The Roth mansion always felt colder after midnight. Not because of the marble floors or the stone walls, but because of the way secrets clung to every surface. They whispered through the corridors like ghosts, brushing over Luna's skin as she slipped through the west hallway, her bare feet silent on the polished tiles.
She was supposed to be asleep.
But sleep never came easy in a house built by blood and secrets.
Luna's fingers trembled as she slid a small hairpin into the door's lock. Lucien's study, off-limits to the staff, had become her battlefield. She had waited days for this moment, memorizing the household's rhythms, anticipating when the night guard would take his smoke break, and when Lucien would leave the house for his clandestine meetings. She needed to find an information relating to Michael Gross in order to be able to find him and meet him and to that , she needed to go through Lucien's study as the one she found in the library wasn't enough.
And tonight, the stars aligned.
The lock clicked open, and she exhaled silently, easing the door open. The study was dimly lit by moonlight streaming through tall windows. The scent of aged whiskey and cologne lingered in the air, so very Lucien. Expensive. Controlled. Dangerous.
She moved to the bookshelf, running her fingers along the rows, knowing exactly what she was looking for.
The second shelf, behind the faux encyclopedias, Lucien's hidden drawer. She'd discovered it two weeks ago when dusting, the only drawer without fingerprints.
She pulled a slim volume and heard a soft click. The drawer popped out an inch.
Inside were documents.
Dozens of them.
She flipped through papers with feverish urgency—transaction records, offshore accounts, lists of names. Her brother's name wasn't there. But one stood out, circled in red ink:
Michael Gross – ex-Roth associate. Terminated.
Her breath caught.
She scanned the page. The last known address was scribbled in the margin. 83 Wilmot Street, Queens.
Queens. Just a train ride away.
She folded the document carefully and slipped it into the lining of her apron. Her pulse thundered in her ears. She didn't know who Michael Gross was yet, but if Lucien had gone through the trouble of tracking and hiding his name, then he mattered.
He might even be the key to everything.
She had to find him.Had to speak to him.
But she'd need to disappear for a few hours. And that meant lying to Lucien.
By morning, the mansion had returned to its grave calmness. Staff moved about like ghosts, and Luna was back in her uniform, dusting the corridor outside Lucien's room. She was careful to move slowly, to appear normal. Inside, her thoughts raced ahead, forming the plan.
"Luna."
She froze at the sound of his voice. Lucien stood in the doorway, shirt unbuttoned at the collar, hair tousled from sleep. He looked too human like this ,vulnerable, almost soft. A dangerous illusion.
"Yes, sir?" she said, turning to him.
He studied her. "You were up early."
"I always am."
He stepped into the hall, folding his arms. "You didn't sleep last night."
Her heart skipped. "Why do you say that?"
"I checked the staff quarters at midnight."
A chill slid down her spine. He had checked on her? Why?
"I went to the kitchen," she said quickly. "Needed water."
He nodded slowly, eyes narrowing. "That all?"
Luna forced a small smile. "I didn't realize I was being monitored."
Lucien's lips curved, but it wasn't amusement, it was suspicion. "Everyone is monitored here. Especially those who aren't who they pretend to be."
Luna stiffened. "Do you think I'm pretending, sir?"
Lucien stepped closer. "You tell me."
The tension snapped between them like a wire pulled too tight. His eyes searched hers, and for a moment she thought ,Does he know? Did he see the drawer?
She looked away.
"I was actually going to request some time off today," she said, voice calm but firm. "Just a few hours."
He blinked. "Why?"
"I want to visit my mother. She hasn't been well."
Lucien's expression didn't change, but something in his posture shifted ,straightened.
"She lives in the city?"
"She's a short train ride away," Luna replied. "I'll be back before dinner."
He didn't speak right away. His silence grew heavy.
"You've been here five weeks and never once mentioned her," he said at last.
"She's a private woman."
Lucien tilted his head. "So are you."
Her throat tightened. He was trying to corner her with charm, with suspicion, with the way he looked at her,as if he saw past her skin and straight into the parts she wanted hidden.
"I'm just a maid," she said.
"Don't insult me, Luna." His voice dipped lower. "Or yourself."
And with that, he stepped aside. "Be back by six."
She nodded, walking away with measured grace, even as her heartbeat sprinted toward freedom.
She didn't go to the train station right away. Instead, she rode the subway two stops past Queens and changed cars. She doubled back twice and kept her eyes alert. Roth money reached far. If Lucien had her followed, she needed to lose the tail before she reached Wilmot Street.
When she finally stood before the rusted gate of 83 Wilmot, the sky had turned a bruised gray.
The building was run-down, paint peeling from its exterior, the front step cracked. But someone lived here ,she could hear the soft thump of footsteps upstairs, the creak of weight against old wood.
She climbed the narrow staircase and knocked.
A voice answered from within. Male. Rough.
"Who is it?"
"I'm looking for Michael Gross."
Silence.
"I just want to talk," she added.
The door opened two inches. A man in his sixties, gaunt, balding, eyes sharp despite the years.
"Who are you?"
She stepped forward. "My name is Luna. My brother died two years ago under mysterious circumstances… His name was Dave. He worked with the Roths. I think you knew him."
The man's face twitched.
She pressed on. "You're the only name I found. Please… I just want answers."
Gross looked over his shoulder, then opened the door wider.
"Five minutes."