Chapter 2
Selena (Past)
The first thing I noticed about the Montgomery estate was how quiet it was.
It wasn’t the uneasy quiet that came after my father finally passed out on the couch back in Portland. This quiet felt different. Thick and calm. Like the big house swallowed every sound before it could reach the high ceilings.
My mother parked our second-hand Honda beside the staff entrance.
Her hands stayed locked on the steering wheel long after the engine died.
We had driven all the way from Portland in the middle of the night, just the two of us and a few garbage bags stuffed with our clothes.
One bag had torn open somewhere along the highway, and I kept shoving the spilled sweater sleeve back inside to contain the mess.
Neither of us moved for a long moment. Rain tapped softly against the windshield.
The mansion sat up on the cliffs overlooking Blackwater Harbor, all grey stone and tall dark windows wrapped in fog. Warm yellow light glowed from inside some of the rooms.
“Mom,” I whispered, “this is really where we’re going to live?”
She finally let go of the wheel. “Don’t stare too much when we go in.”
But she was staring too. Her eyes were still swollen from all the crying she had done during the drive. She had not slept much in weeks.
I thought about our old apartment. The yelling that came through the thin walls at night.
The way my father’s voice turned mean after the whiskey bottles started piling up.
How we both flinched every time the door slammed.
The relief of leaving all of that behind sat strangely heavy in my chest now.
My mother turned to me. Her voice dropped low, the way it did when she was scared but trying not to show it. “Listen to me carefully, Selena. Be polite. Don’t touch anything that isn’t ours. Don’t wander around the main house. And if Mr. or Mrs. Montgomery speak to you—”
“I know,” I said quickly. “No attitude. I’ll be good, I promise.”
Something tight twisted in my stomach. I looked back at the mansion. Even through the rain, I could picture people inside eating dinner on real plates, not just paper ones. Talking without shouting. No smell of whiskey soaked into the walls.
My mother opened her door. Cold sea air rushed in, carrying salt and pine. By the time we reached the staff entrance, my sneakers were soaked through.
A woman in a navy dress opened the door before my mother could knock.
“You must be Mira,” she said with a kind smile.
My mother straightened up fast. “Yes. Thank you so much for this opportunity, Mrs.—”
“Call me Helen,” the woman said gently.
Helen Montgomery looked put-together. Not flashy. Just clean and calm. A simple gold ring on her finger, a cream sweater, and her shoulders back. Her eyes moved to me.
“And this must be Selena.”
I felt the rainwater dripping from my coat sleeves onto their polished hardwood floor. My face got hot.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Come inside before you both catch a chill.”
The warmth hit me the second I stepped over the threshold. Then the smell—vanilla candles, wood polish, and something sweet baking somewhere in the house. My stomach twisted with sudden hunger.
I stood still while my mother apologized again and again for the water we tracked in.
The house felt enormous in a quiet, solid way.
Oil paintings hung along the staircase walls.
Fresh flowers sat on tables that were bigger than our old kitchen table.
Everything looked permanent. Nothing like the stained carpet and broken cabinet doors we had left behind.
I tried not to let my eyes linger on anything too long.
My mother kept thanking Helen while they talked about the housekeeping schedule and what would be expected.
I watched the way my mom made herself smaller with every thank you, folding in on herself with gratitude.
It made something ache low in my stomach.
I hated how much we had to sound thankful just to be safe.
Helen led us through the big kitchen and out toward the back of the property.
The staff cottage sat a short distance from the main house, right beside the gardens with a clear view of the cliffs and the ocean.
From the doorway, I could see the whole living room.
It was small, but it was still bigger than our apartment in Portland.
And clean. Really clean. White cabinets in the tiny kitchen.
No cracks in the walls. No dark stains on the carpet.
No smell of old beer or cigarette smoke.
A lump rose in my throat so fast I had to swallow hard.
My mother noticed right away. She came over and touched my cheek with cool fingers. “Oh, Selena. We’re okay now, sweetheart.”
The words made my eyes sting. I walked farther into the cottage before she could see my face.
For the first time in as long as I could remember, my shoulders started to drop.
The constant tight knot in my stomach began to loosen.
No more listening for my father’s footsteps at night.
No more hiding in my room when the shouting started.
I set my garbage bag down carefully beside the couch. The air smelled like fresh laundry detergent and sea air coming through the windows. A narrow staircase led up to two small bedrooms under slanted ceilings.
My mother thanked Mrs. Montgomery at least three more times before the woman finally left us alone. The silence that followed felt strange. Peaceful. No television blaring. No angry voices carrying through thin walls. No clinking of glass bottles in the dark.
Just rain tapping softly against the windows.
I wandered over to the kitchen sink and looked out across the estate toward the main house. That was when I saw her for the first time.
A girl stood in one of the second-floor windows. She was watching us. She looked about my age. Dark blond hair fell around her face. Her eyes were wide, like a deer’s, as she stared through the rain-streaked glass.
We looked at each other briefly. She didn’t look mean or stuck-up. Just curious. Like she had found something unexpected in her own backyard.
Then someone moved behind her in the room, and she stepped back, disappearing from the window.
I kept staring at the space long after she was gone. Something tightened in my chest. Not fear. Not the sharp kind I was used to. Just interest. Like she had noticed me the same way I noticed her.
“Selena,” my mother called softly from upstairs. “Come help me unpack our things.”
I stayed by the sink another few seconds, looking at the glowing windows of the big house through the rain. I had never seen a place like this before. Not in real life. And right then, the tight knot of fear I carried every day started to loosen even more.
I wanted this life. I wanted it so badly it scared me.