Scene 1: You're not as tough as you think
The first aid room was pale as the morning light was streaming through the thin curtains. The faint sting of the medicine lingered in the air.
Alexa, meanwhile, sat still in a wooden chair as Lucille dabbed her burned lap with practiced precision, but as the cool ointment soothed, her mind was anything but calm. "This will sting only for a moment, miss… you'll need to change the bandages every few hours," Lucille said. She was gentle and professional.
"You've done this before…?" Alexa asked her quietly, her eyes watching Lucille closely.
Lucille smiled faintly, but it was too faint.
"Burns are common in large houses, when you've got a large kitchen or kitchens, then definitely you'll get accidents, fireplaces… In short, I've treated more than I can count."
Alexa nodded, but inside her thoughts spiraled. Her hands are steady. Too steady. Not the hands of someone unused to injury… She's hiding something. But what?
"How bad is it?" Marcus asked, his voice was curt, it was almost businesslike.
"Second-degree. Painful, but it will heal without scarring, so long as the bandages stay clean." Lucille answered quickly.
Marcus gave a tight nod in response, then he shifted his gaze to Alexa. His jaw flexed—he wanted to say something, but he didn't... he couldn't.
"I'm fine. It was... nothing." Alexa smiled while forcing a small smile.
Aaron suddenly cut in as his voice was sharper than usual. "Nothing? That witch poured boiling tea on you! On purpose! And you're just sitting there pretending it's—" he said, huffing, but Alexa cut him off.
"Aaron."
Her eyes met his. It was calm but steady, and it was enough to halt his rant. He stomped once because he was frustrated, and muttered, "You always tell me to calm down when you're the one hurt…"
Alexa almost smiled, because beneath the arrogance was worry he didn't want to show.
Marcus finally spoke again, his tone firmer, colder than his son's. "Nina's behavior was… unacceptable. She's been here for years. She should have known better."
Alexa could sense the heaviness in his words, like condemning her out loud took effort. She studied him. Why did it seem like scolding Nina cost him something?
"You've never raised your voice at her before, have you?" Alexa asked, her voice was soft and curious.
Marcus's silence was telling. He looked away, as if the window suddenly fascinated him.
So it's true… He's always protected Nina. But why? Why now, for the first time, did he break that shield—for me?
"Good, she deserved it. Maybe now she'll stop acting like she owns this house." Aaron snorted as his voice cut through the quiet.
"Aaron," Marcus said, his voice stern.
"Oh, of course—don't shout at her, shout at me. Figures." Aaron mocked, rolling his eyes.
He leaned against the doorframe, but his eyes flicked back to Alexa again. The corners of his mouth twitched, betraying that he wasn't done worrying.
Lucille tied the bandage neatly and stood back. "She'll be fine. But she needs rest. Walking around too much will slow the healing."
Marcus then gave another short nod. "Stay close. If it worsens, I'll call you." Lucille then inclined her head and went out as she left the three of them in a thick silence, but Aaron was the first to break it.
"…You should've let me dump the tea back on her," Aaron said quietly, and his tone was a bit awkward.
Alexa gave him a sharp look, and Marcus exhaled deeply, rubbing his forehead.
"You're not as ruthless as you think, Aaron. You would've cried halfway through." Alexa said calmly, like she was almost teasing him.
"I would not! You—" He cut himself off when Marcus shot him a warning look. Aaron pouted as his face flushed red or somewhat crimson.
But now, the air was heavier, thicker as Alexa finally sighed, her voice dropping softer than either expected.
"Don't fight because of me. That's all Nina wants. To see this house divided." Alexa finally spoke.
Marcus's gaze then glanced to hers at that, sharp and unreadable, as he studied her for a long moment, like he was searching her face for something she wasn't ready to reveal.
That look again… why does it feel like he knows I'm hiding secrets too?
She shifted her eyes away, whispering to herself: First the spy… then the bloodstained gloves… now Nina… This house is unraveling thread by thread. I can't lose focus. I can't afford to…
Marcus's voice cut through her thoughts, low and commanding.
"You won't handle this alone. Not anymore."
Alexa blinked, startled. But before she could respond, he turned away, his expression unreadable again.
She couldn't help but stare at him, as she was torn between suspicion and an unsettling flicker of something else—trust, or maybe fear.
Scene 2: The Green Flame of Jealousy
Nina slammed the door of her quarters so hard, it rattled its hinges, as her chest heaved because her breath was sharp and uneven. It was as though even the act of existing in the mansion was becoming unbearable. She paced the small room, every step harder than the last, her slippers scuffing against the stone floor.
"How… how dare she?" Her words were spit, not speech. "That girl—Alexa—coming into my home, my place, and making him look at her like that."
She clenched her fists so tight that her knuckles whitened as she could still hear Marcus's voice, harsh and scolding, directed at her… at her, the one who had been loyal for years. Nina's hands shook with fury.
