much worse could it become?
Maxie closed her eyes and let her mind drift till the next day. Tomorrow, she would wake before dawn again. She would work, endure, and remain unseen.
Or at least, that was what she hoped because in a house where whispers ruled, being noticed was never a blessing. This was known for a fact especially in the Montaya mansion.