Chapter 3 - The Silent Master of the Manor
The iron gates of the Bennett estate felt more like the bars of a cage when I arrived the next day.
The sun was bright,
glinting off the polished marble of the driveway.
I felt exposed,
as if the security cameras perched on the stone pillars could see right through my skin.
They probably could.
A man like Julian Bennett would have the best security money could buy.
The housekeeper, a stern woman named Mrs. Gable, met me at the door.
She didn't smile.
"You're five minutes early," she said,
checking her watch.
"Mr. Bennett is in the library. He expects his breakfast at exactly eight-fifteen."
"I'm here to work," I said,
trying to keep my voice steady.
She led me through the cavernous halls.
The house was beautiful,
filled with priceless art and antique furniture,
but it felt cold.
There were no family photos on the mantels.
No signs of a life lived with passion.
It was a museum for a man who had stopped living.
When we entered the library,
Julian was positioned by a floor-to-ceiling window.
He was staring out at the gardens,
his profile sharp and brooding.
A tablet was mounted to his wheelchair,
the screen filled with scrolling data and stock tickers.
He was working,
even if his body couldn't move.
"The new girl is here," Mrs. Gable announced.
Julian didn't turn his head.
"Her name is Sarah," he said,
his voice low.
The way he said my name—the name I had adopted to stay safe—sent a shiver down my spine.
Did he say it with a hint of suspicion?
Or was I just imagining things?
"Leave us," he commanded.
Mrs. Gable bowed her head and disappeared,
leaving the two of us alone in the silence of the books.
The library smelled of old paper and expensive tobacco.
"Did you eat?" he asked suddenly.
I blinked,
surprised by the question.
"Yes," I lied.
I had given the last piece of bread to Emma.
"Liar," he said.
He finally turned his chair to face me.
His eyes were like flint,
sharp and grey.
"Your hands are shaking, Sarah. You're hungry."
He gestured with a slight tilt of his head toward a tray on the table.
"Eat the toast. I don't like my staff fainting on the job."
I hesitated.
"I'm here to serve you, Mr. Bennett."
"You're here to do what I tell you," he snapped.
"Eat."
I took a piece of toast,
my throat tight.
It felt like ash in my mouth,
but I forced myself to chew.
He watched me with an intensity that made me want to run.
"Why are you really here?" he asked.
The question caught me off guard.
"I told you... I need the money for my children."
"There are easier ways to make money than taking care of a man who can't even scratch his own nose," he said,
a bitter edge to his voice.
"You have the eyes of someone who is running from something. Or someone who is looking for something."
I felt my heart skip a beat.
"We're all running from something, aren't we?" I countered.
A ghost of a smile flickered on his lips.
It was the first time I had seen a hint of the boy I once knew.
But it was gone in an instant.
"I'm running from nothing," he said coldly.
"I'm stuck exactly where I am. Now, the medication is in the top drawer. Two blue pills, one white."
I moved to the desk,
my fingers brushing against the heavy wood.
As I opened the drawer,
I saw a small, silver frame tucked in the corner.
It was face down.
My curiosity burned like a fire,
but I didn't dare touch it.
I prepared his medication and brought it to him.
I had to hold the water glass to his lips.
As he drank,
our eyes met over the rim of the glass.
For a split second,
the world outside the library ceased to exist.
There was a flash of recognition in his gaze—a deep, ancient connection that defied the years.
But then he blinked,
and the wall was back up.
"Is there something on my face?" he asked,
his tone mocking.
"No," I said,
withdrawing the glass.
"I was just... thinking about the schedule."
"Thinking is dangerous," he said.
"Especially in this house."
I spent the rest of the morning performing my duties.
I moved him from the chair to the bed for his physical therapy.
I helped the therapist stretch his lifeless limbs.
Every touch was a reminder of the tragedy that had befallen him.
The boy who used to run through the fields with me was now a prisoner of his own nerves.
What had happened to him?
Was the car crash a lie?
I needed to find out what was in that silver frame.
And I needed to know why he still wore that chain.
Because if he was who I thought he was,
then he wasn't just Julian Bennett.
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He was the love I had lost.
And he was the father of the children he didn't even know existed.
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