(Sabrina's POV)
I almost turned around at the gate.
I stood there longer than I should have, my suitcase resting against my leg, my fingers wrapped so tightly around the handle that my knuckles hurt. The Arya residence loomed in front of me—tall black stone walls, iron gates, and glass windows reflecting the dull evening sky.
It didn't look abandoned.
It didn't look dangerous.
It just felt… heavy.
Like the air around it was thicker than everywhere else.
"You need this job," I whispered to myself.
Rent didn't care about bad feelings. Hunger didn't care about instincts. And I was tired of moving from place to place, pretending I wasn't scared of what happened when I couldn't pay my bills on time.
So I rang the bell.
The sound echoed through the gate, deeper than I expected, vibrating slightly in my chest. A few seconds passed. Then the door opened.
A woman stood there, tall and composed, dressed neatly in black. Her face was calm, elegant, almost beautiful—if not for the way her eyes assessed me like she was measuring something invisible.
"You're the new maid," she said.
"Yes, ma'am. Sabrina Rowan."
"I'm Mrs. Arya. Come in."
She stepped aside, and the door closed behind me with a solid thud that echoed through the entryway. I resisted the urge to turn around and check if it was locked.
The house was silent.
Not the comforting silence of a clean home, but the kind that made me aware of my own footsteps, my breathing, the sound of my clothes moving as I walked.
The floors were polished marble, cold beneath my shoes. The walls were decorated with modern artwork—dark pieces, abstract and unsettling. Faces with blurred features.Paintings that made me feel like I was being watched if I stared too long.
"This way," Mrs. Arya said.
We walked through long hallways that branched into other hallways. Some doors were locked. Some were closed so tightly I wondered if they had ever been opened at all.
"You will be living here," she said evenly. "Your duties include cleaning, laundry, and preparing simple meals."
"Yes, ma'am."
"There are rules."Her voice sharpened slightly, just enough to make my spine straighten.
"They are not suggestions."
I nodded. "I understand."
"Repeat them."
I swallowed. "No visitors. No photographs. No touching personal belongings unless instructed. No entering restricted areas."
She stopped walking.
The silence stretched.
"And?" she said.
My stomach tightened. "And… I'm not allowed to enter the room at the end of the house."
She turned slowly to face me.
For a moment, I thought I had said the wrong thing. Her eyes searched my face, sharp and unreadable.
"Good," she said at last. "Do not forget that rule."
I hesitated. "May I ask what's in that room?"
"No."
The word was final. Heavy.
She turned and continued walking as if the conversation had never happened.
My room was small but comfortable. Clean. Minimal. Everything placed with intention.
"You start tomorrow at six," Mrs. Arya said."One more thing."
I looked up.
"If you hear noises at night," she said calmly, "you will ignore them."
I let out a nervous laugh. "Old houses make sounds, right?"
She didn't smile.
"No."
She left without another word.
The first few days passed quietly.
Too quietly.
The Arya family was polite but distant. Mr. Arya barely spoke to me. Their son passed me in the hallways without acknowledgment, his expression always neutral, unreadable.No arguments.No warmth.No chaos.Just control.
I followed the rules. I stayed out of restricted areas. I avoided the far end of the house, even when my cleaning schedule brought me close.
Until the fourth night.
I was dusting the west wing when I heard it.A sound so soft I almost missed it.
Clink.
I froze, cloth still in my hand.
My heart skipped.
I held my breath and listened.
Clink.
Metal against metal.
My stomach dropped.
"That's not the house," I whispered.
The hallway was empty. The lights hummed faintly above me.Then the sound came again—slow, deliberate.
Chains.
My pulse raced.Someone is in there.
The realization made my chest feel tight, like I couldn't get enough air.I should have walked away.I should have reported it.
Instead, something pulled at me, guiding my steps before I could think better of it.
Down the hallway.Toward the end.Toward the door.
The door was massive.
Black iron, tall and seamless, carved with strange symbols that made my head ache if I focused on them too long. There was no handle. No lock. Nothing meant to be touched.The air was colder here.
Heavier.
Another sound came from inside.
Not chains.Breathing.
Slow. Controlled.
My skin prickled.
"I shouldn't be here," I whispered.
My hand lifted anyway.
My fingers hovered inches from the iron—
"Sabrina."
I screamed and spun around, slamming into the wall.Mrs. Arya stood behind me.I hadn't heard her approach.
"How long have you been standing there?" she asked calmly.
"I—I heard something," I said shakily. "I thought maybe someone—"
"Step away from the door."
I obeyed immediately.
Her eyes flicked briefly to the door, then back to me.
"There is nothing in that room," she said.
My throat tightened.
"Yes, ma'am."
"You were warned," she continued. "You need this job,right?."
"Yes."
"Then follow the rules."
She stepped closer and gently pushed my hand down to my side.
"You will never return to this hallway," she said. "Do you understand?"
"Yes, Mrs. Arya."She turned and walked away."Go to your room."
That night, sleep never came.
Every time I closed my eyes, I heard the chains.The breathing.The heavy silence behind the door.
I pressed my pillow over my ears and stared at the ceiling.
I need this job, I told myself again and again.
So I obeyed.
I stayed away.
But deep down, I knew—
Whatever was in that room had noticed me.
After that incident, I didn't go near that place again.
I didn't try. I didn't even let myself think about it too much. Every time my thoughts drifted in that direction, I forced them away, reminding myself that curiosity was dangerous in the Arya residence.
Especially here.
Even so, the sounds never stopped.
At night, when the house fell quiet and the world outside faded into silence, I would hear them. The soft but heavy clinking of chains, metal dragging slowly across stone. A low growl, deep enough to vibrate through the walls. And sometimes, when everything else was still, heavy breathing—slow and controlled, as if something large was forcing itself to remain calm.
The first few nights, I barely slept.
I would lie awake in my small room, staring at the ceiling, my heart racing at every sound. I kept wondering if the noises were getting closer, if they were meant to be heard, if they were a warning. My hands would grip the blanket tightly, as if it could protect me from whatever lived in the darkness of the mansion.But time does strange things to fear.
Days passed. Then weeks. Eventually, two months were gone.
Somehow, I adjusted.
The sounds became part of the night, like the creaking of old wood or the wind brushing against the windows. Chains. Growls. Breathing. I hated myself a little for getting used to them, but exhaustion made it easier to survive.
The Arya residence was too large for just one housemaid, yet I was the only one. I cleaned the halls alone, cooked alone, ate alone. Sometimes an entire day would pass without hearing another human voice.
The Arya Family kept their distance.
They didn't speak to me unless it was absolutely necessary. Instructions were never said out loud. Instead, I would find short notes left neatly on tables or counters.
Clean the west hallway.
Prepare dinner.
Buy supplies.
That was all.
No greetings. No gratitude. No questions about how I was doing.
They weren't cruel, but they weren't kind either. I existed only because I was useful.
Sometimes, when they passed by, their eyes barely acknowledged me, as if I were part of the house itself.
Invisible. Replaceable.