THE HOUSEKEEPER’S VOW

By three o'clock that afternoon, I was a married woman.

There was no kiss at the altar. No celebration. Just a judge Cassian had summoned, a quick exchange of signatures, and a silent car ride to his estate in the hills above the Hudson River.

When the wrought-iron gates of the Vale property swung open, I expected a dark, imposing fortress.

Instead, the estate was breathtaking. White stone, massive floor-to-ceiling windows letting in the pale afternoon light, and gardens meticulously maintained despite the coming winter.

But my mind wasn’t on the architecture. It was on my mother.

As soon as we stepped into the grand foyer, Cassian handed his coat to a waiting butler.

“Where is she?” I asked immediately, my hands clutching the fabric of the modest gray dress Cassian’s staff had brought for me to change into after the wedding.

“East wing,” Cassian said, loosening his tie. “Dr. Aris is with her. Her oxygen levels were low when my men arrived at the Aldridge cottage. Margaret had already ordered the electricity shut off.”

A wave of nausea hit me. Margaret really would have let her die.

“Can I see her?”

“Soon,” Cassian said, his dark eyes studying my pale face. “Dr. Aris needs to stabilize her heart rate first. My staff will show you to your room. Rest, Lydia. You look like you’re going to collapse.”

Before I could argue, an older woman with kind eyes and a neat uniform stepped forward, introducing herself as Mrs. Gable, the head housekeeper.

Following her up the sweeping mahogany staircase, I felt a strange sense of vertigo. Yesterday, I was a maid scrubbing toilets. Today, a head housekeeper was carrying my single, small duffel bag.

“Your suite, Mrs. Vale,” Mrs. Gable said gently, opening a set of double doors.

The room was massive, elegant, and warm, with a fire already crackling in the hearth. But I couldn't rest. My nerves were wired tight.

For two hours, I paced the plush rug. I watched the rain hit the glass. I thought about the heavy iron key sitting in my pocket.

“Promise me you will never unlock the door at the end of the east hallway.”

Why? What was behind it? The rumors of the six wives echoed in my head. One fled barefoot in the winter. Two vanished. What if this beautiful estate was just a gilded cage?

I couldn't stand the silence anymore. I slipped out of my room.

The upstairs hallway was quiet, lined with expensive art and thick carpets that silenced my footsteps. I walked toward the east wing, desperate to find the medical room where my mother was being kept.

But the hallway branched. I took a wrong turn.

Suddenly, I found myself standing at the end of a long, dim corridor. There were no windows here. Only a single, heavy oak door at the very end.

It had a large, antique iron keyhole.

This was it. The door I wasn't supposed to open.

My heart began to hammer in my chest. I took a step back, intending to turn around. I had made a deal. I had to honor it.

But as I turned, my foot brushed against something on the floor.

I looked down.

Poking out from beneath the edge of an expensive Persian runner was a piece of paper. It looked completely out of place in the immaculate hallway.

I knelt and pulled it out.

It was a drawing. Crayon on crumpled notebook paper.

It depicted a large house with a black roof. Next to the house was a tall man in a black suit. And standing next to the man was a tiny figure—a little girl with dark pigtails, her face colored in with heavy, frantic scribbles of black crayon.

Above the little girl, written in shaky, childish block letters, were three words:

THE MONSTER COMES.

My blood ran cold.

A child. There was a child in this house.

I stared at the heavy oak door. Cassian didn’t have any children. Not officially. None of his wives had ever been reported pregnant.

I reached into my pocket, my fingers brushing against the cold iron of the key he had given me.

If he’s hiding a child here… if she’s in danger…

My hand trembled as I pulled the key out. I stepped up to the door and slid the key into the lock. It turned with a heavy, oiled click.

I pushed the door open.

I expected a dark room. A dungeon. Something horrific.

Instead, the room was bathed in soft, warm light from a large bay window. The walls were painted a cheerful pastel yellow. Bookshelves were overflowing with fairy tales. In the corner sat a massive, beautifully crafted dollhouse.

It was a nursery. A perfect, untouched nursery.

But it was completely empty. There was dust on the rocking horse.

“I told you not to come here.”

I spun around, dropping the child’s drawing.

Cassian stood in the doorway. He had removed his suit jacket. His white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, revealing the edge of a dark tattoo on his collarbone.

His face was a mask of cold, terrifying fury.

“I… I got lost,” I stammered, backing away from him. “I found this drawing under the rug.”

Cassian didn’t look at the drawing. He looked at the key in the door.

“You’ve been my wife for three hours, Lydia, and you’ve already broken your first promise.”

He stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. The heavy click of the latch echoed like a gunshot.

“I thought you were different,” Cassian said, his voice dangerously low as he advanced toward me. “I thought, unlike Evelyn, you actually understood the concept of loyalty.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, my back hitting the edge of the bookshelf. “I just wanted to know who the child was. I wanted to know if she was safe.”

Cassian stopped inches from me. He looked down into my terrified eyes.

Then, a tiny, fragile voice broke the tension in the room.

“Papa?”

I gasped.

Standing behind Cassian, having slipped out from the large closet in the corner of the room, was a little girl. She was no older than six, with wild dark curls and huge, terrified brown eyes.

She was clutching a broken wooden bird in her hands.

But it wasn't her sudden appearance that made the breath leave my lungs.

It was the fact that the little girl was wearing a faded, oversized t-shirt. A t-shirt with the logo of the Aldridge Family Estate.

Cassian immediately dropped to one knee, his entire terrifying demeanor melting into something heartbreakingly gentle. He opened his arms, and the little girl ran into them, burying her face in his neck.