Chapter 2 - The Crimson StainBy nightfall, the incident in the courtyard had mutated through the estate's grapevine into local legend. In the staff quarters, Grant, the head footman, leaned against the pantry counter with a smirk.
"She's out of her mind," Grant declared, tossing a polishing rag onto the table. "Castellano keeps Duke locked in the reinforced north kennels for a reason. One wrong move, and she'll be cleaning her own teeth off the carpet."
Maya ignored him, sitting quietly at the corner of the long wooden table, nursing a cup of lukewarm chamomile tea. Her fingers were still slightly pink from the hot water and the friction of drying a massive dog for over an hour. Duke hadn't just allowed her to dry him; by the time she finished, the giant dog had pressed his heavy head against her chest, letting out a deep, rumbling sigh that felt less like submission and more like adoption.
"Careful, Maya," the cook warned kindly, sliding a plate of leftover bread across the table. "Mr. Castellano doesn't like his pets disturbed. And he likes mistakes even less. Isabella is furious; she spent all morning telling anyone who would listen that you embarrassed her in front of the boss."
Maya took a small bite of the bread, her mind elsewhere. When she had finished drying Duke, Vincent had been waiting by the door. He hadn't thanked her. He had simply looked at the dog—who was now standing calmly without a single tremor in his hind legs—and then looked down at Maya.
“You have dirt on your collar,” he had said. “It comes with the job, sir,” she had replied, refusing to look away. “Be in the main library at eight tomorrow morning to dust the lower shelves. Alone.”
It wasn't a punishment; it was an assignment. But in a house like the Castellano estate, assignments were often tests.
At midnight, the rest of the staff retired to the basement dormitories, leaving the main house silent, draped in the heavy shadows of mahogany and velvet. Maya, unable to sleep, crept quietly up the back stairs toward the second-floor library. She carried a soft duster and a small flashlight, preferring the dim quiet to the restless murmurs of the staff hall.
The library doors were heavy, carved with intricate scrolls of dark walnut. They were unlocked—just barely ajar.
Pushing them open, Maya stepped inside, the thick Persian rugs swallowing the sound of her footsteps. Rows upon rows of leather-bound volumes stretched upward into the darkness. But as she swept her flashlight beam across the grand mahogany desk in the center of the room, her breath caught in her throat.
May you like
There, stark and undeniable against the dark wood, was a fresh, dark streak of crimson. Blood.
Maya stepped closer, her heart hammering against her ribs. It wasn't an old stain; it was wet, glistening under the beam of her light. And trailing away from the desk, disappearing behind a heavy velvet curtain near the balcony doors, was a single, bloody footprint.
