Chapter 3
A shudder trembled down my spine, tempting me to sprint down the hallway—until I truly considered him. The vacant look in his eyes as he rubbed at his chest screamed something more akin to broken soul, but I wasn’t exactly an expert on emotions. If you needed a consultation on how to restore wallpaper, I was your girl, but if you wanted to have a deep meaningful conversation about your feelings? I would never be your first call.
I recognized the urge to push the world away. Not let anyone new in. You’re never in one place long enough. You don’t know how to set down roots. You’re not a commitment kind of girl. The world can hurt you in a million distinct personal ways, and it had hurt Oliver in one of the worst possible.
I leaned against the door as he stared back, stone-faced, the uneven wood poking my spine as I ignored the impulse to reach out, comfort him.
Guilt and pain were coming off him in waves, but none of it screamed killer to me. He felt responsible for whatever had happened, but I had zero belief he had anything to do with it. Or my sense of self-preservation was off.
Instead, I shrugged, refusing to give him what he wanted.
“You’re going to stay in this house with a murderer?” Oliver took a step forward, shaking his head.
“You said it’s what people say about you, not that it’s true.” We were playing semantics now, but I refused to be scared off. This didn’t change how badly my family needed this project; I would not meekly walk out the door with my tail between my legs. But the eerie hallway, lack of light, the whole crumbly, potentially haunted estate was really working for him.
He didn’t appreciate my humor, his shoulders bunching. “Says something about you.”
I have a dream and refuse to let you bulldoze over it?
“Well, I don’t think murderers warn other people that they’re, you know, a murderer. They just kill them.” My extensive listening to true crime podcasts had prepared me well. “The murderer doesn’t tell you his plan unless it’s a Netflix show. Or he’s dumb.” Oliver didn’t appear stupid to me. Controlling, definitely, but there was intelligence behind his gray eyes.
He grunted, leaning against the opposite wall. “Know a lot of murderers?”
“I’ve worked on quite a few different houses. I’m sure some of those were sites of a murder. Probably haunted too.” Sebastian, my best friend, would say, statistically, there was always a chance.
But with him standing here, his broken heart beating from his eyes, I couldn’t believe him. It wasn’t my place to change his mind about himself. I wasn’t here to save him, but his home. “All I care about is the estate.”
It was tempting to offer him human solace. The picture of why he was here in this crumbling place was a little less fuzzy, leaving a funny feeling in my stomach. What he had gone through, though, I wasn’t naive enough to believe the answers were as black and white as he was presenting them.
But I had a job to do and zero interest in further entanglements with whatever this was. “Listen, I’ll stay out of your way.”
“Good.” His eyes narrowed as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his joggers. With that warm welcome, he turned and disappeared into the estate.
“With all the construction, it’s probably best you visit your family’s other properties anyway,” I called out, but he didn’t even acknowledge me.
My stomach sank, his final expression haunting me. I was still tempted to enter the west wing, but I had plenty to consider without tackling that portion of the mansion yet. And even more questions that I needed answered.
Rather than continuing to explore, I almost sprinted back to the room I had been assigned.
Sebastian picked up after the first ring. We had been best friends since freshman year, ending up on the same floor and hating our roommates. The moment we could, we moved off campus, and the rest was history. We couldn’t be more different. He was tall, worked out constantly, enjoyed eating eggs raw for the protein, and was madly, undeniably in love with his boyfriend, Finn.
“I’m at the site—” I halted, unsure how to explain my experience so far.
“Good. I was worried about you after the weather last night. Don’t worry, we already called your dad to check on him.”
Of course he had. My shoulders lowered incrementally. “Thanks, I appreciate it. How is he?”
Sebastian chuckled darkly. “Rushing me off the phone to get ready for someone named Betty to come over. He asked me if I had access to any Viagra.”
I shoved my face into my pillow and groaned. Some things a daughter did not need to know. “Betty is his nurse.”
“Ah.” Sebastian coughed, doing a poor job covering up his laugh.
“I knew Maurice had it in him,” Finn called out.
