Chapter 1 - The Weight of Gray Cotton
The uniform felt heavier than Amelia expected.
It was simple—stiff gray cotton, a white apron, the standard attire Olivia had worn for years while moving quietly through the background of their immaculate life. Standing in the shadow of the back service entrance, Amelia looked down at her hands. They were bare of her diamond ring, tucked safely into her purse. Her hair was pulled back into a severe, utilitarian knot.
"Are you sure about this?" Olivia whispered, her hand resting anxiously on the brass doorknob. Her eyes were wide, filled with a mixture of loyalty and dread. "Once you cross this threshold, Madam, your life as you knew it ceases to exist."
Amelia raised her chin. The shock of the car ride—where Olivia had laid out dates, names, and patterns she had meticulously recorded—was giving way to a cold, razor-sharp resolve.
"Open the door, Olivia," Amelia said. Her voice didn't shake. It was the voice of a woman who had run philanthropic boards and negotiated real estate acquisitions, though right now, she was just a wife preparing to execute an investigation into her own destruction.
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They slipped inside through the mudroom. The house smelled faintly of expensive cedar, high-end espresso, and a perfume that wasn't Amelia’s. It was heavy, sweet, and aggressively invasive.
From the hallway came the sound of laughter—light, careless, and entirely unfamiliar.