He had never spoken to her like that before. Not once.
And all because of Alexa.
She then walked to her small dresser mirror, as she glared at her reflection. Her eyes burned red, but it was not from tears, but from the heat of her rage, as she dragged her fingers along her cheek and sneered.
"I've been here longer than her. I know his favorite food. I know the way he takes his tea. I know the way he stays up late in his study and falls asleep in his chair. I know him. Not her."
Then her voice cracked. It was a mix of half pain and half fury as she snatched a brush from the table and hurled it against the wall. It splintered on impact.
Nina then pressed her palms to her temples, as she closed her eyes, imagining Marcus's face. His smile, rare and fleeting, that had once flickered toward her… or so she convinced herself. For years, she had spun that tiny thread of kindness into an entire fantasy.
"It should've been me. I was beside him at the table. Me raising his son. Me sharing his name, not that dead wife of his, Rosalina. And now this… intruder…"
Her tone dropped to a whisper, venom seeping through each word.
"She thinks she's special because she's blonde with pale eyes? Because Aaron tolerates her? No. No, I'll make sure Marcus sees. I'll make him open his eyes. He'll see her for the snake she is."
Her breath then quickened again as her hands moved unconsciously over her apron, as she remembered every single nanny that had walked through these halls before Alexa, and each one had been driven away. Some with tears, some with broken reputations.
And all by....?
She grinned, and of course, it was ugly, twisted, a mask she would never let anyone in the mansion see.
"I got rid of them all. The weak ones. The nosy ones. The ones who thought they could mother Aaron. And this girl is no different. I'll expose her… I'll tear that icy mask from her face. Whatever she's hiding, I'll find it. And when I do, Marcus will know."
She sat heavily on her bed, as her chest was still rising and falling, and her nails digging crescent moons into her palms. Then her eyes softened, dreamy, distant.
"Marcus… I've loved you from the start. I've watched you suffer, I've watched you raise Aaron alone. I should've been the one to ease your pain. I should've been the one in your arms. Not Rosalina. Not Alexa. Me."
Her eyes darkened again, tilting to madness.
"She won't win. I'll make sure of it. I'll do what I must, just as I've always done. I took out everyone I needed to… and she won't be the last."
The words hung in the air, heavy, chilling.
And then—she smiled.
The kind of smile that promised storms to come.
Scene 3: (Study Confessions)
The heavy oak doors of the study clicked shut behind him, as they muted the low hum of the mansion. Marcus crossed the room with slow, deliberate steps, as the soft glow of the lamp cast half his face in gold, the other half in shadow, then he loosened his tie slightly and sank into the leather chair behind his desk.
But paperwork, reports, numbers—they all blurred tonight.
Instead, his mind replayed the morning.
Alexa's calm voice soothed Aaron.
Her steady eyes held his when she stopped him from scolding Nina further.
The way she endured the tea spill without complaint, retreating quietly, almost too quietly…
Marcus leaned back, one hand pressed against his forehead. His jaw tightened.
What's wrong with me?
He hadn't felt this pull in years, not since Rosalina, as his late wife's name was a wound he didn't dare touch, but yet tonight, he had touched it unconsciously, comparing the gentleness in Alexa's eyes to Rosalina's. It even rattled him more than any bullet ever could, as his chest ached in a way he didn't understand.
I buried those feelings with her. I swore I would never…
He cut the thought short, as his fingers drummed on the armrest. Aaron was his only focus now. Aaron, his heir. His son. His everything.
Yet why did Alexa's presence remain like smoke in his lungs? Why did the faint image of her standing by Aaron's bedside earlier, quiet and watchful, stir something dangerous in him?
Dangerous because it was... human.
"What's wrong with me?"
Marcus then exhaled sharply, as his voice broke the silence.
"This isn't right. I can't… I won't fall into that again."
The words felt hollow, even to him. He stared at the darkened window, his reflection staring back—cold, severe, haunted.
"She's good with Aaron. She's smart. She's… steady."
His throat then tightened.
"But… who is she really?"
A pause, as his eyes hardened, the CEO mask sliding back over the cracks of the grieving man beneath.
"If she's lying… if she's hiding something dark in her past… I won't take it. Not after…"
He stopped, cutting the sentence short, because saying it aloud felt like reopening an old grave.
"Not after her."
The silence pressed heavy on the room. Marcus leaned back, staring at the ceiling, but his thoughts tangled deeper, restless, suspicious, yearning.
And then—
—CUT.
The scene jolts away from Marcus's turmoil, straight into darkness.
Somewhere in the mansion, tucked away in a corner too shadowed to trace, a figure whispered into a phone.
The voice was low, urgent, and dangerous.
"We need to talk."
Click.
The line went dead.