Chapter Five An new Observer

Ella

Helen arrives three days ago.

Damian drops her off with exactly four words — "She's the new housekeeper" — then walks out before he's even finished his breakfast.

I get it, sort of. He wakes up one morning and realizes his most capable assistant, his own brother, has been driven out by his hand.

Lucas's absence leaves a pile of loose ends that only Damian can touch. He's been running on empty ever since.

I stand at the second-floor window watching her down in the living room, directing the staff to rearrange every single decoration like she owns the place.

She is in her mid-forties, gray suit, hair pulled back so tight it looks painful. Like a school inspector who has never smiled at anything unscripted.

I watch her for ten minutes straight, and by the end of it I already know: this woman is not here to help me.

I make sure my slippers hit every marble step on the way down.

Loud. Deliberate. Look at me. I'm coming.

Helen turns. Textbook smile, full teeth. "Luna, good morning. Breakfast is ready. Today's menu is—"

"Not hungry."

I walk past her, drop onto the couch, and prop my feet on the coffee table.

Her eyes go straight to my feet.

"Luna." Still soft. Still pleasant. "Coffee tables are for glasses."

"Mine's for feet now."

Rude? Yes. But this is my house. Fine, mine and Damian's.

She bends down, slides a leather footstool under my heels without being asked, then straightens up and smiles again like nothing happened.

"This should be more comfortable. Mr. Damian prefers the house kept tidy I'm sure you know. Can I bring your breakfast now? This morning it's an omelet and an anti-inflammatory juice. Actually, the juice is formulated by the medical group you chair. One of your own R&D team's products."

Smooth. Completely airtight. Not a single crack.

She reminds me of Grey—thorough, courteous, always one step ahead.

But Grey never moves things without asking. Grey never tries to correct my behavior with that quiet, smiling kind of authority that makes you feel like the child in the room.

I pull my feet off the footstool and put them back on the table.

"I said I'm not hungry."

Helen's smile doesn't waver. She folds her hands in front of her. The warmth in her voice stays exactly where it is, but the content of what she says is something else entirely.

"Luna, you represent the Blackwood family now. If self-discipline feels difficult, I can always let Damian know. I'm sure he'd be happy to sit down with you and talk through expectations."

Damian.

She just threatens me with my own husband.

And the worst part is she knows it will work. Because it does work, every single time. One look at Damian's face — that perfectly controlled, entirely humorless face — and I cave inside sixty seconds. Every time.

So that's how it is. The two of them, same team. She is here to keep me from messing up. Damian has decided I can't be trusted to manage myself.

I file it away.

"Go ahead," I say, standing up. "Call him. I'd love to hear what he has to say." I turn toward the kitchen. "How long have you been with the Blackwood family, Helen?"

"Twenty years, Luna."

"Then you've seen a lot."

"Of course."

I grab an apple from the fridge and bite into it. Crunch loudly, on purpose. "What was Damian like when he was young? Not his resume. Actually young — what did he like? What annoyed him? Did he ever cry? Did anyone ever push him around?"

People drop their guard when you ask about childhood. Memories of someone small and unformed, they feel harmless.

Helen's smile goes cautious.

"Alpha has always been exceptionally self-disciplined," she says. "His childhood was different from most children's. He understood his responsibilities very early. As for being pushed around — I don't think anyone would dare do that to the Blackwood heir."

Nothing. Beautifully packaged nothing. I chew loudly to register my opinion.

"What about Lucas? What were he and Damian like together, growing up?"

Helen looks at me.

That one look turns my stomach cold. She isn't answering anymore. She is reading me.

She knows about me and Lucas. She's probably been one of the people who wanted me gone back then.

She takes one step forward, drops her voice. "Luna — has something happened recently? Are you doing all right?"

I stop chewing.

Deliberately vague. That is deliberate.

"I'm your life assistant," she continues, quieter now. "Not a spy. But if something's bothering you — confusion about certain things, gaps in your memory — I can arrange for you to see a doctor. Everyone is very concerned about your well-being."

There it is.

She already suspects the amnesia. My performance in that board meeting must have raised more flags than I thought. She isn't sure yet, so she is fishing.

I bite into the apple again and smile. "Just making conversation, Helen. You're reading too much into it."

She steps back. Smile back up. "My apologies. Can I slice that apple for you?"

"I'm fine."

I walk out of the kitchen with the apple and don't look back.

She is watching me. Every word, every gesture — catalogued. Reported. Probably already compiled into something neat and organized with bullet points and behavioral assessments.

I glance back once through the doorway. She has her phone out, typing fast.

Not a housekeeper. An observer. And whoever she is reporting to, it isn't to help me.

I turn and walk deeper into the hall, pushing open doors one by one like I am getting familiar with the layout. I can feel her watching from the other end of the corridor.

The last door at the end of the hall is different from the others.

Dark oak. Steel handle. And below the handle, a fingerprint reader.

I press my thumb against it.

Beep. Beep. Red light.

Down the hallway, a maid who has been pretending to polish a vase suddenly becomes very interested in the opposite wall.

"Hey." She freezes. "What's behind that door?"

"I don't know, Luna." Her voice is barely there. "We're not allowed. We've never been allowed."

"Since when?"

She bites her lip. "Since before I started. Five years ago. The door was already locked then."

Five years ago. Before the accident. Before everything.

"Who has access?"

"Only Alpha."

"Just him?"

She hesitates. Just a half-second, but I catch it.

"And — before — Lucas. Lucas did too."

Lucas.

I turn back to the door. The red light blinks steadily in the dim hallway, quiet and patient, like it has been waiting a very long time for someone to finally ask the right question.

Whatever Damian is hiding behind that door, Lucas has known about it.

And somewhere in that room might be the answer to why I am standing here pretending to be someone I'm not sure I've ever truly been.