Chapter 1 - The Woman Who Made My Mother SmileWhat was he doing?
Damian Costa was a man who had built his life around answers.
He knew where his enemies slept.
He knew which judges owed him favors.
He knew which guards drank on duty and which accountants skimmed money from his companies.
He knew the exact number of vehicles in the estate garage.
He knew which windows could withstand rifle fire.
He knew which men in his organization would betray him for money.
And he knew that love was an expensive weakness.
Yet for the past seven days, he had been spending more time watching a twenty-six-year-old maid spoon oatmeal into his mother's mouth than watching the people trying to destroy his empire.
It made no sense.
Tessa Miller should have been invisible.
That was what maids were supposed to be.
They entered rooms quietly.
They wiped fingerprints from surfaces they would never be allowed to touch.
They carried dirty glasses past people who didn't remember their names.
They learned which stairs squeaked and which doors were always locked.
They disappeared.
Tessa had been especially good at disappearing.
Until Damian noticed her.
And once he did, he couldn't stop.
He entered room 104.
Tessa looked up.
For a moment, surprise flashed across her face.
Then she recovered.
“Mr. Costa.”
Damian looked at his mother.
Beatrice was sleeping.
“Why are you here?”
Tessa glanced at him.
“Because your mother was thirsty.”
“There's a nurse.”
“There was.”
Damian's jaw tightened.
“What does that mean?”
“She left twenty minutes ago.”
“She was assigned to my mother.”
“She was also assigned to six other patients.”
Tessa adjusted Beatrice's blanket.
“Your mother needed someone.”
Damian studied her.
“You don't need to.”
Tessa looked at him.
“Need to what?”
“Take care of her.”
“I know.”
“Then why do you?”
She considered the question.
“Because she needs it.”
No hesitation.
No attempt to impress him.
No request for money.
Damian had met politicians who could lie with a smile while committing crimes in full daylight.
This woman lied badly.
Which meant she probably wasn't lying.
He glanced at the table.
A cup of tea.
A paperback novel.
A small dish of sliced peaches.
“You brought those?”
“Yes.”
“You aren't supposed to prepare food for her.”
“I didn't.”
She nodded toward the fruit.
“Your kitchen did.”
Damian stared.
“You asked the chef?”
“No.”
“Then who did?”
“I didn't.”
“Then how—”
Tessa smiled faintly.
“I cut peaches. I'm not running a smuggling ring.”
For half a second, Damian almost smiled.
It was an unfamiliar sensation.
He immediately killed it.
“You're dismissed.”
Tessa blinked.
“From this room?”
“From the house.”
Silence.
She looked at him.
Then at Beatrice.
“I see.”
She began collecting the book and dish.
Damian watched her hands.
They were rough.
Small cuts lined her fingers.
There was a faded burn scar along the side of her wrist.
He had noticed it before.
He just hadn't cared enough to ask.
Until now.
Tessa walked toward the door.
“Wait.”
She stopped.
Damian stared.
“Why did you start working here?”
“Money.”
“That's what everyone says.”
“It happens to be true.”
“You have debt.”
Her face tightened.
“Yes.”
“A lot of it.”
“Yes.”
“Medical debt.”
Her eyes lowered.
“My sister was sick.”
“Was?”
Tessa nodded.
“She died.”
Damian didn't know what to say.
So he said nothing.
Neither did she.
Then Beatrice moved.
Her eyes opened.
“Tessa?”
Tessa turned immediately.
“I'm here.”
Beatrice reached weakly toward her.
Tessa went back to the bedside.
She held the old woman's hand.
Damian stood frozen.
His mother had not called his name in weeks.
Sometimes she didn't recognize him.
But she remembered Tessa.
That should not have hurt.
It did.
Beatrice whispered something.
Tessa leaned closer.
“What was that?”
Beatrice smiled.
“My son is staring again.”
Tessa looked toward Damian.
“He does that.”
Beatrice smiled.
“Like his father.”
Damian felt the air leave the room.
“My father?”
Beatrice closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
Tessa looked at Damian.
Her expression changed.
Just for a second.
Recognition.
Not of his father.
Of something else.
Damian noticed.
“What do you know about my father?”
“Nothing.”
“You hesitated.”
“I was tired.”
