The names Alessandro Ethan Moretti and Giovanni Aidan Moretti sat heavily in Millie’s stomach like a rock she couldn’t swallow.
“Mills,” Clara whispered as they followed Sheila down the hallway, “did you catch what Mr. Jameson said? What if one of those Moretti guys is your one-night stand? What was his name again—”
Millie spun around fast and clapped a hand over Clara’s mouth.
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
Sheila was only a few steps ahead.
“Shut up,” she hissed.
“Sorry,” Clara mumbled against her fingers, eyes huge.
Sheila didn’t turn around, thank god, and kept walking like nothing happened.
After a quick goodbye at the end of the hall, Clara headed off to her room with Sandra, leaving Millie to find hers alone.
The room was small but clean.
Two narrow beds took up most of the space.
A big window looked out on nothing but dark forest and distant mountains—no city lights, no traffic hum, just quiet.
It was bigger than the room she’d shared with Clara back in Atlanta, but the silence felt thick, like it was pressing in.
She unpacked her bag slowly.
The cabinet doors creaked when she opened them.
On one bed sat a folded uniform: a beige dress with a white collar and trim, the same as the others wore.
It looked like something from an old TV show about maids, not real work clothes.
Millie ran her fingers over the stiff fabric, then pulled it on.
It fit okay, but it felt wrong—like she was playing dress-up in someone else’s life.
She tugged at the collar, trying to make it sit right, then stepped into the hallway.
Clara was already there, fiddling with her own uniform.
“This feels more like a costume than actual clothes,” she said, giving a half-smile.
Millie shrugged.
“Yeah. Kinda formal for scrubbing floors.”
Sheila appeared at the end of the hall right on cue.
“Good afternoon, ladies. Ready to get started?”
Clara perked up.
“Absolutely, Sheila. Where do you want us?”
Sheila pointed down the corridor.
“The two big rooms in the west wing need a deep clean.
Mr. Jameson wants them spotless before dark.”
“Got it,” Clara said, throwing a mock salute.
The work was the usual grind: dusting high shelves, vacuuming thick carpets that probably cost more than Millie’s rent, and swapping out linens that smelled faintly of expensive laundry soap. The source of this chapter is novelping(.)com.
By the time they finished, the sun was low, throwing long gold streaks through the tall windows.
Millie’s arms burned, and her mind was still spinning from Jameson’s words.
She and Clara trudged down the grand staircase, footsteps echoing in the empty house.
As they passed through the living room and a side hallway, low voices floated from what had to be the staff kitchen.
They stepped inside, and it felt like walking into a different world.
The kitchen was huge—bright and open, with high wooden beams overhead and big windows along one wall that let in the last of the daylight.
Striped curtains and bamboo shades glowed in the golden light.
A long marble island sat in the center under a rack of copper pots that looked too shiny to ever get used.
Cabinets and open shelves held neat stacks of dishes and jars.
A blue vent hood hung over a stove big enough to feed a crowd.
A long table with wicker-backed chairs ran along one side.
A few staff members were already there, eating quietly.
The chatter died down when Millie and Clara walked in.
Sandra—the tall redhead from earlier—sat with a mug of tea between her hands.
She glanced their way.
“How’s the first day treating you?”
Clara eyed a bowl of steaming soup on the table.
“Good so far. Quiet, but good.”
Sandra nodded like she’d heard that before.
“You’ll get used to the quiet. This place can wear you down if you let it.” She set her mug down with a soft clink.
“But there are some nice parts too.”
Clara leaned in, always quick to grab onto anything positive.
“Like what?”
Sandra gave a small smirk.
“There’s a hot tub out behind the tack room. It was broken forever, but maintenance finally fixed it. Great for sore muscles after a shift like today.”
Millie’s ears perked up.
A hot tub?
Out here under the stars?
That sounded like heaven after the day she’d had.
“Seriously?” she asked.
“That sounds perfect.”
Sandra winked.
“There are perks if you know where to look. Just remember—when the family’s around, keep your head down, your mouth shut, and your eyes open. Do that, and you’ll be okay.”
Millie nodded slowly.
The warning landed heavily.
After dinner—surprisingly good stew and fresh bread—Millie felt the exhaustion settle deep in her bones.
Her shoulders ached, and her back hurt from bending and reaching all day.
She dug through her bag looking for something to wear in the hot tub.
Nothing useful.
Just regular clothes and a towel.
“Great,” she muttered, tossing a pair of socks back in.
The door creaked open.
Andrea poked her head in.
Her dark hair was up in a messy bun, and she had that look like she already knew Millie was about to do something dumb.
“Let me guess,” Andrea said.
“Sandra told you about the hot tub.”
Millie grinned, busted.
“Yeah. Said staff can use it.”
Andrea rolled her eyes.
“That thing’s basically a horse trough with bubbles. You wouldn’t touch it if you saw it in daylight.”
Millie laughed and grabbed a towel anyway.
“Guess I’ll find out. Might be charming in a rustic way.”
Andrea groaned.
“Fine.
Just don’t come back whining when your skin turns green, or you’re pulling hay out of your hair.”
“Duly noted,” Millie said, slinging the towel over her shoulder.
She stepped outside into the night.
The mountain air hit her like a slap—cool, clean, and full of pine and damp dirt.
No city smell, no constant hum of cars.
The silence was deep, almost loud in its own way.
She looked up.
Stars stretched everywhere, bright and sharp.
For a second she just stood there, breath caught, feeling tiny under that huge sky.
Sandra’s words floated back: Keep your head down, mouth shut, and eyes open.
It didn’t sound like advice for dusting furniture.
It sounded like advice for surviving something bigger.
Millie shook it off and started walking toward the tack room, chasing the promise of hot water and a chance to soak away the day.
But as she rounded the corner, a small twist of worry curled in her gut.
Hot tub or not, this place felt like it was holding its breath—quiet, hidden, waiting.