Finn was short, fat, and perpetually happy. And nothing made him happier than sexually dominating Sebastian. I tuned out the details, but they were the happiest, most functional couple I knew, and never complained about my third-wheeling ass following them around.
“You think he could get her to write me a script for—”
I cleared my throat to stop Sebastian from completing his thought.
“Not the time, not the time, understood. But the house—how is it? This is the big one, right?”
“That’s actually what I was calling you about.” I released a shaky breath. “The mansion has a resident, and I was hoping you could tell me more about him. Oliver Killington?”
There was some mumbling in the background. But no one yelled, “Get out, he’s a murderer!” so probably a good sign.
“Oh, you may be right there, dumplin’,” Finn cooed.
“Don’t ruin my persona in front of Bells,” Sebastian warned, without any bite.
“She knows all about how I like to ruin you, sweet cheeks.”
“If you guys need some alone time, I can hang up.” I was all for sexual freedom, but that didn’t mean I wanted to imagine the people I loved doing whatever with their sweet cheeks.
“No, we’re fine.” Sebastian sounded pained, reminding me why phone calls and not video chats were safest with these two. “Finn was advising me of something.”
I purposefully held off mentioning the whole “I killed my family” thing. Sebastian was overprotective, and he’d be in his car, on his way here, before I’d even get the sentence out.
“We were thinking maybe he’s the missing Killington grandchild?” he offered.
That made me sit up on the bed. “He’s not missing—he’s right here.” What exactly had I wandered into here, some sort of movie of the week?
“Oh, I forgot you don’t watch the news.” Judgment deepened his tone.
“I avoid it at all costs, yes.” There was nothing wrong with steering clear of the constant depression and doomsday on cable news. It was possible to be informed without watching whatever they tried to sensationalize next.
“Well, my ignorant friend, about a decade ago, it was all over the news. The heir to the Killington Empire was in an accident with his wife and eldest child. The parents died, the son was injured too—if I recall correctly, he had a massive football scholarship, a lot of bets on who would draft him. They called him … Do you remember, Finn?”
“Beast, I think.” The higher pitch of Finn’s voice made me miss them even more. He could deliver the worst news and you would smile by the end, thanking him. “He was an animal on the field. Unstoppable.”
“Yes, that was it. Beast,” Sebastian murmured. “But the accident ended his football career. After he left the hospital, everyone thought he would take over his father’s place in the company, but he was never heard from or seen again. There were a lot of rumors.”
I placed them on speaker so I could do some sleuthing of my own. “What rumors?” This information was not at all ominous.
“Well, some people believed Oliver planned the whole thing so he would inherit the company.” The skepticism was obvious in Sebastian’s voice.
I snorted at the ridiculousness of that. “Probably not smart for him to be in the car, then.” It seemed especially cruel for people to say he planned to kill his own parents.
“Exactly. The other rumor was about some sort of curse. His family, his football career, the dip in the company stock after that happened—it took a while to rebound. You know how people are when tragedy happens, and no one steps forward to overshare about their experiences. They fill in their own details and make it as gratuitous as possible. Thus …”
“A curse,” I finished.
“He’s technically the heir now, with his dad having died, but his grandfather won’t confirm who is next in the line of succession. Articles are written about it every couple of years. How unwise it is, shaking stockholder confidence—that sort of thing. Guesses on who will take over. His sisters both work for the company, but no one believes it’ll be them. One of the last few family conglomerates out there—it’s a market event naming the successor.”
My head hurt with all this information, struggling to figure out what this meant for the restoration. “You know way too much about this.”
“Actually, this makes sense. There have been rumors they’ve been seeking to diversify with the latest stock drop, looking to get into newer technology. I was reading this article yesterday about—”
“Sebastian!”
“Sorry, but information is power.” Sebastian was a market analyst, practically a walking stock ticker. Despite our many, many differences, our friendship fit, like him and Finn.
“Back to the issue at hand. You think the heir to a multibillion-dollar conglomerate is living in a crumbling estate like some sort of gothic horror show?” It was impossible to hide my disbelief, even as my internet search confirmed Sebastian’s story. Oliver was who he said he was, and more.
