Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 104127 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104127 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
This place is uncharted territory, and I want to explore it. It’s necessary to forge a plan of escape should I need to run at a moment’s notice.
The fact that I can’t follow directions has always been a problem for me, mostly because my impatience has a tendency to get me caught. Because of that, I wait a few minutes before sneaking out of the room.
My shoes clap against the marble floor. Something about it is both calming and eerie.
Like rain on a windowpane or leaves rustling in the wind.
The hairs lift on the back of my neck.
With every step I take, I could be caught. It’s a gentle reminder that people could be watching even though I can’t see them, and I best remember that while moving through the place.
I peer around a corner, turning left and right, scanning the area for anyone. When the coast is clear, I step out and walk briskly through the wide-open foyer, heading toward the back of the place.
I’m not even a few steps away from a deserted corridor when a woman rounds the corner from the opposite hall. She’s dressed in an all-black ensemble. Simple and elegant, with a clean and classic look. It consists of a black skirt, black blouse, and an apron. Taking her in, I notice that she has a rag in her hand.
She must be one of the maids.
“Hi, I’m Sasha.” My voice doesn’t even sound like my own. The tone and pitch are a higher octave than is normal for me, but she wouldn’t know that.
A second passes before her lips part ever so slightly, a shy smile now on her face.
I wonder if anyone here has ever spoken to her? Or if she’s seen and not heard around this place. In a mansion like this one, the maid is probably invisible to those around her.
She cleans.
That’s it, and because of this, she’s also probably the perfect person to ask questions.
She stares at me for a moment, her eyebrows pinching together. I can almost see the moment in which she decides to acknowledge me as she lets out a soft and barely audible sigh.
“Hello,” she mumbles, but doesn’t offer anything else.
A house this big probably has many maids. Gideon most likely employs an army of people to run this place.
A luxury that is foreign to me.
There was a show on television that portrayed the staff as secret spies for their boss.
Is this woman a spy for Gideon?
I smile broadly at her.
Kill her with kindness.
It’s not that I think she would run off and tell Gideon I’m walking around since I supposedly have free rein, but I still don’t want to throw off any red flags.
When she doesn’t offer her name, I know the chance of getting any information freely from her is unlikely. So, I pivot my strategy and just come out and ask her where the exits are.
“I was in the middle of a tour that was cut short. I never got to see everything.” I smile, pushing down the anxiety building with every second she remains quiet and motionless.
Good grief, this world I’ve been thrust into is bizarre.
“Can you tell me which way to the backyard? I’m all turned around.” I keep my voice soft and sweet.
She spins in a circle, lifting her hand to point in the direction of a glass door leading to another section of the mansion. “Right this way.”
Smiling brightly, I walk to the room she pointed to, and when I step inside, I’m met with floor-to-ceiling windows. It feels like I’m transported into a secret garden.
In the center of the room are couches and a collection of beautiful green trees, all enclosed within the glass walls. Never in my life have I seen a home with its own atrium. Then again, I’ve never seen a manor like this before.
Inhaling deeply, I breathe in the scent of moss after an early rain. The smell of damp earth and fresh foliage wash over me, creating a peaceful moment that reminds me of the beauty of nature.
It makes me feel as though I can reach out and touch it. Running my hand over morning dew that clings to fresh fallen leaves.
“Does that go outside?” I ask, despite knowing the question is dumb. The real question is: Is there a lock on the door, an alarm, or a guard dog…but for obvious reasons, I can’t ask any of that.
“It does, miss. If that’s all—”
With my gaze still fixed outside, I cock my head toward the door. “Is it usually quiet outside?”
Real question: Are guards roaming around out there?
“I’m not sure, miss. My work keeps me inside.”
Turning back to face her, I take in her posture. Her shoulders are slumped forward, and her eyes are downcast.
She’s scared to death of something.
Or someone.
I nod, even though she doesn’t see it. She’s the first of what is likely to be several dead ends. Eventually, I’ll stumble across something. I have to have hope.