Chapter 3 - Monsters in the Mansion
The standard for "child’s bedroom" in the Josiah estate was a wing that looked like a royal nursery crossed with a high-security vault.
The room was vast, filled with custom mahogany furniture, thousands of expensive toys still sealed in their original boxes, and a massive bay window overlooking the dark estate grounds. Yet, despite the wealth, the room smelled of stagnant air and old anger. Handprints were smeared on the cream-colored walls, and a silk curtain hung crookedly, torn from its brass rod.
"She doesn't sleep," Josiah said, standing at the threshold of the bedroom while Willow helped Mia off with her soaked shoes. "She stays up until three, four in the morning. Then the nightmares start."
"Does she sleep with a light on?" Willow asked, tucking Mia under a heavy goose-down duvet.
"No. She breaks the lamps."
Willow looked at the shattered table lamp in the corner—another casualty of Mia’s rage. "She breaks them because they're too bright. She wants soft light, not a spotlight."
Josiah leaned against the doorframe, crossing his massive arms over his chest. In the dim lighting, stripped of his heavy suit jacket, he looked less like a corporate titan and more like a predator resting between hunts. His white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, revealing the edge of a jagged scar running up his collarbone—a violent memory of the life he lived.
"You analyze everything, don't you?" he noted, his voice low and gravelly.
"I observe," Willow said, standing up and smoothing down her apron, which she still hadn't taken off. "When you don't have power or money, observing is the only way you stay safe."
Josiah’s eyes lingered on her face, noting the delicate line of her jaw and the quiet resilience in her posture. She was small compared to him, fragile even, yet she carried herself with a unyielding core that intrigued him deeply.
"There are rules here, Willow," Josiah said, his tone shifting into business. "Rule number one: You do not go into the west wing. Ever. Rule number two: You do not answer the landlines in the main study. Rule number three: If the house alarms sound, you take Mia to the safe room behind her closet and lock it from the inside. You do not come out until I open the door."
Willow met his gaze squarely. "And rule number four?"
"Don't get attached," Josiah said, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "People in my world... attached people get hurt."
"I'm here for a job, Mr. Josiah," Willow said, though her heart gave a strange, unexpected thud against her ribs. "I don't intend on getting hurt."
"Good," he said quietly. He turned to leave, but paused at the door. "There’s a room prepared for you next door. Clothes have been placed in the wardrobe. Change out of that uniform."
After Josiah disappeared down the long, dark hallway, Willow turned back to the bed. Mia’s eyes were wide open, watching her from beneath the duvet.
"He's scary, isn't he?" Mia whispered.
Willow sat down on the edge of the mattress. "He's big," Willow corrected softly. "And he talks like a stern principal. But he’s not scary to you, is he?"
Mia pulled the blanket up to her nose. "He looks at me like he’s looking at a ghost," the child said quietly. "Every time he looks at my face, he thinks of my mom. That’s why he doesn't stay."
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Willow felt a sharp pang in her chest. She remembered looking in the mirror after her own mother died, seeing the same eyes, the same cheekbones, and knowing the agonizing weight of being a living memory.
"Then we'll just have to make sure he sees you," Willow said softly, reaching out to gently brush a dark lock of hair from Mia’s forehead. "Now go to sleep, little monster. Tomorrow we're going to paint these boring walls."
