Chapter 4 Chapter Four

Chapter Four

The mansion was quiet. Too quiet.

Aria had just finished cleaning the upper hallway near the guest rooms. It was past midnight, and the rest of the staff had already gone to bed. Her shift had ended an hour ago, but she liked to stay back sometimes. The silence helped her think.

She grabbed her cleaning cart and began wheeling it toward the back staircase. As she passed the West Wing, a sound stopped her in her tracks.

A crash. Then a loud thud.

She froze. It came from inside the forbidden wing.

Aria looked around. No one else was nearby. The hallway lights flickered slightly, and her heart began to race. She remembered what Ms. Fletcher said the day she arrived.

“Do not enter the West Wing.”

But something was wrong. She could feel it in her bones.

Another sound. A grunt, low and pained.

Without thinking, Aria pushed the heavy door open and stepped inside.

The hallway was dark, lined with tall doors and old portraits. It smelled faintly of leather and cologne. She crept forward, following the sounds. They led her to a slightly open door at the end of the hall.

She pushed it gently.

The room inside was a private study. Bookshelves covered the walls, and a desk stood in the center with papers scattered everywhere. But it was the man lying on the floor that stole her breath.

Mr. Cross.

Damian.

Blood stained his white shirt. His hand clutched his side, and his eyes were half-closed.

Aria dropped to her knees beside him. “Oh my God, sir! Can you hear me?”

His eyes fluttered open for a second, and he looked at her. “You… shouldn’t be here…”

“Shh,” she whispered, pressing her hands over the wound. Her fingers shook. “You’re hurt. You’re bleeding. I need to get help.”

“No,” he rasped, grabbing her wrist weakly. “No one… not Selene… not the guards…”

His grip was cold. Weak. But his eyes burned with fear.

Aria didn’t understand what he meant, but she nodded. “Okay. Okay. I’ll help you. Just stay with me.”

She looked around quickly. There was a small towel near the desk. She grabbed it and pressed it against the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. Her mind raced.

Think, Aria. Think.

She had taken a first-aid class back in high school. She remembered the basics, pressure, stop the bleeding, don’t move him too much.

“You’re going to be okay,” she whispered. “Just hold on.”

Damian groaned, his eyes closing again.

“No! Stay awake. Please.” She shook his shoulder gently. “You have to stay with me.”

She pulled out her phone and turned on the flashlight. The blood was still flowing. Not fast, but steady. He needed help, real help.

She looked at the desk. There was a landline phone.

She ran to it and dialed the emergency number printed on the wall beside it, a private line that rang the in-house doctor and private guard.

A voice answered on the third ring. “Security. What is…”

“There’s been an attack! Mr. Cross is bleeding. In the West Wing, his study. Please hurry!”

She didn’t wait for an answer. She dropped the phone and ran back to him, pressing the towel harder against his side.

His breathing was shallow now. His skin is pale.

“Just stay with me,” she whispered. “You’re not dying tonight, okay? You’re too mean to die.”

To her surprise, his lips curved slightly. A faint smile. Barely there.

Footsteps thundered down the hall, and three men burst into the room, two guards and a man in a white coat.

“Move aside,” the doctor said urgently.

Aria stepped back, covered in blood. Her hands shook. She backed up until she hit the wall.

“Puncture wound, right side,” the doctor muttered. “We need to get him to the clinic. Now.”

The guards lifted Damian carefully. The doctor gave Aria a quick glance.

“Did you stop the bleeding?”

She nodded slowly. “I, I think so.”

“You saved his life,” he said, then turned away, following the guards.

The room emptied, just like that.

Aria stood alone, staring at the blood on her hands. Her heart still pounded in her ears. Her knees gave out, and she sank to the floor.

She didn’t know how long she sat there. How he got the wound was what she kept thinking about.

Later that night, Ms. Fletcher found her in the staff hallway, sitting on a bench.

“What were you doing in the West Wing?” the woman asked coldly.

“I heard something,” Aria whispered. “He was bleeding. I just reacted.”

Ms. Fletcher narrowed her eyes. “You broke the rule.”

“He would have died!”

There was a long pause. Then, to her surprise, Ms. Fletcher sighed.

“I’ll speak to Madam Cross in the morning. Go clean yourself up.”

Aria nodded and slowly stood. Her legs were weak, but she walked back to her room.

She didn’t sleep that night.

But long after she washed the blood from her hands, she couldn’t shake the look in Damian’s eyes…

That fear. That plea for silence.

What was he so desperate to hide

and who inside this mansion wanted him dead?