Chapter 3 MAYBE I COULD BE A GHOST

The sound of Levi's voice saying that word—"Scholarship"—in his own foyer felt like a physical slap. It shattered the fragile hope I’d carried with me through the gate. My sanctuary was a mirage. My boss's son was my chief tormentor.

I couldn't look at him. My gaze dropped to the polished marble floor, tracing the veins of gray in the white stone. My face was on fire. I heard Mrs. Darnell's slight intake of breath, a soft, disapproving sound. The friendly warmth that had just been radiating from Mr. and Mrs. Thorne seemed to chill and waver.

"Levi? What did you call her?" Mrs. Thorne asked, her voice laced with confusion.

I braced myself for the cruelty. For him to lay it all out for his parents.

This is the fat, poor girl we all laugh at. The one who spilled her food everywhere today. Can you believe she’s in our house?

But instead, I heard his footsteps, swift and sure, crossing the space between us. Before I could flinch away, an arm was slung around my stiff shoulders, pulling me into a side hug that felt like being trapped in a cage made of pure hostility.

He smelled like expensive soap and cold, clean air. My whole body went rigid.

"Of course I know her, Mom," Levi said, his voice suddenly bright, easy, the perfect son. He gave my shoulder a squeeze that was just a little too tight. "We go to the same school. Right, Scholarship?"

The nickname, coated in fake affection, dripped into my ear. I couldn't speak. My throat was sealed shut with mortification. I just kept my head down, a fixed, miserable smile trembling on my lips, praying for the floor to swallow me whole.

"Levi, that's not a kind way to address someone," Mr. Thorne said, his voice firmer now. "Her name is Anya."

Levi just laughed, a light, breezy sound that didn't match the tension in the arm still draped over me. "It's just a school thing, Dad. A joke." He finally released me, and I stumbled back half a step, finally able to breathe.

He was already heading toward the front door, grabbing a sports bag from a bench nearby. But as he passed me, on his way out, he leaned in close. His movement looked casual, like he was just adjusting his bag strap. His lips were inches from my ear, and his voice dropped to a low, venomous whisper that only I could hear.

"Not a word to anyone at school about this. You work here, you keep your mouth shut. If anyone finds out, you'll regret it. Got it?"

The threat was ice-cold and absolute. It held the promise of everything he could make worse. I gave the tiniest, barely perceptible nod, my eyes still glued to the floor. He straightened up, flashed another brilliant, meaningless smile at his parents.

"Gotta run. Hockey practice. See you at dinner."

It was broken by Mrs. Thorne’s gentle sigh. "I am so sorry about that, Anya. Levi can be… overly familiar with his friends from school."

Friends. The word was so ludicrous it almost broke the spell of fear he’d left me in. I finally managed to lift my head.

"I… I didn't know you attended Kingswood as well," Mrs. Thorne continued, trying to smooth things over.

I found my voice, though it was small and scratchy. "Yes, ma'am. I have a scholarship there." I said it plainly, a simple fact. It was my armor, even here.

Mr. Thorne’s eyebrows rose, his expression shifting from annoyance to genuine interest. "A scholarship at Kingswood? That is no small accomplishment. The academic criteria are exceptionally rigorous."

A flicker of something other than shame warmed my chest. Pride. It was faint, but it was there. "Thank you, sir. It's… it's a great opportunity."

"It certainly is," he said, nodding thoughtfully. "You must be a very dedicated student."

Mrs. Darnell, who had been a silent statue, cleared her throat. "If the introductions are complete, I should show Anya the cleaning supplies closet and her starting duties."

"Of course, Mrs. Darnell," Mrs. Thorne said. She gave me another warm smile. "We're very glad to have you, Anya. Please don't let Levi's nonsense bother you. He's all bark."

If only that were true, I thought. His bite was worse. But I just nodded. "Thank you, Mrs. Thorne. I won't."

As Mrs. Darnell led me away, back toward the service hallway, the polished, friendly facade of his parents replayed in my mind. They were nice. They were normal, wealthy, kind people who probably had no idea what their son was like at school. The thought was somehow isolating. Levi Thorne lived in two worlds, and I was an unwanted stain between them.

In the brightly lit, utilitarian supply closet, Mrs. Darnell began showing me where everything was kept—the specific polish for the dark wood, the lint-free cloths for the glass, the gentle vacuum for the priceless-looking rugs. I tried to focus on her instructions, on the names of the products, but my mind was a storm.

How was I supposed to do this? How could I come here, into his home, three times a week, and work calmly? Every creak of the floorboards would make me jump.

Every time I heard a door open, my heart would probably stop. He’d made it clear I was an infestation in his space, something to be tolerated only in secret and under threat.

"He's not often here in the afternoons," Mrs. Darnell said abruptly, as if reading my frantic thoughts. She was lining up bottles on a shelf with military precision. "Hockey practice, then usually dinner with friends. You'll likely only see him in passing, if at all. Your duties are on this floor. His… domain… is upstairs."

She said it without looking at me, her tone completely neutral. But it felt like a small life raft thrown into my churning sea of panic. Maybe I could avoid him. Maybe I could be a ghost, just as I’d originally hoped.

"Now," she said, turning to me with a critical eye. "You will start in the east sunroom. Dust every surface, including the baseboards and the windowsills. Then, polish the glass table. I will inspect when you are finished."