Chapter 5
Hannah's POV
Thirty minutes later, wrapped in a plush robe provided by the house (my modest one-piece swimsuit hidden underneath), I followed Amy to the indoor pool. The space was magnificent—Olympic-sized, with a domed glass ceiling that filled the room with natural light.
Two staff members were checking the water chemistry when we entered. They immediately straightened, faces becoming professionally blank.
"Good morning," I called cheerfully. "I'm Hannah."
They exchanged uncertain glances before the older man responded with a short bow. "Good morning, Ms. Lancaster."
"Are you swimming, too?" I asked, noting their rigid postures.
"No, ma'am," the younger one answered. "Just routine maintenance."
I slipped off my robe, feeling suddenly self-conscious in my plain navy swimsuit amid such luxury. "Would you mind staying? It's my first day here, and honestly, I'm a bit overwhelmed."
Their discomfort was palpable. I decided honesty might break through the barriers.
"Look, I know this is awkward. Just a few days ago, I was teaching special needs children. Now I'm here as... well, you probably know why I'm here." I sat at the edge of the pool, dangling my feet in the warm water. "I'm doing this because a man who took me in when I had nothing has a son who needs expensive medical treatment."
Amy gasped slightly at my candor, but I continued.
"I used to be Hannah Lancaster of the Lancasters. My family had an estate not unlike this one. Then we lost everything, and a retired teacher named Edward Johnson gave me a place to stay. Now his son is dying, and this arrangement with the Sterlings is the only way I can help."
The older maintenance man's expression softened. "You're doing a brave thing, miss."
"Or a desperate one," I replied with a small smile. "Either way, I'd appreciate some company."
Something in my words seemed to resonate with them. The older man introduced himself as Miguel, the estate's groundskeeper for twenty years. His assistant, Tyler, managed a shy wave.
"The young Mr. Sterling doesn't come to the pool," Miguel offered cautiously. "Not since the accident."
I nodded, grateful for the implicit permission to relax. I slid into the water, its warmth enveloping me like a comforting embrace.
After a few laps, I noticed a tennis racket leaning against the wall. "Do you play?" I asked Amy, who had been watching from a chair.
"I... that would be inappropriate," she stammered.
I pulled myself out of the pool, water streaming from my hair. "Why? Because I'm technically a guest? Or because Mrs. Sterling wouldn't approve?"
"Both," she admitted.
I tilted my head, summoning the playful spirit that had made me the favorite of my special education students. "But Mrs. Sterling wants me happy and relaxed, right? For optimal... results." I wiggled my eyebrows theatrically.
Amy's lips twitched despite her efforts to remain professional.
"Please?" I pressed, not above using the wheedling tone that had always worked on my father. "Tennis is no fun alone, and I bet you're really good."
Amy glanced at Miguel, who shrugged almost imperceptibly. "Mrs. Sterling did say to accommodate Ms. Lancaster's reasonable requests," he murmured.
"See? Totally reasonable," I grinned.
Two hours later, I found myself on the tennis court with not just Amy but four other staff members, playing an impromptu doubles tournament. My skills were rusty, but my enthusiasm made up for it. Whenever someone seemed to remember their "place" and grow reserved, I'd intentionally miss a shot or make a silly joke until they relaxed again.
By lunchtime, the rigid formality had begun to crack. When I suggested eating together rather than separately, Amy hesitated only briefly before agreeing.
Over sandwiches in a sunny corner of the kitchen—the staff dining room being too small for our group—I finally asked the question that had been burning in my mind.
"Amy, what happened to Finn? I know about the accident that caused his blindness, but not the details."
The kitchen fell silent. Amy dabbed her lips with a napkin, buying time.
"It was an explosion at one of the Sterling development sites," she finally said. "Mr. Finn was inspecting progress when something went wrong. The doctors say the blindness is permanent."
"And his... temperament?" I asked delicately. "Was he always so..."
"Terrifying?" supplied one of the younger maids, earning a sharp look from the head cook.
Amy chose her words carefully. "Mr. Finn has always been... intense. But since losing his sight, he's become more volatile. The last three assistants left within days."
I thought of the little boy at the center who became irritable after losing his eyesight. He once threw all his toys on the floor, simply because he couldn’t find his favorite one on his own. That fear of losing control—of shifting from mastery to helplessness—might be devastating for an adult who was once strong.
"Perhaps," Amy conceded. "But Miss Hannah, please be careful. Mr. Finn isn't like your students. He's..." She trailed off, unable to find a diplomatic way to finish.
"Dangerous," I completed for her. "I know. I met him yesterday."
After lunch, we moved to the outdoor pool. The afternoon sun sparkled on the water, and somehow I'd managed to convince even more staff to join us. I organized a water volleyball game, dividing everyone into teams with the natural authority I'd developed wrangling energetic children.
For a brief, wonderful moment, I forgot why I was there. Forgot about Peter's illness, about the contract, about Finn and his knife. Laughter echoed across the water as Miguel, surprisingly athletic for his age, spiked the ball over our makeshift net.
"Good one!" I called, splashing water in celebration.
Then everything changed.
The laughter died abruptly. Bodies tensed. Amy's hand gripped my arm underwater, her fingernails digging into my skin. I turned to follow everyone's gaze and froze.
Finn stood at the edge of the pool, his tall figure casting a long shadow across the water. Despite the dark sunglasses shielding his eyes, I felt the weight of his attention like a physical force. He wore tailored black pants and a crisp white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular forearms. Nothing in his posture betrayed his blindness except for the slightly too-perfect stillness of his head.
The silence stretched, broken only by water lapping against the pool's edge. Staff members began silently slipping out of the pool, moving with the careful precision of prey animals trying not to attract a predator's notice.
My heart hammered against my ribs. I remembered the cold press of steel against my cheek, the casual violence with which he'd driven his knife into the floor.
"Well," Finn finally spoke, his voice cutting through the tension. "It seems my future child's mother is enjoying herself."
The mockery in his tone made me flinch, but something else—a determination I'd developed through years of working with challenging children—made me lift my chin.
"I was," I answered, striving for a steady voice. "Would you care to join us, Mr. Sterling?"