Elena felt like she had finally made it when she started working at the Anderson estate. The mansion was a dream, and her boss was a pillar of the community who often mourned his "late mother" with tears in his eyes. đ
The cold, damp air of the basement lunged at Elenaâs throat, making her gasp as she stared into the shadows behind the rusted iron bars. It wasnât a storage room, and it certainly wasnât the wine cellar Mr. Sterling had claimed it was; it was a cage, hidden beneath layers of soundproofing and mahogany doors. The woman on the other side didnât look human at firstâher hair was a matted shroud of silver that reached her waist, and her skin was the color of parchment that hadnât seen the sun in a lifetime. When she spoke, her voice sounded like dry leaves skittering across a tombstone, a fragile rasp that broke the heavy silence of the mansionâs bowels
âIs⊠is it raining outside?â the woman whispered, her fingers, thin as bird bones, trembling as they gripped the cold metal. Elena felt a sob catch in her chest, her hands flying to her mouth to stifle a scream. This was Martha Sterling, the woman whose portrait hung in the grand foyer draped in black ribbon, the woman the entire city of Oak Ridge believed had perished in a tragic car accident twenty years ago. The realization hit Elena like a physical blow to the stomach, turning her blood to ice as she looked into the sunken, soulful eyes of a prisoner.
Elenaâs mind raced through the months she had spent cleaning the upper floors of this gilded prison, dusting the very portrait of the woman now begging her for a drop of water. Mr. Sterling, her employer, was a man of impeccable reputation, a philanthropist who donated millions to orphanages, yet he was keeping his own mother in a hole beneath his feet. âI⊠I have to get you out,â Elena stammered, her voice shaking so hard she could barely form the words. She reached out, her fingers brushing the womanâs cold, translucent skin, and the contact sent a jolt of pure electricity through her soul.
The woman pulled back, her eyes wide with a mixture of hope and paralyzing terror. âHeâll hear you,â she hissed, glancing frantically toward the heavy oak door at the top of the stairs. âJulian has ears everywhere. He says the world forgot me. He says thereâs nothing left for me out there but the grave he already dug.â The cruelty of it was a weight Elena could hardly bear; Julian Sterling hadnât just imprisoned his motherâs body, he had tried to annihilate her spirit, gaslighting her into believing she was a ghost before she was even dead.
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Elena felt the walls of the basement closing in on her, the smell of mildew and forgotten years suffocating her. She knew she couldnât stay a second longer or her courage would fail her, but leaving Martha felt like a betrayal. âIâm coming back for you, I promise,â Elena whispered, the vow tasting like copper in her mouth. She turned and scrambled up the stone steps, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. Every creak of the old house sounded like a gunshot, every shadow on the wall looked like Mr. Sterling waiting to catch her in his web.
When she reached the top of the stairs, she fumbled with the hidden latch behind the libraryâs bookshelf, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She stepped out into the opulence of the library, the smell of expensive leather and old books mocking the stench of the dungeon she had just exited. She straightened her apron, trying to smooth her frantic breathing, but her reflection in the gilded mirror betrayed herâshe looked like she had seen the devil himself. And in a way, she had.
