Chapter 1 - The Sixty-Second Maid
By seven-thirty on Monday morning, Delaney Cross had already broken three rules of the Ror household.
She had entered the library before the official cleaning schedule said she should.
She had hummed while working.
And she had turned an aging feather duster into a microphone.
The first two rules were printed in a thick employee handbook she had signed without reading. The third probably existed only in the imagination of whoever owned a mansion large enough to have a handbook for dusting.
Delaney didn't care.
For the first time in months, singing made her feel almost normal.
She stood beside the enormous walnut desk, one hand resting unconsciously against the slight curve beneath her loose navy uniform, and sang a deliberately terrible version of an old love song.
The five-month pregnancy had become difficult to hide anywhere except beneath the oversized dresses provided to the household staff. She had specifically asked for the largest available uniform, claiming she preferred room to move.
Nobody had questioned it.
Yet.
That word had become the rhythm of her life.
Nobody knew she was pregnant—yet.
Nobody knew why she had really taken a housekeeping job at the Ror mansion—yet.
Nobody knew she had spent six months searching for the man whose last confirmed location had been connected to Emmett Ror—yet.
And apparently, until thirty seconds ago, nobody knew she talked to a feather duster she called Gus.
Unfortunately, the man standing in the doorway now knew all four things.
Emmett Ror was taller than she expected.
Pictures had made him look polished, distant, almost artificial. In person, there was something different about him. Something too still.
His black coat was dusted with melting snow. His dark hair was damp at the edges. He hadn't taken off his gloves.
He simply stood there.
Watching.
Delaney's gaze dropped to the carpet, where Gus had landed after slipping from her hand.
Then her eyes moved to the desk.
That was when she finally noticed the money.
Stacks of cash.
So much money that for one ridiculous moment she thought it had to be fake.
Beside it lay a diamond bracelet.
She stared.
Then slowly looked back at Emmett.
His expression didn't change.
"You're early," she said.
He lifted one eyebrow.
Delaney swallowed.
"Meaning… you're early to your own house. Which is obviously impossible. So technically I'm the one who's early."
Silence.
She glanced at Gus.
"I usually do better under pressure."
Emmett stepped into the room.
His shoes made almost no sound on the thick carpet.
Delaney's stomach tightened.
She knew who he was.
Everyone in Boston knew some version of who Emmett Ror was.
To newspapers, he was the thirty-four-year-old head of Ror Holdings, a private investment company with hotels, transportation firms, real estate, and enough political connections to make reporters choose their adjectives carefully.
To people who worked around the harbor, he was something else.
A man whose surname made arguments stop.
A man whose businesses seemed to survive every investigation.
A man police had questioned repeatedly and charged with almost nothing.
And according to the final message Delaney had received from her husband, Nolan—
Emmett Ror was the last person he had gone to meet.
She had replayed that message hundreds of times.
I need to handle something. Don't wait up.
Then nothing.
No call.
No body.
No explanation.
Just six months of silence.
Delaney had gone to the police.
They had listened politely.
They had searched.
Then weeks became months, and sympathy slowly transformed into bureaucratic phrases.
Voluntary disappearance.
Insufficient evidence.
Adult missing person.
No confirmed criminal involvement.
Delaney had refused to believe Nolan had simply abandoned her.
Especially because he hadn't known about the baby.
She had discovered the pregnancy twelve days after he disappeared.
Emmett stopped on the other side of the desk.
His gaze moved briefly toward the money.
"You didn't see that?"
Delaney looked at it again.
"I was busy humiliating myself."
"Six hundred and fifty thousand dollars."
Her lips parted.
"What?"
"The cash."
"Why would anyone leave six hundred and fifty thousand dollars sitting out?"
"I did."
"Why?"
"Because I wanted to."
Delaney stared at him.
People with ordinary amounts of money did not talk like that.
She looked at the bracelet.
"And that?"
"My mother's."
"Is she careless?"
For the first time, something almost resembling surprise passed across his face.
"No."
"Then I'm guessing none of this is accidental."
Emmett said nothing.
That silence gave her the answer.
A test.
Delaney looked from the cash to the bracelet, then back at him.
"You leave valuables around to see whether your employees steal them."
"I observe people."
"That's a prettier way to say it."
"You disapprove?"
"I think if I had six hundred and fifty thousand dollars, I'd invest in a safe."
His mouth moved slightly.
Not a smile.
But almost.
Delaney bent down and picked up Gus.
"Anyway, congratulations."
"For what?"
"Your money survived my concert."
Emmett's eyes narrowed.
"You needed money."
The humor drained from her face.
He had heard everything.
Hospital bills.
Crib.
Three months.
Her husband.
She set the feather duster against the side of the desk.