“That's not an answer.”
Tessa gently released Beatrice's hand.
“Your mother needs rest.”
She walked toward the door again.
Damian blocked it.
“You're not leaving until you answer me.”
Tessa looked up at him.
Her voice remained calm.
“I know what happens when people stay in rooms with angry men.”
His eyes narrowed.
“What happens?”
“They start telling them what they want to hear.”
She stepped around him.
“I'm not going to do that.”
She left.
Damian stood alone.
Beatrice opened her eyes.
“She likes you.”
He looked at her.
“She doesn't know me.”
Beatrice smiled.
“She knows enough.”
Then she fell asleep.
Damian stayed.
For the first time in years, his mother looked peaceful.
He looked at the security monitor in the corner.
Tessa was walking down the corridor.
She paused outside the elevator.
She touched the scar on her wrist.
Then she looked back at room 104.
Damian leaned toward the screen.
Someone was watching her.
Not him.
Someone standing at the end of the hallway.
A guard.
But the man was facing the opposite direction.
His eyes were on Tessa.
Damian pressed the intercom.
“Paul.”
His head of security answered.
“Yes, boss?”
“Who is the guard outside the east wing?”
“Ramirez.”
“How long has he been assigned there?”
“Two years.”
Damian looked at the screen.
Ramirez was gone.
The hallway was empty.
“Find him.”
A pause.
“Why?”
“Just find him.”
Ten minutes later, Paul entered the bunker.
“Ramirez disappeared.”
Damian turned.
“Disappeared?”
“Walked out through the service gate.”
“Without clearance?”
“Yes.”
“Find him.”
Paul nodded.
Damian looked at the monitor.
Tessa's apartment building appeared on another feed.
He frowned.
“How did she get home?”
Paul hesitated.
“Bus.”
“Every night?”
“Yes.”
“In that neighborhood?”
“Yes.”
Damian stared.
He remembered what she'd said.
She was in debt.
She had a dead sister.
She worked two jobs.
And she still found time to sit with his mother.
Something was wrong.
He just didn't know what.
At midnight, Damian entered the bunker again.
He switched to the East Wing feed.
Room 104.
Beatrice asleep.
No Tessa.
Damian was about to change the screen when he saw movement.
A shadow passed the window.
Then stopped.
A second figure appeared.
Damian leaned forward.
His instinct screamed danger.
Someone was inside the estate.
Not outside.
Inside.
The camera shifted.
The figures disappeared.
Damian stood.
“Paul.”
“Yes, boss?”
“Wake the entire security team.”
“Why?”
“Because we have a rat.”
The next morning, Tessa arrived at room 104.
She opened the door.
Beatrice was sitting upright.
But someone else was already in the room.
A man stood beside the window.
Tessa froze.
He turned.
“Where's Damian?”
“I don't know.”
The man smiled.
“You will.”
He stepped toward her.
Tessa's face went white.
But she did not scream.
She simply reached for the emergency button beneath Beatrice's bed.
The man grabbed her wrist.
And from the hallway came Damian's voice.
“Take your hand off her.”
The man froze.
Tessa looked toward the door.
Damian stood there.
Gun drawn.
His expression was murderous.
The stranger slowly released her.
Damian stepped inside.
“Who are you?”
The man smiled.
“You know who I am.”
Damian didn't blink.
“No.”
The man sighed.
“Then ask your mother.”
Beatrice looked at him.
Her expression changed.
Recognition.
Fear.
And then she said:
“Thomas.”
Damian's blood ran cold.
Thomas Costa.
His father's younger brother.
A man who had supposedly died twenty-two years ago.
Damian raised the gun.
“What the hell are you doing in my house?”
Thomas smiled.
“I'm here for the girl.”
He pointed at Tessa.
Damian's eyes narrowed.
“Why?”
Thomas answered softly.
“Because your father told me never to let her mother find out what happened to the Costa family.”
Tessa stared.
“My mother?”
Thomas looked at her.
“You don't know, do you?”
She whispered:
“Know what?”
Thomas smiled.
“That your sister wasn't the first Miller your family lost.”
Damian glanced at Tessa.
May you like
Her face had gone completely blank.
And suddenly, the maid he had spent eight days watching seemed to become a complete stranger.
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