I stood at the top of the stairs, hidden from view, as I watched the scene unfold before me. The handsome stranger who had just entered was undoubtedly Mr. Houston. My heart quickened at the sight of him, a mix of curiosity and uncertainty swirling within me.
"Sir," the maid stammered, her nervousness palpable as she acknowledged Mr. Houston's presence.
Mr. Houston's voice, deep and commanding, sent a shiver down my spine as he inquired about my whereabouts. "Where is she?" he asked, his tone brooking no hesitation.
"She is in her room," the maid replied, her voice trembling as she spoke.
I had indeed moved my belongings to another room, seeking a space that felt more like my own in this vast mansion. My decision had been driven by a desire for autonomy and control over my surroundings, a small act of defiance against the mysterious circumstances of our marriage.