"I do."
"And yet you didn't take it."
"It isn't mine."
"People have taken less for weaker reasons."
"Then hire better people."
The words escaped before she could stop them.
She waited for anger.
Instead, Emmett walked to the window.
Snow covered the garden outside, whitening the stone walls and iron gates.
"Sixty-one."
Delaney frowned.
"What?"
"Employees before you."
He turned.
"All of them took something."
She wasn't sure whether to believe him.
"Every single one?"
"Eventually."
"That's depressing."
"It is predictable."
"No. It's depressing."
Emmett studied her as if she had just corrected a mathematical equation.
Before either of them could speak again, small footsteps raced down the hallway.
A little girl appeared at the open door.
Blonde curls.
Pink slippers.
A pale ballet dress under a white cardigan.
She stopped abruptly when she saw Emmett.
"Daddy."
Something changed in his face.
It lasted less than a second, but Delaney saw it.
The ruthless businessman disappeared.
A tired father remained.
"Lily," he said. "Where is Mrs. Bell?"
The girl shrugged.
"Talking on the phone."
"You're supposed to be practicing."
"I was."
Lily looked around her father toward Delaney.
Then at the feather duster.
Her eyes brightened.
"Is that a microphone?"
Delaney looked at Emmett.
He looked back at her.
She could practically hear him warning her not to answer incorrectly.
Delaney held Gus upright.
"Professionally? No. Emotionally? Absolutely."
Lily giggled.
Emmett closed his eyes briefly.
The little girl rushed inside.
"Can I sing?"
"Your father may fire both of us."
Lily gasped dramatically.
"He can't fire me. I live here."
Delaney laughed despite herself.
Then Lily began turning slowly on one foot, arms raised like a ballerina.
"Sing something!"
Delaney hesitated.
Emmett remained by the window, arms folded.
Watching again.
She lifted Gus.
This time her voice was soft.
Not polished.
Not perfect.
But warm.
Lily danced.
She spun beneath the chandelier while snow drifted beyond the tall windows, and for perhaps twenty seconds the enormous mansion stopped feeling like the home of a dangerous man.
It felt like a house.
A real one.
Lily laughed when she lost her balance.
Delaney reached out instinctively and caught her.
The girl hugged her waist.
Then froze.
Her cheek had landed against Delaney's stomach.
Delaney's breath stopped.
Lily slowly leaned back.
Her eyes moved downward.
Then upward.
"You have a baby."
The room went completely silent.
Delaney looked at Emmett.
His expression had changed.
Not because of the pregnancy.
Because something else had happened.
His eyes had dropped to the feather duster.
To Gus.
More precisely—to the walnut handle.
Emmett crossed the room in three quick steps.
"Where did you get that?"
Delaney pulled it back instinctively.
"What?"
"The duster."
"It belonged to my husband."
The color left Emmett's face.
Lily stopped smiling.
Delaney's heartbeat accelerated.
"You recognize it."
Emmett didn't answer.
She stepped closer.
"Do you recognize it?"
His jaw tightened.
Finally he looked directly into her eyes.
"What was your husband's name?"
Delaney had imagined this moment for months.
She had rehearsed calm questions.
Prepared careful lies.
Promised herself she would never show fear.
But now her hands trembled.
"Nolan Cross."
For the first time since he entered the room, Emmett Ror looked genuinely shaken.
And Delaney understood something terrifying.
Her husband had not merely crossed paths with this man.
Emmett knew exactly who he was.
"You need to leave this house," Emmett said quietly.
Delaney stared at him.
"Tell me where my husband is."
"Take your things and go."
"No."
His eyes sharpened.
"Mrs. Cross—"
"You knew him."
Lily looked between them, confused.
Delaney's voice cracked.
"Six months. I've spent six months wondering whether he's alive. I've called hospitals, police stations, shelters. I've driven three states looking for him. So don't stand there and tell me to leave."
Emmett's expression hardened again, but something underneath it looked almost like guilt.
Delaney took another step.
"Where is Nolan?"
Emmett looked toward the hallway.
Then at Lily.
Then back at Delaney.
When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.
"If the people who took your husband discover you're here, you won't survive long enough to ask me again."
Delaney felt the floor disappear beneath her.
Because Emmett hadn't said Nolan had left.
He hadn't said Nolan was dead.
He had said—
the people who took your husband.
And before Delaney could demand another word, Emmett reached for the library doors and locked them.
"Now," he said, "you are going to tell me exactly how you found this house."
And Delaney realized her first morning as the sixty-second maid had just become something far more dangerous than a cleaning job.
May you like
Because Emmett Ror knew what had happened to Nolan—and someone had apparently been waiting for Delaney to come looking.
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