Chapter 3 - The Midnight Whisper Across The Dark Corridor
The clock on the mantelpiece chimed 4:15 A.M. as I packed the medical kit away, my movements swift, quiet, and automatic. The bleeding had stopped, his fever was stabilizing, and the private doctor had finally arrived, taking over quietly in the adjoining antechamber under Kirill’s watchful supervision. I had slipped out of Damon’s primary study unnoticed, carrying the blood-stained metal case back down the long, winding service corridor toward the servant’s wing. The house was dead silent, save for the relentless drumming of rain against the reinforced glass windows. Every step I took felt heavy, as if my shoes were weighted down by lead and secrets. When I reached my small, sterile room, I locked the door behind me and leaned back against the wood paneling, sliding down until my knees hit the floor. I pressed my palms against my face, trying to erase the heat of his skin, the heavy scent of his blood, and the way he had whispered my name in the dark—not as a servant, but as a confession. I changed out of the ruined uniform, tossing the stained blouse into the laundry chute, and pulled a simple cotton nightgown over my head. Sleep was entirely out of the question. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw those gray eyes staring at me with a hunger that defied every rule of the estate. At 5:00 A.M., the sharp buzz of the house intercom pierced the quiet of the servant’s wing. I sat up on the edge of my narrow cot, my heart leaping into my throat. The master bedroom intercom rarely rang this early unless something was catastrophic. I hurried to the wall unit, pressing the talk button with a trembling thumb. "Alina," Mrs. Petrova’s voice came through the speaker, crisp, tight, and carrying an unmistakable edge of panic. "Get to the third-floor library immediately. Mr. Volkov wants his morning coffee served by you, and only you." I stared at the metal speaker box in disbelief. The library? He never drank coffee in the library at dawn; that room was reserved for syndicate meetings and execution verdicts. "Did you hear me, girl?" Mrs. Petrova snapped when I didn't answer right away. "Yes, Mrs. Petrova," I managed to choke out. "I'm on my way." I pulled my black skirt and white blouse back on, my hands shaking so badly I dropped a button twice. Something had shifted in the foundation of the house, and I knew with chilling certainty that there was no going back to the invisible maid I had been yesterday.