“Or he could be the prince in the tower, waiting for someone to save him,” Finn said. I could picture him clutching his fists to his chest and fluttering his eyelashes. The day that I finally fell in love was something he had been dreaming about, believing it was only a matter of time, eager for all the double dates we would go on.
“Well, the prince told me to get the fuck out, so I don’t think he’s searching for a savior.”
“He has to want to get saved first.” Finn huffed as if it was obvious, and I was being purposefully difficult. While he was a hopeless romantic down to his bones, I didn’t have the same optimism for my love life.
“Okay, let’s step away from fairy-tale land and return to reality, please. The one where I am trapped in a crumbling home and”—I took the phone off speaker, leaning it on my shoulder, not that it would prevent me from being overheard—“there’s some sort of advanced AI system that controls the house.”
I was met with silence.
“You realize,” Sebastian whispered back, “that makes no sense. You said the place is falling apart. Who puts advanced technology in a shack like that?”
“I know,” I hissed, glancing around the still-darkened room. “None of this makes sense. Maybe I was kidnapped.”
“Oh my gosh,” Finn screamed. “Have the aliens taken you? What’s the code word?”
“The code word?” Sebastian and I asked at the same time.
“Yes,” huffed Finn, “to prove that it’s you and not the alien that has invaded your body.”
“Wouldn’t we need to have established a code word for this to be effective?” I scrubbed my hair, getting my fingers stuck in the tangle of the thick strands.
“Ms. Price?” Bl8z3’s sudden question caused every cell in my body to jump. “Breakfast is being served in the kitchen this morning.
“Um, thanks?” Paranoia gripped me. Had it overheard the conversation? “Guys, I have to go.”
It took a few minutes longer for me to assure them I would keep them updated and, if I learned any market information, that I would not commit it to writing.
I dramatically collapsed onto the bed, relishing the brief silence. A crumbling house with an AI system. A grumpy, trust-funder with control issues. A multimillion-dollar estate allowed to go into ruin.
I took a single fortifying breath.
Then I got to work.
My newfound information did not deter me from the mission ahead. I needed to finish walking through the mansion, sketch out my plans, and ultimately get them approved. Oliver’s presence changed nothing.
Bl8z3 led me on a guided tour, providing tidbits about the history of the estate, when the furniture was bought, the last time the marble counters had been sealed. I did my best to pay attention. My gaze wandered to the few recent family photos, and by recent, I mean the few that were in color, the outfits dated.
In the fresh light of day, without the protective cover of darkness, the decay of the house stood in stark contrast to the pictures Dad had provided. The house had needed updating then, but now there was no choice if it was to remain standing. Most of the furniture was original to the mansion, with a few modern pieces scattered throughout, mostly designed for aesthetics over comfort. The estate had the feel of walking through a museum rather than a family home.
Which made Bl8z3’s existence even stranger. Someone had taken the time to wire an AI throughout the mansion, but no other repairs had been done. As I trailed through the house, making my way to the kitchen, everything seemed to be paused: cloths covered some furniture; ladders with layers of dusts stood under portraits; and peeling wallpaper. That may have been deliberate, to begin removal. As if they’d had every intent of going forward with the renovation we’d been hired for years ago. Every room left me with more questions.
But the potential was there: how with only a few changes and lifts—staining the floors, fixing the crown molding, a fresh coat of paint—life could be breathed back into this place. Despite all the cobwebs and the smell—gosh, the smell—this was a place of beauty, each piece chosen with care. The artwork, the faded paint on the walls, the matching threads in the rugs and drapes. Despite the breadth of the project, I had no doubt that I could take this on.
With all my careful consideration, looking at cracks, water damage, and structural issues, I didn’t see a single speaker in sight. “Bl8z3, how did you come to be here?” I couldn’t hold back the question any longer.
“Well, that is a funny story—”
The door in front of me swung open, and I leaped out of the way. I wasn’t normally this jumpy, but this house was doing something to me. It was challenging to predict what was waiting around every corner.
“Good, you found it, Ms. Price.”
I struggled not to groan as I recognized the British accent from last night, coming from the man standing before me. Stout, with a mustache and combed-over hair, his suit pressed to perfection. Still displeased with my existence here.
