Chapter 1 - The Secret Hidden Beneath the Rain
The first rule of working inside Roman Moretti’s estate was simple.
You stayed invisible.
You did your job.
You kept your head down.
And you never, ever became interesting to the man who owned everything behind those iron gates.
For eight months, I had followed that rule perfectly.
I knew which flowers Roman Moretti preferred in the dining room. I knew exactly how he liked his library arranged, even though he rarely admitted anyone touched his books. I knew the old marble staircase creaked on the third step from the top, and I knew the kitchen staff lowered their voices whenever his name came up.
Everyone inside the estate knew Roman Moretti.
The world outside knew him differently.
They called him a businessman.
A powerful investor.
A man who could make problems disappear with a single phone call.
But the people who worked for him understood the truth.
Roman Moretti was the kind of man who entered a room and changed the temperature.
He did not need to raise his voice.
He did not need to threaten anyone.
His silence was usually enough.
That was why I never expected him to notice me.
I was just Norah Bell.
The maid who cleaned rooms nobody used.
The woman who replaced flowers nobody looked at.
The person who walked through the halls of his mansion carrying trays while the most powerful people in the city discussed money, politics, and secrets behind closed doors.
To men like Roman Moretti, women like me were supposed to disappear into the background.
And that was exactly where I wanted to stay.
Until the night I had no choice but to break the rules.
The storm arrived after midnight.
Not the gentle kind of rain that made people feel comfortable.
This was the kind of storm that shook windows and swallowed every other sound.
The old trees surrounding the estate bent under the wind. Lightning flashed across the dark sky, briefly illuminating the massive stone walls and the abandoned greenhouse behind the main house.
The greenhouse had been beautiful once.
Roman’s mother had filled it with rare plants and flowers before her death.
Now it was mostly forgotten.
The cameras near that area had stopped working five days earlier after a fallen branch damaged the system.
Everyone knew the maintenance crew had been scheduled to repair them.
Everyone except whoever was watching.
I stood in my small room above the garage, staring at the prepaid phone sitting on my nightstand.
It was cheap.
Old.
The kind of phone nobody would notice.
That was why I used it.
My hands shook slightly as I looked at the latest message.
Ben: They found out where I work.
My heart dropped.
I immediately called him.
He answered after one ring.
“Norah?”
His voice sounded exhausted.
Afraid.
I closed my bedroom door and lowered my voice.
“Ben, where are you?”
“I’m still near St. Jude’s.”
“You need to leave.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
A long silence followed.
That silence scared me more than anything he could have said.
“Because they’re watching the streets.”
I pressed my fingers against my forehead.
For three months, I had tried to fix my brother’s mistake.
Five thousand dollars.
That was all it took to destroy everything.
Five thousand dollars from a private poker game he never should have entered.
Five thousand dollars borrowed from men who did not believe in forgiveness.
Ben had promised me he could handle it.
He had promised me he would pay it back.
But promises did not stop dangerous people.
And they did not erase debt.
“I told you not to borrow money from strangers,” I whispered.
“I know.”
“You told me it was already handled.”
“I thought it was.”
“You thought?”
My voice cracked.
Ben went quiet.
I hated being angry with him.
He was my little brother.
After our parents died, he was the only family I had left.
But love did not make problems disappear.
Sometimes love just meant carrying a heavier weight.
“Norah,” he said quietly. “I need your help.”
I closed my eyes.
I already knew what he was going to ask.
“No.”
“Please.”
“No, Ben.”
“I don’t have anyone else.”
My throat tightened.
That was the problem.
He didn’t have anyone else.
And I did.
I had Roman Moretti’s estate.
A steady paycheck.
A room.
A life I had built carefully.
A life I could lose if anyone discovered I was involved in something dangerous.
“I’ll figure something out,” I whispered.
“You already said that.”
“I mean it.”
“You can’t keep doing this.”
I looked at the small jewelry box on my shelf.
Inside was the last thing I had from my mother.
A silver bracelet.
The only valuable thing I owned.
I had already considered selling it.
Maybe I would have to.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” I said.
“Norah—”
“Tomorrow.”
I ended the call.
For a few seconds, I just stood there.
Listening to the storm.
Then I made my decision.
I would get the money.
Somehow.
Even if it meant selling the last piece of my old life.
I grabbed my coat, slipped on my boots, and left through the back entrance.
I knew the estate better than most employees.
I knew which hallways were empty.
Which doors were rarely used.
Which paths avoided the security cameras.
Especially the broken ones.
The greenhouse path was the fastest way to reach the outer gate without being noticed.
Rain hit me immediately.
Within seconds, my coat was soaked.
The cold air cut through my sweater.
But I kept walking.
I had almost reached the service entrance when a voice stopped me.
“Leaving somewhere?”
I froze.
My blood turned cold.
I knew that voice.
Slowly, I turned around.
Roman Moretti stood beneath the dim light near the doorway.
For a moment, he looked unreal.
His charcoal coat was darkened by rain. His black hair was wet and pushed away from his face. A small cut marked his cheek, and his expression was unreadable.
But his eyes were not.
They were focused entirely on me.
On the phone in my hand.
On the fact that I was outside after midnight.
“Mr. Moretti.”
My voice sounded smaller than I wanted.
He stepped closer.
“You know the rules.”
“Yes.”
“Then explain why you are outside.”
“I needed air.”
His expression did not change.
Nobody lied to Roman Moretti successfully.
“I see.”
The way he said it told me he did not believe me.
Rain fell between us.
The estate behind him glowed warmly, but the courtyard felt completely isolated.
“You used the greenhouse path,” he said.
My stomach tightened.
“How do you know?”
His eyes moved toward the broken camera above us.
“I know every blind spot on my property.”
The words should have been ordinary.
But something about them felt like a warning.
He looked back at my phone.
“Who were you talking to?”
“No one.”
“Norah.”
The way he said my name made me stop.
Not because it was threatening.
Because it sounded almost personal.
I looked away.
“It’s private.”
Roman walked closer.
“You leave your room in the middle of a storm. You avoid cameras. You whisper on a hidden phone.”
He tilted his head slightly.
“Do you expect me to believe that is nothing?”
I held the phone tighter.
“It is nothing that concerns you.”
For the first time, something changed in his expression.
Surprise.
Maybe because nobody spoke to him like that.
Not employees.
Not business partners.
Not anyone.
The rain became heavier.
Roman stepped forward.
“Who is he?”
I looked at him.
“What?”
“The person on the phone.”
His voice was calm.
Too calm.
But underneath it was something else.
Suspicion.
Possessiveness.
Something I could not understand.
“He is nobody.”
Roman’s jaw tightened.
“That answer usually means the opposite.”
I took a step back.
“I said it’s private.”
“And I said nothing dangerous happens inside my home without me knowing.”
“This is not your home.”
The moment the words left my mouth, I regretted them.
Because Roman Moretti was the kind of man who could destroy people with a sentence.
But instead of anger, he simply stared at me.
Then he said quietly:
“You really believe that?”
I did not answer.
Because the truth was complicated.
This was his estate.
His rules.
His world.
And I was only a woman trying to survive inside it.
Roman looked at the phone again.
Then back at me.
“Give it to me.”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
His eyes narrowed.
“Norah.”
“No.”
A strange silence followed.
The storm continued around us.
And for the first time since I started working there, I realized something terrifying.
Roman Moretti was not just suspicious.
He was worried.
Not about his property.
Not about his rules.
About me.
And that realization was far more dangerous than anger.
Because the moment Roman Moretti started caring about something...
May you like
Everyone around him became a target.
Including me.
