PART 2
Ethan led the young woman toward the staircase with the calm confidence of a man who believed he owned not only the house, but everyone inside it.
Her fingers were laced through his.
My robe brushed against her thighs.
My slippers made soft tapping sounds on my marble floor.
And I stood there behind the cleaning cart, frozen in my own home like a stranger who had wandered into someone else’s nightmare.
Grace stood a few feet behind me, her face pale.
She touched my elbow gently, as if afraid I might collapse.
“Mrs. Carter,” she whispered.
I could not answer.
My throat had closed.
Ethan paused halfway up the stairs and glanced down toward the living room.
For one terrifying second, I thought he had recognized me.
But his eyes passed over me without interest.
To him, I was nothing but staff.
