Chapter 4: The Mansion

Ella’s legs felt like lead as she followed the housekeeper down the long corridor, her eyes wide at every corner they turned. The walls glimmered with art pieces she could never name—massive oil paintings of people in suits and gowns, statues of marble gods whose cold faces stared down at her. Chandeliers hung above like pieces of heaven, scattering light across the glossy floors. The air smelled faintly of roses and polished marble, so clean and fragrant it almost hurt her lungs to breathe it in.

She couldn’t believe such a place existed outside of the movies. Every step she took echoed softly, swallowed by the vastness of the corridor. The ceiling soared high enough to make her dizzy. This wasn’t a house, she thought. It was a kingdom—his kingdom.

The housekeeper, a tall, severe woman with a stiff bun and narrowed eyes, walked briskly ahead, her heels clicking in a precise rhythm. She didn’t bother to slow her pace for Ella, who trailed behind like a stray who’d been let in by mistake.

“You will address me as Mrs. Durojaiye,” the woman said without turning her head. Her voice was cold, clipped, like someone accustomed to giving orders. “You will follow the rules of this house. Speak only when spoken to. Do you understand?”

Ella swallowed hard, clutching the strap of her worn handbag like a lifeline. “Y–yes, ma.”

Mrs. Durojaiye stopped abruptly and turned, her sharp eyes sweeping over Ella’s simple gown and dusty shoes with open disapproval. “Girls like you come and go. Don’t think you’re special because he brought you here. Keep your head down and don’t cause trouble.”

Her words stung, even though Ella tried to keep her face blank. She lowered her gaze, wishing she could melt into the polished floor.

Finally, after what felt like endless corridors, they stopped in front of a large double door. Mrs. Durojaiye pushed it open, revealing a room so grand Ella thought she had stepped into a dream.

A queen-sized bed draped in silk stood at the center, its headboard carved from dark wood. Curtains so heavy they looked like they could block out the sun framed tall windows. A vanity with golden edges sparkled beneath a small chandelier, and a walk-in wardrobe loomed in the corner—bigger than her mother’s entire sitting room.

“This is your quarter,” the housekeeper announced flatly. “Dinner is at seven. Don’t be late. Someone will bring you suitable clothes.” She gave Ella one last hard look, her expression making it clear she didn’t expect gratitude, before leaving. The door clicked shut behind her, leaving Ella in stunned silence.

She moved slowly around the room, her fingers brushing against fabrics she had only seen in shop windows. Everything was beautiful, expensive, perfect… yet she felt suffocated. Even the air seemed too heavy, like it had been trapped for years inside the walls.

She sat on the bed and buried her face in her hands. Was this what her mother wanted for her? To be surrounded by wealth she didn’t belong to, trapped in a golden cage?

Tears pricked her eyes. She had traded freedom for survival.

The hours dragged on in silence. Servants came and went, their faces impassive, leaving neatly folded dresses, polished shoes, and trays of food she barely touched. No one spoke to her longer than necessary. To them, she was just another girl in the billionaire’s mansion, another name in a long list.

As the sun dipped behind the horizon, the golden light spilling through the curtains turned blood-red. Ella dressed for dinner, her hands trembling as she fastened the soft blue gown left for her on the bed. The dress clung to her curves in ways that made her uncomfortable, the fabric cool and slippery against her skin. She hardly recognized the girl staring back in the mirror—her reflection looked like a stranger, fragile yet dressed like royalty.

She smoothed the skirt with trembling fingers, whispering under her breath, “This isn’t me… this isn’t me.”

The dining hall was massive, its long table gleaming under crystal lights like a river of polished wood. Paintings lined the walls—men in suits, women in gowns, eyes all following her. The air smelled faintly of wine and expensive perfume. She sat at one end of the table, unsure if she was even allowed to eat, unsure of anything at all. The silence pressed against her chest, louder than any noise.

She picked at the hem of her gown, the seconds stretching into hours. Every creak of the floor, every whisper of footsteps beyond the door made her heart jolt.

Then the doors opened.

Richard Williams entered, tall and commanding in his black suit. His presence shifted the atmosphere instantly; servants straightened, footsteps hushed, the air itself seemed to grow heavier. His gaze locked onto Ella, sharp and unreadable, and for a heartbeat the world narrowed to just the two of them.

He walked slowly toward her, each step echoing in the vast hall. Ella’s breath caught. He didn’t hurry. He didn’t need to. He moved like a man who owned everything, including the ground she stood on.

His eyes didn’t waver, didn’t soften. When he finally stopped before her, she felt like prey cornered by a predator.

“Do you like your new home?” he asked, his deep voice breaking the silence.

Ella hesitated. Her fingers twisted the hem of her gown as she stared at the table rather than his face. “It’s… it’s beautiful, sir. But… it’s too much for me.”

A smirk tugged at his lips, a flicker of something she couldn’t read—amusement, perhaps, or hunger. He leaned closer, his cologne intoxicating, his gaze piercing straight through her.

“Get used to it.” His voice dropped, each word deliberate, dangerous. “In my house, Ella… you belong to me.”

Her breath hitched. The words struck her like chains tightening around her neck. She stared at him, fear and defiance warring in her chest. She wanted to protest, to remind him she wasn’t his possession, to say that she had only come to work. But the intensity in his eyes stole her voice.

For the first time, she understood—this mansion wasn’t her salvation. It was her prison.

And Richard Williams held the keys.