Chapter 2: The Fortress of Rules
The first rule of the Blackwood mansion was simple:
Do not disturb Mr. Blackwood.
The second rule was more important:
Do not disappoint him.
Maya learned both before breakfast.
The mansion moved like a machine. Every staff member had a designated role, a schedule printed down to the minute, and an unspoken understanding that mistakes were expensive. The walls were white marble, the ceilings high and decorated with gold trimming, the floors polished so brightly that they reflected your doubts back at you.
Maya stood in the staff corridor holding a small notebook Mrs. Alden had given her.
"You will clean the east wing," Mrs. Alden said crisply. "Mr. Blackwood's study is off-limits unless instructed. His bedroom is cleaned only between 10:00 and 10:20 a.m., when he is in his private gym. No later. No earlier."
"Yes, ma'am."
"He likes his coffee black. No sugar. No milk. Temperature must be hot, not warm. If it cools, remake it."
Maya nodded carefully, writing everything down.
Mrs. Alden lowered her voice. "If he raises his voice, do not respond emotionally. If he insults you, do not defend yourself. Silence keeps your job."
Maya absorbed the words quietly.
Silence keeps your job.
But kindness keeps your heart, she thought silently.
Upstairs, Ethan reviewed financial projections on three large monitors. His mind processed numbers faster than most people processed conversation. Expansion into a new market required precision. Investors demanded dominance.
He didn't notice the clock ticking.
He didn't notice the sunlight streaming across the room.
He only noticed imperfection.
He pressed the intercom button sharply.
"Clara."
"Yes, sir?"
"The Singapore report is still flawed. Redo page seven. Margin analysis is inaccurate."
"Sir, I triple-checked—"
"Then check it a fourth time."
Click.
He leaned back in his chair, jaw tight.
Perfection was not optional. It was survival.
Downstairs, Maya carefully polished the hallway mirror. She worked steadily, not rushed but not slow. She hummed softly—an old hymn her mother used to sing while cooking.
A junior maid, Tessa, glanced at her nervously.
"You shouldn't hum," Tessa whispered.
"Why?" Maya asked gently.
"He doesn't like noise."
Maya stopped humming instantly. "Thank you."
Tessa studied her. "You're new. You'll learn."
Maya smiled. "I'm learning already."
At exactly 9:45 a.m., Mrs. Alden approached Maya with a tray.
"Take this to his office. Knock once. Enter only if he says so. Place it on the right side of his desk. Not the left."
Maya inhaled slowly and nodded.
The tray carried a cup of black coffee, perfectly measured, and a small plate of toast cut into exact halves.
As she approached the office door, she felt the atmosphere change. Even the hallway felt heavier near him.
She knocked once.
"Enter."
His voice was sharp and controlled.
Maya stepped inside, eyes lowered respectfully but not fearfully.
Ethan didn't look up immediately. His fingers moved across the keyboard quickly.
She walked forward quietly and placed the tray exactly where instructed.
Just as she turned to leave, his voice stopped her.
"You're the new one."
"Yes, sir."
He finally looked up.
Her posture was straight. Hands clasped gently in front of her. Calm.
"What experience do you have?"
"I've worked in two households before, sir."
"And why did you leave?"
"My employers relocated."
He studied her face carefully, searching for nervous tics. Most servants trembled under his gaze.
She didn't.
"You understand the standards here?"
"Yes, sir."
He reached for the coffee, took one sip, then paused.
"It's hot enough."
It sounded like a complaint, but it wasn't.
She inclined her head slightly. "I'm glad, sir."
Something about her tone bothered him.
Not submissive.
Not defensive.
Simply… steady.
"You may go."
She turned and exited without hurry.
The door clicked shut.
Ethan stared at it for a moment longer than necessary.
Strange.
At noon, chaos erupted.
An urgent call came from the company headquarters. A major investor threatened to withdraw funding over rumors of internal instability.
Ethan's temper ignited.
He stormed downstairs, phone pressed to his ear.
"Tell him if he wants to pull out, he can. We'll replace him within the week."
He ended the call abruptly and threw the phone onto the nearest table.
The device skidded across the polished surface and crashed onto the floor.
The staff froze.
Maya was dusting the staircase railing when she heard it.
She looked toward him—not startled, not judgmental. Just observant.
Ethan noticed.
"What are you looking at?" he snapped.
"Nothing, sir," she replied calmly.
He stepped closer, eyes blazing. "Do you find this amusing?"
"No, sir."
"Then stop staring."
She lowered her eyes respectfully. "Yes, sir."
Silence hung in the air.
He expected trembling. Apology. Panic.
Instead, he saw composure.
It irritated him more than fear would have.
"Clean this up," he said sharply, gesturing to the broken phone.
"Yes, sir."
She knelt and carefully gathered the pieces. Her movements were gentle, as if handling something fragile—not because she feared him, but because that was simply how she did everything.
Ethan watched for a moment.
"Why aren't you shaking?" he asked suddenly.
She looked up slightly. "Should I be, sir?"
His jaw tightened.
"You're dismissed."
She stood and walked away quietly.
For reasons he couldn't explain, he felt unsettled.
That evening, the mansion felt unusually tense.
