The Hayes Holdings tower cut through the New York skyline like a blade, all glass and cold steel. Emily smoothed her skirt for the tenth time in the elevator, heart thudding. She needed this job. Rent was due, and the last three interviews had ended with polite, empty smiles.

When the doors opened on the 40th floor, she didn’t expect him.

Collin Hayes sat behind a desk that probably cost more than her car. Dirty blonde hair fell over his forehead, and his deep brown eyes should have been sharp — calculated, like every article said about the Hayes brothers. But they weren’t. They were distant. Unfocused.

“Emily?” he said, then paused, like he’d forgotten her name the second it left his mouth. “Right. Sit.”

She did. Her tight, dark brown curls bounced against her shoulders, and she tucked a strand behind her ear, painfully aware of how pale her skin looked under the fluorescent lights. Her deep blue eyes met his, searching.

The interview wasn’t an interview. He asked her age — twenty-three. If she could cook — yes. If she was comfortable with “unusual hours” — she needed the money. His words trailed off mid-sentence twice. Once, he stared past her at the window for a full ten seconds before blinking hard and continuing.

“You’re hired,” he said abruptly, standing. “Be at the estate tomorrow. Ten a.m. sharp.”

Emily blinked. “That’s it? No—”

“Ten,” he repeated, already turning away. “Ethan will want to meet you.”

She left with a contract in her hand and a knot in her stomach.

Behind the glass doors, Ethan Hayes leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his muscular frame. Dark hair, darker eyes, and a jaw that looked carved from stone. He didn’t look up from his phone.

“She seems nice,” Collin muttered, running a hand through his hair.

Ethan’s gaze flicked up, unreadable. “We’ll see.”

The Hayes estate wasn’t a house. It was a marble monument to wealth, sprawling and silent at 10:01 a.m. Collin met her at the door, looking more put-together in a charcoal sweater, but his eyes were still… elsewhere.

“Tour first,” he said, voice softer than yesterday. “Kitchen, laundry, main hall. You’ll multitask. Cleaning schedule’s on the fridge. Meals are provided. Uniform’s in your room — dark blue button-down, apron, standard attire.”

He moved through the halls like a ghost, pointing out rooms without really seeing them. When they reached the kitchen, he slid the contract across the island. “Read. Sign if you accept. Then start.”

Emily picked up the pen, but her attention snagged. Collin was staring at her. Not at her face — through her. His brow was furrowed, lips parted slightly, like he was in pain or seeing something that wasn’t there.

“Are you alright?” she asked quietly.

He blinked, and the intensity sharpened. “I’m fine. Perfect. Everything’s great, like puppies and—”

“—and deadlines,” Ethan’s voice cut in from the doorway. He stepped inside, tall and imposing, eyes locking on Emily. “He’s just excited. You’re new.”

The way he said new made her skin prickle. To fill the silence, Emily gestured to the chain at Collin’s throat. A delicate half-heart necklace glinted against his sweater. “That’s pretty. Who has the other half?”

Collin’s fingers grazed the pendant, his expression shuttering. “Thank you. It was a gift. From someone special.”

Ethan’s jaw tightened. “We’ll leave you to it.”

They were gone before she could ask anything else.

She’d been cleaning the east wing for twenty minutes when she heard footsteps. Helen. The other maid — short blonde hair, light blue eyes, twenty-seven and moving like she’d been in this house forever.

Helen stopped in the doorway, bucket in hand. Her gaze dragged over Emily’s face, her tight curls, the pale skin flushed from work. Her blue eyes went wide.

Then, flat and certain: “You look just like Morgan.”

A month had bled by in the Hayes estate, each day measured in polished silver, folded laundry, and the weight of Helen’s words.

“You look just like Morgan.”

Emily hadn’t asked what she meant. She avoided Helen in the halls, kept her head down during meal prep, and took the long route to the laundry room just to avoid the other maid’s light blue eyes. But the sentence lived in her now. It sat in her chest while she scrubbed marble floors, while she diced vegetables for meals the brothers barely touched, while she planted rows of daisies and roses in the garden under the New York sun.

She didn’t understand it, and part of her didn’t want to. The job paid well. The uniform — dark blue button-down, crisp white apron — fit her like it was made for her. And when she wasn’t thinking about Morgan, about the way Collin’s deep brown eyes went hollow sometimes, she could almost pretend this was normal.

Almost.

The garden was her favorite. Dirt under her nails felt real. Today she’d finished the last bed — white daisies bordering deep red roses, heliotrope tucked in the corners. Her tight, dark brown curls were pulled back, but a few had escaped, sticking to her neck. Her pale skin was flushed from the heat, and her deep blue eyes were tired but satisfied as she wiped her hands on her apron and headed inside.

Collin was in the main hall, phone to his ear. At 22, he shouldn’t have looked so worn. His dirty blonde hair was disheveled, and the charcoal sweater he wore couldn’t hide the tension in his shoulders.

“Emily,” he said, ending the call. His voice was steadier than it had been a month ago, but still too soft. “Clean out my study. I have a meeting in there in two hours.”

“Yes, sir,” she said automatically. Then, after a beat: “Where’s Mr. Hayes?”

