Lady Amia led Jenny through a narrow corridor at the back of the main building. The walls here were plain, the floors uncarpeted—a sharp contrast to the marble and chandeliers of the front.
"This is your room," Lady Amia said, pushing open a simple wooden door.
Jenny stepped inside. The room was small but clean: a single bed with white sheets, a wooden wardrobe, a tiny window that looked out onto a service alley. No luxury. No frills. But after the motel's stained carpets and bug bites, it felt like heaven.
"It's not much," Lady Amia added, her tone brisk. "The main staff—housekeepers like myself—have quarters in the main building. But for maids like you, who clean and scrub, this is where you stay."
Jenny nodded. "It's fine. Really."
Lady Amia's expression softened just a fraction. "Good. You start this afternoon. Change into your uniform and meet me in the east hallway. I'll show you your duties."
---
An hour later, Jenny stood in the gleaming east hallway, dressed in a simple gray uniform. Lady Amia walked her through the mansion's layout—the grand reception rooms, the private family wing, the kitchens, the gardens. Jenny's head spun with information, but she listened carefully, memorizing every turn.
"Miss DeLuca's parents are deceased," Lady Amia explained as they walked. "They passed several years ago. A private plane accident. Miss Bianca inherited everything. She runs the household alone."
Jenny absorbed this quietly. "So... no other family?"
"None that matter," Lady Amia said curtly. "Now, your first task. The library needs dusting. Then the silver. I'll check on you before dinner."
---
Jenny entered the vast library, a room of floor-to-ceiling shelves and leather-bound books. She picked up a feather duster and began her work, moving slowly, carefully.
That's when she heard footsteps.
Two young women in identical gray uniforms entered, carrying cleaning supplies. They stopped when they saw Jenny.
"New girl?" one asked. She had warm brown eyes and a friendly smile.
Jenny nodded, suddenly nervous. "I'm Jenny."
"I'm Rosa," the woman said. "This is Marta."
Marta, a taller woman with sharp features but kind eyes, waved. "Don't look so scared. We're not monsters."
Jenny managed a small smile. "Sorry. It's my first day. I don't... I don't really have friends."
Rosa laughed softly. "Well, you've got us now. Come on, we'll show you the ropes."
---
As they worked together—dusting, polishing, scrubbing—Rosa and Marta talked. They explained the household hierarchy: Lady Amia at the top, then the senior maids, then the rest. They spoke of Bianca's rigid expectations, her sharp temper, but also her rare moments of quiet generosity.
"Her parents' death changed her," Marta said quietly, polishing a silver candlestick. "She wasn't always like this. Cold, I mean."
Rosa nodded. "She keeps everyone at a distance. Even us."
A sudden hush fell over them. Rosa glanced toward the library door and lowered her voice.
"Speaking of... that's her."
Jenny looked up.
Through the open doorway, she could see the grand staircase. And descending it, step by graceful step, was Bianca DeLuca. She wore a flowing silk robe, her dark hair loose around her shoulders. Even half-dressed and clearly just awake, she radiated authority.
Jenny's breath caught. She quickly bowed her head, focusing on the bookcase in front of her.
Rosa and Marta did the same.
The soft rustle of silk passed the doorway. Bianca's footsteps faded into the distance.
When the silence returned, Rosa let out a slow breath. "That," she whispered, "is the woman we work for. Never forget it."
The first few days at the DeLuca mansion were grueling. Jenny's hands grew raw from scrubbing, her back ached from bending over floors, and her feet throbbed by the end of each shift. But when she received her first week's wages—folded neatly into a small envelope—she held it like a treasure.
It was enough. Enough to feed Irene. Enough to keep a roof over their heads. Enough to finally, finally breathe.
One evening, after finishing her duties, Jenny found Lady Amia in the kitchen pantry, reviewing inventory.
"Lady Amia," Jenny began hesitantly, "may I request permission to leave for a few hours tomorrow morning? I need to collect my belongings from the motel and bring my sister here. She's been staying alone, and I promised her we wouldn't be separated."
Lady Amia studied her for a long moment. "Your sister?"
"Yes, ma'am. She's young. I can't leave her there any longer."
A flicker of something—sympathy, perhaps—crossed the head maid's stern face. "Very well. But you return by noon. Miss DeLuca expects the east wing polished before dinner."
"Thank you, Lady Amia. I will."
---
The next morning, Jenny rose before dawn. She dressed quickly, left a note for Lady Amia, and slipped out the servants' entrance. The city was still waking as she caught a bus, then another, finally arriving at the familiar, crumbling motel.
Irene was waiting by the window. When she saw Jenny, she ran to the door and threw her arms around her sister.
"Jenny! I was so worried!"
"I'm sorry, sweetheart. But I have good news." Jenny knelt down, brushing a strand of hair from Irene's face. "We're leaving. Together. I found us a place to stay—at the mansion where I work. It's not much, but it's safe. And we'll be together."
Irene's eyes filled with tears—but this time, they were happy ones. "Really? We don't have to stay here anymore?"
"Never again," Jenny promised.
They packed quickly—the few clothes, the worn teddy bear Irene couldn't sleep without, the precious coins that remained. Jenny carried one bag, Irene another. They checked out with the indifferent receptionist and stepped into the morning light.
---
The journey back was long. Buses rumbled through crowded streets. Irene leaned against Jenny's shoulder, dozing, exhausted from the early hour and the weight of hope.
Finally, they reached the gates of the DeLuca mansion.
Jenny stopped.
She took a deep breath, lifted her hand to press the intercom—
"Hold there."
A guard emerged from the small gatehouse, his eyes sharp. He recognized Jenny, but his gaze flicked to Irene with suspicion.
"Who's the child?"
Jenny straightened her shoulders. "My sister. She'll be staying with me. I have permission from Lady Amia."
The guard studied her for a moment longer, then nodded slowly. "Right. Lady Amia mentioned it. Go on, then. But keep her out of sight during the day. Miss DeLuca doesn't like surprises."
Jenny nodded, her heart pounding. "Thank you."
She took Irene's hand, and together they walked through the gates.
The gardens spread before them, beautiful and foreign. Irene's eyes widened.
"Jenny... this is like a palace."
"It's where we stay now," Jenny said softly. "For as long as we need to."
They walked the winding path to the servants' entrance, past the main building where Bianca DeLuca slept in silk sheets, past the guards who watched them without really seeing.
Jenny led Irene to her small room—the narrow bed, the wooden wardrobe, the tiny window.
"It's not big," Jenny said, setting down their bags. "But it's safe".
Irene looked around, then climbed onto the bed and hugged a pillow. "It's perfect," she whispered.
Jenny sat beside her, wrapping an arm around her sister's shoulders. For the first time in weeks, the knot in her chest loosened just a little.
They were together. They were safe.
And for now, that was enough.