Word had spread that another executive was fired. The staff whispered in corners.
Maya found Tessa near the kitchen sink, eyes red.
"He fired my cousin today," Tessa said softly. "After five years."
Maya placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry."
"He doesn't care about anyone."
Maya hesitated.
People who don't care don't look that tired, she thought.
But she said nothing.
Dinner was served at precisely 7:00 p.m.
Ethan sat alone at the long dining table, a single plate placed before him. The room was large enough to host thirty guests, yet he preferred solitude.
Maya stood quietly near the wall, ready if needed.
Halfway through the meal, he pushed the plate away.
"This is overcooked."
The chef stiffened. "Sir, it was prepared to the exact—"
"Are you arguing?"
"No, sir."
"Remake it."
The chef hurried away.
Maya watched Ethan carefully.
His anger wasn't loud now. It simmered under the surface, like something constantly burning.
After a few moments, she stepped forward slightly.
"Sir?"
His eyes snapped to her. "What?"
"Would you like some water while you wait?"
The question was simple. Polite.
He stared at her as if she had spoken another language.
"…Fine."
She poured the water carefully and stepped back.
He took a sip.
Why did that feel different? he wondered.
Because she asked without fear.
Because she sounded like she actually cared.
Ridiculous.
He finished the water and stood abruptly.
"Cancel the rest of my evening meetings," he said.
"Yes, sir," Mrs. Alden replied.
Ethan walked upstairs without another word.
Later that night, thunder rolled again across the sky.
Maya stepped outside briefly to hang fresh linens in the covered veranda. She loved the smell of rain. It reminded her of childhood evenings when her mother would tell stories by candlelight.
Inside his bedroom, Ethan paced.
The investor situation irritated him. Weakness irritated him. Dependence irritated him.
He moved toward the window as lightning flashed.
For a brief second, the darkness outside felt overwhelming.
His chest tightened.
He hated storms.
Not because of the rain.
Because the night his parents died, it had stormed just like this.
His breath grew shallow.
He turned away from the window sharply.
Control.
You are in control.
A knock came at his door.
His temper flared instantly. "What?"
"It's Maya, sir."
He frowned. "What is it?"
"There's a leak in the east hallway. I wanted to inform you before it damages the floor."
He exhaled slowly, forcing composure.
"Handle it."
"Yes, sir."
He expected her to leave.
But she hesitated.
"Is there anything else?" he demanded.
"Would you like the curtains closed, sir? The lightning is strong."
He froze.
How did she know?
His voice came out colder than intended. "I'm fine."
"Yes, sir."
She closed the door gently.
Ethan stood still in the dimly lit room.
She noticed.
No one ever noticed.
Everyone else was too busy fearing him.
Downstairs, Maya supervised the leak repair with the maintenance staff. She worked efficiently, offering assistance without overstepping.
Tessa approached her quietly.
"You spoke to him twice today and you're still employed," she whispered.
Maya smiled faintly. "I was only doing my job."
"He scares me."
Maya looked toward the staircase thoughtfully.
"He's human."
Tessa shook her head. "Not like us."
Maya didn't respond.
Because she wasn't sure that was true.
Near midnight, Ethan walked through the silent mansion. He couldn't sleep.
As he passed the kitchen, he noticed a faint light inside.
He stepped in.
Maya stood by the counter, packing leftover bread into small containers.
"What are you doing?" he asked sharply.
She turned, slightly surprised but not startled.
"I'm setting aside the extra food, sir."
"For what?"
"There's a shelter nearby. Mrs. Alden said the food usually goes to waste. I thought I'd take it tomorrow."
He stared at her.
"You're using my food for charity?"
She met his gaze gently. "It would otherwise be thrown away, sir."
Silence stretched.
Most people would have apologized by now.
She didn't.
She simply waited.
"Do it on your own time," he said finally.
"Yes, sir."
He turned to leave, then paused.
"Why?"
"Why what, sir?"
"Why bother?"
She considered the question.
"Because someone might need it."
He said nothing.
He walked away.
But for the first time in years, his mind wasn't filled with numbers or strategies.
It was filled with a question.
Why bother?
In his study, Ethan sat in the darkness.
He replayed the day in his head.
The investor's threat.
The broken phone.
The calm servant.
The offer to close the curtains.
The food for strangers.
It made no sense to him.
Kindness had no measurable return.
No profit.
No advantage.
Yet something about it felt… unfamiliar.
Unsettling.
He stood and walked to the window again.
The storm had softened to light rain.
The city lights shimmered beyond the gates.
He thought of Maya's steady eyes.
She hadn't flinched.
Hadn't flattered.
Hadn't feared.
He clenched his jaw.
It meant nothing.
She would learn.
Everyone learned eventually.
This house ran on rules.
On discipline.
On control.
And he would not allow one soft-spoken servant to disrupt that order.
Yet downstairs, as Maya prepared for bed in the small staff quarters, she whispered another quiet prayer.
"Help me stay patient."
Two people under the same roof.
One guarding his walls.
The other quietly walking through them.
And though neither admitted it, something had shifted.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
But like the first crack in glass—
Small.
Invisible.
Dangerous.
The fortress still stood.
But somewhere inside it, a door had been left slightly open.