Chapter 4 - Shadows in the East Wing
My first morning in the Costa mansion began at 6:30 AM.
I dressed in a simple navy wool dress, tied my hair back into a low knot, and walked down to the kitchen.
The kitchen was massive, equipped with commercial-grade steel appliances, but cold. An official chef was busy preparing a standardized tray of poached eggs, dry toast, and black coffee—a menu that looked more suited for a hospital ward than a family home.
"Are the children eating down here?" I asked the chef, a stern man named Chef Robert.
"No, Miss Norah," Robert replied without looking up. "Master Leo eats in his room. Miss Sophia eats in the library. The younger ones eat with Mrs. Gable in the breakfast nook."
"They don't eat together?"
"Not since Mrs. Costa passed," Robert said plainly. "Mr. Costa prefers the house quiet before he leaves for the docks at eight."
I stood in the center of the kitchen, taking a slow breath. This wasn't a family; it was a group of survivors occupying the same building, avoiding each other to prevent their shared trauma from overflowing.
"Stop preparing the trays," I said.
Chef Robert stopped his knife mid-stroke, turning his head slowly. "Pardon?"
"Set the main dining room table for six," I commanded quietly. "We are all having breakfast together."
"Mr. Costa doesn't—"
"Mr. Costa agreed that I manage the household," I interrupted, my tone leaving zero room for debate. "Make scrambled eggs, fresh waffles, fruit, and hot chocolate. Now, please."
Ten minutes later, I walked upstairs to the children's wing.
I knocked on Sophia’s door first.
A muffled voice answered. "Go away, Mrs. Gable."
I opened the door gently. Sophia was sitting on her window bench, surrounded by sketchbooks, wearing an oversized grey sweater. She looked up, her dark eyes widening in shock as she saw me instead of the housekeeper.
"Breakfast is in five minutes in the dining room, Sophia," I said calmly.
"I eat in here," she said defensively, her hands tightening around her sketchbook.
"Not today," I replied with a faint smile. "I made sure there's fresh strawberry waffle batter downstairs. It would be a shame to eat it alone."
I closed her door before she could argue, then moved to Julian and Mia’s room.
Mia, six years old, was sitting on the floor trying to tie her shoes, her dark curls falling over her face, tears of frustration brimming in her big brown eyes. Julian, nine, was sitting on his bed, glaring at the floor.
I walked in, knelt beside Mia, and gently took the laces from her small fingers.
"Cross them over, under the bridge, and pull tight," I murmured softly, demonstrating the knot. "See?"
Mia stared at me, her tiny mouth slightly open. "Who are you?"
"I'm Norah," I said softly, wiping a stray tear from her cheek with my thumb. "I live here now. Are you hungry?"
"I want hot chocolate," Mia whispered.
"It's already on the table," I promised, offering her my hand.
When we reached the grand dining room, Arthur was already sitting at the head of the table, looking bewildered as Mrs. Gable set out platters of warm waffles, fresh fruit, and steaming pitchers of juice instead of his usual dry toast.
Sophia entered quietly, taking a seat at the far end. Julian and Mia sat near Arthur, Mia clutching her mug of hot chocolate with both hands.
Only one chair remained empty.
Leo’s.
Arthur looked at the empty seat, his jaw tightening. "Mrs. Gable, go get—"
"No," I said softly, sitting down across from the children. "Let him come when he's ready. You can't force a boy to eat waffles, Arthur."
Arthur looked at me across the spread of food, something flickering in his dark eyes—a mix of surprise and a subtle, unreadable respect.
For twenty minutes, the dining room was filled with the soft sound of silverware, the clinking of glasses, and Mia’s quiet laughter as she accidentally got whipped cream on her nose.
It wasn't a complete transformation. Sophia didn't speak a word, and Arthur spent half the meal checking his encrypted phone. But for the first time in three years, the house sounded alive.
Then, just as Arthur stood up to leave for his office, the heavy front doors downstairs chimed loudly.
May you like
Thomas walked into the dining room, his face tense.
"Mr. Costa," Thomas said in a low voice. "Salvatore Romano is at the gate. He says he wants to congratulate you on your new purchase."