Collin’s jaw flexed. He always did that when she said *Mr. Hayes*. Like the formality for Ethan bothered him. “Ethan’s out on business. He’ll be back later.”

The study was all dark wood and leather, smelling of old books and the faint citrus of Collin’s cologne. Emily worked diligently. She dusted every shelf, aligned the pens on the desk, squared the corners of the blotter. She could hear voices in the living room — Collin greeting guests.

“We can talk in the living room first and move to my study in a moment,” his voice carried, smooth in that practiced way the Hayes brothers had when other people were listening.

She was just about to leave, to tell him it was ready, when she saw it. The bottom drawer of the desk was open a crack.

She told herself to shut it. To not look. She’d signed a contract. She was a maid, not a detective.

But something pulled at her. The same thing that made her heart race when Collin stared too long, when Ethan’s dark eyes tracked her across a room.

Her hand moved before she could stop it.

Inside, tucked under a stack of blank letterhead, was a delicate chain. A half-heart pendant, silver, worn at the edges. The other half to Collin’s necklace.

Her breath caught. Next to it, folded once, was a yellowed newspaper.

She shouldn’t. She *knew* she shouldn’t.

She unfolded it.

**HAYES MANOR TRAGEDY: YOUNG WOMAN DEAD IN APPARENT SUICIDE**

*Morgan Delaney, 22, found deceased at the Hayes family estate last year...*

The words blurred. Emily’s chest constricted, a sudden, sharp ache blooming behind her ribs. Her head started ringing, high and thin, like a glass about to shatter. Morgan. Twenty-two. Here. In this house. A year ago.

Footsteps. Laughter. Men’s voices, getting closer.

“—and I’m telling you, Hayes, the numbers don’t lie—”

Panic slammed into her. She shoved the necklace and the paper back, jammed the drawer shut with her hip just as the door opened.

Collin stood there, flanked by three men in suits. His eyes found hers instantly, and for a second, she saw it — the raw panic, mirroring her own.

She dropped her gaze to the floor. “I was just leaving, sir. The study is ready.”

One of the businessmen let out a low whistle. “Well, Hayes. You didn’t mention the estate came with that kind of amenity.”

The others chuckled. Emily’s face burned. She kept her head down, her tight curls hiding her expression. She waited for Collin to say something, to shut it down.

He didn’t. His mouth opened, closed. He looked like he was choking on the words. Finally, he just gestured to the chairs. “Gentlemen.”

Emily didn’t wait. She slipped past them, apron brushing the doorframe, and walked as fast as she could without running. She didn’t know what to think. The newspaper. The necklace. Morgan. *You look just like Morgan.*

She just needed air. She just needed to *leave*.

She rounded the corner to the east wing and collided with a wall of muscle and expensive cologne.

Ethan.

She stumbled back, her heart already hammering from the study now threatening to beat out of her chest. He was in a black suit, no tie, the top buttons of his shirt undone. His dark hair was slightly damp, like he’d just come from the rain, and his deep brown eyes were locked on her with an intensity that made her skin prickle.

“Mr. Hayes — I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He just looked at her, at her flushed face, the way her hands were shaking.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered again, and ducked around him, practically fleeing to the staff quarters.

She locked the door behind her and sank to the floor, pressing her back against it. Her chest still hurt. Morgan. Suicide. In this house. And Collin had the other half of her necklace.

---

Ethan waited.

He stood in the hallway outside Collin’s study, listening to the low murmur of the meeting, the occasional forced laugh. When the door finally opened and the businessmen filed out, shaking Collin’s hand, Ethan stepped in.

Collin was at the desk, gripping the edge like he’d fall over without it. His face was pale, his dirty blonde hair falling into his eyes.

“What’s wrong with Emily?” Ethan asked. His voice was calm. Too calm. The voice he used when things were about to go bad.

Collin looked up, and for a second he was 22 again — not a Hayes heir, not a CEO, just a terrified kid. “She saw,” he said, slightly frantic. “In the drawer. She saw what was in the drawer.”

Ethan’s jaw ticked. He crossed the room in two strides and put a hand on Collin’s shoulder, grounding him. “Breathe. Did she say anything?”

“No. But—” Collin’s voice broke. “Her face, Ethan. She knows.”

Ethan’s grip tightened, then released. He was on edge now too, but he couldn’t let Collin see it. “Does she know we were involved in it?”

The question hung there. Collin shook his head, but it wasn’t a no. It was *I don’t know*. “I— I’m not sure. She didn’t say. She just… left.”

Ethan exhaled through his nose and pulled out his phone.

---

Emily’s phone buzzed on the nightstand. She flinched.

**Ethan Hayes:** *Tomorrow’s Friday. Half day, as usual. Be out by 1.*

Every Friday was a half day. She knew that. So why did it feel like a warning?

Her laptop sat on the desk across the room. It would take two seconds. Type *Morgan Delaney Hayes Manor* into the search bar. Get answers.

Her fingers twitched.

*You look just like Morgan.*

She stared at the laptop until her eyes burned. Then she turned off the lamp, pulled the covers over her head, and didn’t look.

Not yet.