The home was silent except for the gentle hum of the air conditioner. Adaora stood outside her bedroom window, watching the gardeners trim the bushes below. She enjoyed this place, the vantage point from which she could observe the world below. It was a position of power, and she had spent her whole life accumulating and defending it.
From the outside, her life seemed flawless. Wife of Dr. Dapo, a renowned surgeon. Mother of two successful children studying overseas. Mistress of a house, which represented wealth and authority. But perfection was an illusion, a fragile mask that might break with the slightest crack.
Adaora's fingers clenched on the delicate gold chain she wore around her neck, concealing the little pendant behind the folds of her silk shirt. This unconscious act of seeking comfort in something physical has become a habit for her in recent years. It seems that she needed that comfort more than ever.
She moved away from the window, her gaze sweeping over the room. It was flawless, as she had ordered. The blanket was silky, the cushions fluffed, and a slight aroma of lavender hung in the air. Despite the orderliness, she sensed a nagging discomfort.
Adaora walked to the mirror and scrutinized her appearance. She was still attractive at the age of fifty. Her cheekbones were high, and her skin was flawless as a result of an expensive routine she strictly maintained. Nonetheless, she saw the fine wrinkles around her eyes, which no amount of cream or serum could remove.
Before stepping back, she adjusted her earrings, which were enormous gold hoops that framed her face. Everything needed to be flawless. People were always keeping an eye out for a slip-up, and Adaora couldn't afford to make one.
People weren't the only ones that were watching her.
Adaora recently felt... noticed. She could not explain it. It was a prickling feeling as if someone was watching her even though she was alone. She disregarded it at first as stress—too many social parties to host, too many business choices to handle, and Dapo buried himself in his job.
Nevertheless, the emotion lingered.
She remembered finding her desk drawer slightly open, papers scattered in a manner she didn't recollect leaving them. Or the slight creak of the stairs in the depths of night, when everyone should have been sleeping. She'd even found herself looking over her shoulder while strolling through the home as if expecting to see a shadow slide into concealment.
Adaora tightened her hands, irritated with herself for allowing her mind to go wild. She was not a lady who was paranoid. She was powerful, purposeful, and in complete control. But that control had just been challenged, and she despised it.
The entrance of Tayo, the new girl, added another piece to the jigsaw. She'd recruited her out of need, not trust. None of the others had survived for long, and Adaora couldn't help but worry whether they had seen too much or learned things they shouldn't have.
As she moved around the home, checking each room, Adaora's thoughts raced. She remembered the closed door at the end of the east corridor, the one she had ordered Tayo not to approach. It wasn't only a regulation; it was a warning.
When she went into the kitchen, she saw Tayo standing by the sink, cleaning her hands with her apron. When the girl spotted Adaora, she stood up, her eyes wide with terror and reverence.
"Have you finished cleaning the upstairs rooms?" Adaora inquired, her tone firm.
"Yes, ma," Tayo said, her voice calm despite any sign of fear.
"Good. Make sure the windows are pristine. "I do not want to see a single smudge."
"Yes, ma," Tayo said, bending her head slightly.
Adaora observed her for a bit longer, looking for signs of disobedience. She saw none, but it didn't calm her down. Everyone kept secrets, and Tayo was no exception.
She turned and went away, her heels tapping on the marble flooring. The boom resonated, crisp and definite, covering the small whisper of uncertainty in her mind.
Adaora returned to her room and shut the door behind her. She needed time to think and plan. The weight of the pendant on her neck seemed heavier than usual. She unlocked the drawer of her bedside table and took out a little key.
Walking to the closet, she opened a concealed box and took out a leather-bound diary. She rubbed her fingers over the weathered cover before opening it.
The pages were full of secrets—hers, her family's, and those she'd buried deep enough to keep concealed.
But secrets had a way of coming out, and Adaora knew it was only a matter of time until someone discovered hers.
She turned to a fresh sheet and started writing, her pen flowing with the precision of someone trying to remain one step ahead.