Instead, terror opened inside me.
Ryan was not just a driver assigned to deliveries and late-night errands around the estate. He knew schedules. He knew exits. He knew which staff members were too tired, too desperate, or too afraid to complain. He knew I had no family left close enough to protect me.
And now Ethan knew his name.
I turned and slid the deadbolt into place with shaking fingers.
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The click felt smaller from my side.
For several minutes, I listened to the silence beyond the door. No shouting. No footsteps. No crash of anger. Only the distant hush of a house too large to ever feel fully asleep.
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Then my knees gave out.
I sank to the kitchen floor, still clutching the warm towel against my lip. The tile was cold through the thin fabric of my uniform, and for a moment I let myself breathe there, surrounded by copper pans, clean counters, and the faint scent of lemon soap.
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