Chapter 1 - The Night The Rules Were Broken
A maid dropped a blood-stained first-aid kit outside a locked study door, whispering: "Please... don't let him find out who I am." When Damian Romano entered the room, he discovered a torn envelope hidden inside the kit. But three words were written on the back: "Frankie Sullivan. Friday." Damian immediately realized the maid was not just hiding fear.
Hazel Brooks had learned one thing during her three months working inside the Romano estate.
Rules were not suggestions.
They were survival.
The first rule was simple.
Never enter Damian Romano’s private rooms unless you were ordered to.
The second rule was even more important.
Never speak to him unless he spoke first.
The third rule was the one every employee remembered.
Never touch him.
Nobody knew exactly why.
Some people said Damian hated weakness.
Others said he had lost someone important and closed himself away afterward.
Hazel never asked.
Questions were dangerous in places like this.
Especially when the person you were asking about was a man whose name made people lower their voices.
Damian Romano was not someone employees discussed openly.
He was a powerful businessman with influence across Illinois, a man who owned companies, properties, and investments that seemed endless.
But inside his estate, he was simply known as one thing.
Untouchable.
Hazel had seen proof of that.
Every morning, staff members placed his coffee on the edge of his desk and stepped away before he entered.
Security guards delivered messages without making unnecessary conversation.
Even longtime employees avoided standing too close.
Damian had built a world where nobody could reach him.
And Hazel understood why.
Because sometimes people built walls because they were hiding something.
And sometimes they built walls because they were protecting something.
Hazel had her own reasons for keeping quiet.
Six months earlier, she had believed her life was finally becoming stable.
She had a small apartment.
A steady relationship.
A simple plan for the future.
Then everything disappeared.
Her boyfriend, Ethan, vanished overnight.
No goodbye.
No explanation.
No message.
Only unpaid bills left behind.
And one terrible discovery.
A debt.
Not hers.
But somehow attached to her name.
Sixty thousand dollars owed to a man named Frankie Sullivan.
Hazel had never met Frankie.
She only knew his reputation.
And she knew Friday was the deadline.
That was why she worked two jobs.
A diner during the day.
The Romano estate at night.
She slept whenever she could.
Sometimes thirty minutes.
Sometimes less.
But she kept moving.
Because stopping meant thinking.
And thinking meant remembering how quickly her life had fallen apart.
That Tuesday night, she had been cleaning Damian’s private study because the regular staff member called in sick.
She almost refused.
The study was one of the places employees avoided most.
But the extra money mattered.
So she entered quietly after midnight.
The room was exactly how she expected.
Dark wood shelves.
Expensive furniture.
A massive desk covered with documents.
A large window overlooking the city.
A place that looked less like an office and more like a fortress.
Hazel placed her cleaning supplies near the door.
She worked carefully.
Quietly.
She had learned that silence was the safest thing she could offer.
But exhaustion had a way of defeating fear.
After three hours of cleaning, her hands started shaking.
Her eyes burned.
Her body felt heavier with every movement.
She looked at the leather sofa.
Only for a moment.
That was what she told herself.
Five seconds.
She would sit down for five seconds.
Then continue.
Hazel lowered herself onto the sofa.
The leather was softer than anything she had touched in months.
Before she realized it, her eyes closed.
Just briefly.
Just long enough to forget everything.
Then the doors slammed open.
Hazel immediately woke up.
Her heart stopped.
A man stood in the doorway.
Tall.
Powerful.
Completely unexpected.
Damian Romano.
But this was not the controlled businessman she had seen from a distance.
His normally perfect appearance was gone.
His black shirt was soaked from the rain.
One hand pressed tightly against his side.
Dark stains covered the fabric.
Blood.
Hazel stood frozen.
For a second, neither of them spoke.
Damian looked at her.
Then at the cleaning supplies.
Then back at her.
His expression hardened.
"What are you doing here?"
Hazel immediately stepped back.
"I was cleaning. The evening staff member couldn't come in."
His eyes narrowed.
"You were told not to enter this room."
"I know."
"Then why are you here?"
Hazel opened her mouth.
But before she could answer, a sound came from outside.
A knock.
Three sharp knocks.
Damian instantly changed.
The pain disappeared from his face.
The businessman returned.
"Boss."
A man's voice came from the other side of the door.
"Security detected movement near the east perimeter."
Damian didn't move.
"Who?"
A pause.
Then:
"Sullivan's people."
Hazel felt the blood leave her face.
Sullivan.
The name hit her harder than the sound of the door.
Damian noticed.
His eyes moved toward her.
"You know that name."
Hazel quickly looked away.
"No."
It was too fast.
Too nervous.
Damian saw it.
Before he could question her, the estate changed.
A low mechanical sound echoed through the walls.
The windows began closing.
Heavy steel shutters descended over the glass.
Hazel stared.
"What is happening?"
Damian walked toward the security panel.
"The house is on lockdown."
"For how long?"
"Until security confirms the threat is gone."
Hazel looked at the locked doors.
Then at him.
"How long?"
"Six hours."
Her breathing stopped.
Six hours.
Alone.
Inside a locked room.
With Damian Romano.
The man everyone warned her not to approach.
Damian moved toward his desk.
His steps became slower.
The injury was getting worse.
He reached for the drawer but stopped.
His hand trembled slightly.
Hazel noticed.
"You need help."
"I don't need anything."
"You are bleeding."
His eyes turned cold.
"I said I don't need anything."
Normally, Hazel would have stepped away.
Anyone else would have.
But she had spent months taking care of people who never noticed she was struggling too.
And something about seeing him like this made her forget the fear.
"You are going to fall if you keep standing."
The room became silent.
Nobody talked to Damian like that.
Nobody.
Hazel realized what she had done.
She immediately lowered her voice.
"I'm sorry."
Damian stared at her.
Not angry.
Confused.
Then, after several seconds, he slowly walked toward the desk.
"There is a first-aid kit in the bottom drawer."
Hazel looked at him.
"Bring it."
The command was quiet.
But it was still a command.
She moved quickly.
She found the kit.
But when she lifted it, something inside caught her attention.
A small torn envelope.
Hidden beneath the medical supplies.
She almost ignored it.
Almost.
Then she saw the name written across the front.
Hazel.
Her fingers froze.
Damian noticed.
"What did you find?"
She turned around.
The envelope was still in her hand.
"I..."
Damian stepped closer.
The distance between them disappeared.
For the first time, Hazel saw something behind his cold expression.
Not anger.
Recognition.
Because he knew that envelope.
And he knew exactly who had sent it.
"Where did you get that?"
Hazel swallowed.
"I don't know."
Damian took the envelope slowly.
Then he turned it over.
Three words were written on the back.
Frankie Sullivan. Friday.
His face changed.
Not much.
But enough.
Enough for Hazel to know she had just revealed something she was never supposed to reveal.
Damian looked at her.
"Why does Frankie Sullivan have your name?"
Hazel said nothing.
Because there was no safe answer.
The security lights suddenly flickered.
Then every light in the room turned red.
A new message appeared on Damian's security screen.
UNKNOWN PERSON INSIDE THE ESTATE.
Damian looked at the screen.
Then at Hazel.
May you like
Someone had entered the house.
And they were already on the third floor.