“Bellamy, please.” I forced out a laugh before thrusting my hand forward.
The stranger stood rigidly, eyeing my palm as if checking for dirt, which really, what with our surroundings—but eventually his hand met mine in a strong yet brief shake. He stepped aside with a flourish, holding open the swinging door, revealing the kitchen. “I am Ambrose, the butler.”
Of course this crumbling mess had a butler. Made complete sense.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you—”
Any pretense of being polite fled me as my gaze snagged on the spot in between the marble counters. It was impossible to contain my gasp as I sprinted toward the stove, a Boston Beauty gas oven. It had to be original to the house, something I’d so rarely seen, even in my line of work. Unable to help myself, I glided my fingers along the smooth, aged brass handles. It was entirely impractical in a house this size, but I would do everything in my power to ensure it stayed in some capacity.
“I see you’ve met my pride and joy,” someone spoke behind me.
It took me another moment to pry myself away because I was, well, stroking the oven’s smooth lines. Dad was going to be so disappointed to have missed this.
“Rue, pronouns they/them, I’m the chef here.” Faded red hair was buzzed on one side of their head, with hair flopping over the side. They were medium height, medium build, glasses with bright red frames, dressed in a polo shirt and jeans.
After another handshake, I was pointed toward a peeling vinyl breakfast nook where a sullen teenager was seated. Based on the red hair alone, she was related to the bubbly chef.
“Nick, be polite and say hello to our new guest,” Rue instructed.
“Hey.” Nick barely glanced in my direction before returning to her notebook, scribbling what appeared to be a complicated mathematics equation. The kitchen was one of the few rooms not covered in dust, an almost overwhelming lemon cleaning scent making my nostrils tingle. The space would still require work, the hum from the refrigerator promising it was on its last legs of life, but it wasn’t in as desperate need for attention as the majority of the mansion. I needed these people on my side—that was my only motivation for holding back my questions about how this place had fallen into such ruin with what appeared to be at least semi-competent staff.
“Nick’s also mine. I’m sure she’ll be happy to give you a tour of the stables later. That’s her realm—we all mostly steer clear. Ambrose shared that you were hired to work on the house, and I can’t tell you how excited we all are.” Rue clapped their hands while Ambrose slammed the fridge door. He was firmly on Team Banish the New Girl.
“Ms. Price, what can I get you? We were just about to have breakfast.” Rue turned toward that beautiful stove, moving with ease around the space, while Ambrose worked in sync with them to pull eggs out of the fridge and begin preparing coffee, as if this was a dance they performed every single day. “Any food allergies or special requests?”
“No food allergies.” The vinyl creaked as I leaned back, all the stuffing flattened, my behind planted directly on the wood. “Please, call me Bellamy, she/her. I’m happy to make my own meals. I want to be as small a nuisance as possible.”
“Nonsense. It will be a joy to feed someone new. How does an omelet and coffee sound? A serving of fruit?”
“Perfect.” My stomach grumbled at the idea of breakfast.
“Did you find the room satisfactory?”
At Bl8z3’s voice, I jerked, almost slipping off the bench. “F—”
“He doesn’t enjoy being left out.” Nick’s gaze didn’t leave her paper as she spoke. Ambrose set the coffee service down in the middle of the table, eyes narrowing in my direction when I shifted to help him.
“I’ve moved your vehicle into the garage, ma’am. A car like that shouldn’t be left out to the elements. It’s in pristine condition,” Ambrose lectured. While he didn’t seem fond of me, it was clear he would get along well with my father. “The keys were in your jacket. I took the liberty.”
I was sure Dad would be appreciative—that was, if he wasn’t going to the hospital for exhaustion because of his Viagra use. That conversation with Sebastian would haunt me.
“Uh, thank you. But I wanted to inquire about the—”
Nick coughed, and I paused. I hadn’t even gotten to ask my question yet. A smirk lifted the corners of her mouth, and I swiped at my face, wondering if there was something on it. I followed her eye line to the doorway—the hulking shape of the biggest pain in my ass I’d ever met was filling the space.
Wonderful. I couldn’t get a moment of peace.