Clara stepped up first and shook Sheila’s hand like she was determined not to look scared.
“Thanks, Sheila. I’m Clara March, and this is Amelia Foster.”
Sheila’s smile got a little bigger, warm but still kind of rehearsed.
“Nice to meet you both. Let’s get you settled. Your bags will be taken to your rooms.” She noticed them glancing back at the SUV.
“For now, just follow me. Mr. Jameson wants to meet you in his office.”
Millie caught Clara’s eye.
Her stomach flipped hard.
Clara gave a quick nod that said yeah, this place feels off, and we’re already here.
They trailed Sheila toward the house.
The big windows caught the sun and threw long shadows over the perfect grass.
The whole thing looked straight out of a fancy magazine—rustic on the outside, loaded with money on the inside.
“Some place,” Millie muttered, mostly to herself.
Sheila gave a small laugh.
“You have no idea.” She started talking as they walked, voice smooth like she’d said it a hundred times.
“Cedar Ridge covers six thousand acres—meadows, forests, a stream running right through it. The house has seven bedrooms, eight bathrooms, staff quarters, and indoor and outdoor pools. Pretty much everything you can think of. And places like this don’t stay perfect by themselves. It takes a lot of work every single day.”
Millie nodded, half listening as they stepped inside.
The entrance hall hit like a wall of quiet.
Gleaming wood floors, tall ceilings, expensive light fixtures everywhere—but it felt dead.
No warmth, no mess, no sign anyone actually lived here.
No family pictures on the walls, no shoes kicked off by the door, nothing personal.
Just spotless surfaces and expensive stuff arranged like it was waiting for a photo shoot.
She glanced at Clara.
Clara raised one eyebrow just enough to say yeah, this house has zero soul.
Sheila kept going down a hallway that shone like it had never seen dirt.
They passed a living room with a huge stone fireplace and a dining room big enough for twenty people easily.
Millie’s sneakers squeaked on the hardwood, and she felt small, like she’d snuck into someone else’s dream home by mistake.
They stopped at a heavy wooden door.
Sheila knocked twice, sharply, then pushed it open.
Inside, a man sat behind a giant desk, back to them at first.
Tall, broad shoulders, salt-and-pepper hair.
His suit looked custom, but the way he sat—straight, rigid—made Millie think military background.
Ex-something, for sure.
He turned.
Gray eyes locked on them right away.
Face weathered, hard lines, jaw as if it had ground through too many tough calls.
His stare felt like he already knew their life stories.
“Mr. Jameson,” Sheila said, with respect, “the new staff are here.”
Jameson stood and offered a hand to each of them.
His grip was rough, calloused, like he’d spent more time working with tools than signing checks. Get faster updates on g.com.
“Welcome to Cedar Ridge, Ms. March and Ms. Foster. Have a seat.”
Sheila slipped out after Millie and Clara dropped into the two big leather chairs.
Millie perched on the edge, hands fidgeting in her lap.
The office was nice—dark wood, shelves of leather books, a huge window looking out at the mountains—but it felt cold, same as the rest of the house.
Jameson cleared his throat.
“What do you prefer to be called?”
“Amelia’s fine,” Millie said.
Her voice came out quieter than she wanted.
“Just Clara,” Clara added, sitting up a little straighter.
“Alright, Amelia and Clara.” Jameson leaned back.
“Cedar Ridge is a big property, and we’re short-handed right now. Two maids left without much notice. We had to bring in outside help. Your agency spoke very highly of both of you.”
Millie nodded.
His tone was polite, but the way he said “without much notice” made the hair on her arms stand up.
She shot Clara a quick look—Clara’s eyes said this is weird too.
“A few ground rules,” Jameson went on.
“No phones, no laptops, no electronics on the property at all. Privacy is non-negotiable here.”
He ran through their duties—cleaning, laundry, helping with meals, serving when needed.
It sounded normal enough, but the air in the room felt thick, like he was holding back the real reason they were here.
Millie shifted in her seat, fingers tapping her thigh without thinking.
A sharp knock cut him off.
“Come in,” Jameson called.
Sheila walked back in, followed by two women in matching black uniforms.
Shoes clicked on the floor like they were on a schedule.
The taller one had bright red hair and kept twisting her hands together, looking nervous.
The shorter one, younger, stood with her chin up, sizing Millie and Clara up like they were competition.
“This is Sandra,” Jameson said, nodding at the redhead.
Sandra gave a small, shaky smile.
“And Andrea.” He gestured to the younger woman, whose eyes narrowed.
“This is Clara March and Amelia Foster. They’ll be working with you for the next two months.”
Andrea grunted, stare cold.
Sandra’s eyes lingered on Millie a second longer, curious.
“Sheila will walk you through everything,” Jameson said.
His gaze moved over them slowly, like he was filing away details.
“Clara, you’ll share a room with Sandra.
Amelia, you’re with Andrea.”
“Okay,” Millie said.
Her gut was still churning.
“Anything else we should know, Mr. Jameson?”
He leaned back, fingers steepled, a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
“Just one thing.” His voice dropped lower. This story is hosted at g.com.
“Discretion is everything here. What you see, what you hear—it stays inside these walls. The Morettis arrive tomorrow. Consider that your only heads-up.”
The name slammed into Millie like a door.
Her heart kicked hard.
“The Morettis?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.
“Yes, Amelia. Mr. Alessandro Ethan Moretti and his brother, Giovanni Aidan Moretti.”
Millie’s brain short-circuited.
Aidan.
Ethan.
The penthouse.
The art room.
The office meeting left her shaking.
It all rushed back in a hot wave.
“Holy shit,” she muttered, louder than she meant to.
Clara’s head snapped toward her.
Sandra’s eyes went wide.
Andrea’s narrowed even more.
Jameson just watched, that faint smile still there, like he’d been waiting for exactly this reaction.
Millie swallowed.
Her mouth had gone dry.
“Sorry,” she said quickly.
“I just… didn’t expect that.”
Jameson tilted his head.
“Expect what, exactly?”
She shook her head, scrambling.
“Nothing. Just… surprised. It’s a big name.”
He studied her a second longer, then nodded once.
“It is. And they value their privacy above all else. Remember that.”
Sheila stepped forward.
“I’ll show you to your rooms now. You can get settled before dinner.”
Millie stood on shaky legs.
Clara followed, throwing her a look that said we need to talk later.
As they left the office, Millie’s mind raced.
Aidan and Ethan Moretti—here, tomorrow.
The brothers she’d crossed paths with in ways she never expected.
One who’d made her feel alive for one night.
The other who’d made her feel exposed and cornered in his office.
And now she was walking into their family estate, phone gone, no way out for two months.
Whatever this job really was, it wasn’t just cleaning.