The rest of the morning passed quietly. After finishing breakfast with Ian and Jordan, Oakley excused herself with a small smile, quietly returning to her room. She had smiled, laughed even, but now that the warmth of their company had faded, she felt that all-too-familiar heaviness crawl back into her chest.
Her room was as spotless as ever. The clothes she had worn the day before were nowhere to be found, likely taken to be washed—or burned. She couldn't tell with this place. Everything felt so pristine it was almost eerie. Even the silence had weight.
She sat at the edge of the bed, fingers grazing over the fabric of her pants. Was this how her life would be now? A daily cycle of silence and smiles she didn't trust?
Something wasn't right about this mansion. About the people in it. Some were nice – too welcoming it was almost or was suspicious. Some were quiet. Some mysterious. It just didn't sit well with her.
Oakley stood abruptly. Sitting in her room overthinking wouldn't help. She needed air—just a little movement. A walk. Nothing more. She would stay inside the mansion, she promised herself.
She stepped into the hallway, letting the door shut behind her softly. The corridor was quiet. No maids sweeping. No sounds from the kitchen. Just the faint ticking of a grandfather clock echoing from downstairs.
Her feet carried her aimlessly, down the staircase and past the drawing room she had never dared to enter before. Her hand trailed lightly along the iron railing, eyes flickering toward the windows. Sunlight poured in through the tall glass panes, but even that felt distant, cold.
As she rounded a corner, her heart leapt into her throat.
"Miss Oakley."
She froze.
Anthony stood near a set of tall shelves lined with old, leather-bound books. His presence, as always, was composed. Calm. Too calm.
"I didn't mean to startle you," he said. His hands were clasped behind his back. "Would you care to join me for tea?"
Oakley blinked, caught off guard. "Tea?"
He inclined his head. "It's rare we have guests, and rarer still that we hold conversations. I thought a little civility might be nice."
His tone was polite, but it wasn't a request. She didn't have a choice to decline his offer.
"O-okay," she said.
Anthony gestured down the hall. "Right this way."
The drawing room was nestled at the back of the mansion, quiet and untouched, as though no one had used it in years. A soft golden light streamed through the high arched windows, casting warm glows over the pale marble floors and the polished wooden tea table in the center.
Anthony poured the tea himself. His movements were elegant, every action precise. Even the way he lifted the teapot lid made Oakley feel like she was watching something rehearsed.
"Chamomile," he said. "It helps with nerves."
She offered a small nod of thanks as he passed her the cup.
They sat in silence for a moment.
"I trust your accommodations have been comfortable?" he asked.
Oakley nodded. "Yes. Thank you."
Anthony gave a small smile. "You're quite curious, aren't you?"
Oakley stiffened. "I—I don't know what you mean."
"You watch everything. Everyone. Especially during breakfast this morning." He sipped his tea. "It's not a criticism. Observation is a rare trait. But it can be a dangerous one."
Her fingers tightened slightly around her teacup.
"I was just… looking around," she said. "It's a beautiful house."
Anthony studied her. "Of course. It's only natural to want answers. Especially when things don't quite make sense."
He leaned forward slightly. "But some questions are best left unasked, Miss Oakley. Curiosity has its price."
There it was. The warning beneath the pleasantries.
Oakley set her cup down, hands now resting in her lap. "Is that a warning?"
He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Just advice. You seem like someone who values survival. If that's true, it's best to live quietly. Ask less. Trust less."
She said nothing.
Anthony stood, brushing invisible dust from his suit. "Enjoy the rest of your day."
He was almost at the door when Oakley found her voice. "Why did you ask me here?"
He paused. "Because I wanted to see what kind of girl our master brought into his home."
He left without another word.
Oakley sat still, the taste of chamomile turning bitter on her tongue.