Tessa knew Damian Costa existed.
Of course she did.
Everyone who worked at the estate knew.
But knowing he existed and actually seeing him were different things.
She had glimpsed him twice in nearly six months.
Once crossing the main foyer surrounded by men in dark suits.
Once getting into a black SUV while security held everyone else back.
There were rumors.
Employees whispered in laundry rooms and kitchens.
Some said Damian owned half the city.
Others said he owned the people who owned half the city.
Tessa didn't ask questions.
She needed her paycheck too badly.
That afternoon, she was telling Beatrice about her disastrous car repair when a shadow moved across the doorway.
She turned.
Damian Costa stood there.
Tessa immediately rose.
The wooden chair scraped against the floor.
Beatrice opened her eyes.
Damian's gaze moved first to his mother.
Then to Tessa.
Then to the bandage around her hand.
Tessa tucked that hand behind her back.
"Mr. Costa."
He entered.
Up close, he was more intimidating.
Not because he was huge.
Though he was tall.
Not because of the expensive clothes.
Though even Tessa could tell his suit cost more than everything she owned.
It was his stillness.
He looked like a man who never wasted movement.
Never repeated himself.
Never entered a room without knowing how he could leave it.
Damian nodded toward her hand.
"What happened?"
Tessa hesitated.
"Cut it cleaning."
"I know."
Her stomach tightened.
"You know?"
His eyes shifted toward the upper corner of the room.
Tessa followed his gaze.
A tiny black lens sat almost invisibly near the molding.
Her expression changed.
"Cameras."
"Throughout the estate."
"You were watching?"
"Yes."
"For how long?"
Damian could have lied.
He didn't.
"Seven days."
Tessa stared at him.
A hot wave of embarrassment climbed up her neck.
Every ridiculous conversation.
Every complaint about buses.
Every joke about eggs.
Every time she had sung quietly while dusting.
"You watched me feed her?"
"Yes."
"Read to her?"
"Yes."
"Talk about my broken car?"
"Yes."
Tessa closed her eyes.
"Fantastic."
Something almost like amusement moved behind Damian's eyes.
Almost.
Beatrice suddenly reached toward Tessa.
Tessa turned immediately.
"I'm here."
Beatrice's hand found hers.
The injured one.
Tessa winced.
Damian saw it.
His expression hardened.
"Sit."
Tessa looked at him.
"Excuse me?"
"Your hand."
"It's fine."
"It was cut on glass in my house."
"That doesn't mean—"
"Tessa."
She stopped.
It was the first time he had used her first name.
"I said sit."
She folded her arms.
"Do you order everyone around like this?"
"Yes."
"Does it usually work?"
"Yes."
"Must be nice."
Damian stared at her.
Nobody spoke.
Then Beatrice laughed.
It was faint.
But unmistakable.
Both of them turned.
Beatrice was looking at Damian.
"She doesn't like you," she said.
It was one of the clearest sentences she had spoken all day.
Tessa covered her mouth.
Damian's eyebrows lifted.
Beatrice looked pleased with herself.
Tessa tried not to smile.
Failed.
Damian slowly pulled the spare chair from the wall and sat opposite the bed.
Tessa remained standing.
"You can sit too."
"That sounded less like an order."
"I'm experimenting."
She sat.
The room became strangely quiet.
Damian hadn't sat beside his mother for more than a few minutes in weeks.
He always told himself visits agitated her.
Sometimes they did.
Sometimes she thought he was his father.
Sometimes she accused him of things that happened twenty-five years before.
It was easier to watch through glass.
Safer.
But Tessa stayed calm.
She didn't fill silence unnecessarily.
She didn't explain Beatrice's illness to him.
She simply remained nearby.
After several minutes, Beatrice looked at Damian.
Her eyes focused with sudden clarity.
"You're tired."
Damian's face changed.
Tessa looked between them.
"I'm fine," he said.
Beatrice frowned.
"You always say that."
For one brief moment, Damian looked less like the man who owned the mansion and more like a boy being corrected by his mother.
Tessa stood.
"I should finish my work."
Damian looked up.
"Stay."
She paused.
Beatrice tightened her fingers around Tessa's hand.
Damian saw it.
"Please," he added.
That word startled Tessa more than the command had.
She sat again.
For the next thirty minutes, almost nothing dramatic happened.
No gunshots.
No threats.
No emergency.
Tessa talked.
Beatrice drifted between awareness and confusion.
Damian listened.
When Beatrice forgot where she was, Tessa didn't argue.
When she asked whether her husband would be home for dinner, Tessa said gently, "Not tonight."
Damian's jaw tightened.
His father had been dead three decades.
Beatrice sighed.
"He's always late."
Tessa nodded.
"Men."
Damian glanced at her.
"Men?"
Tessa shrugged.
"I didn't invent the reputation."
Another almost-smile.
When Tessa finally left to finish her shift, Damian stayed.
That alone created gossip.
By dinner, kitchen staff were whispering that Mr. Costa had spent almost an hour inside Room 104.
Nobody knew why.
The next morning, Tessa arrived and found a new medical kit in Beatrice's bathroom.
Not just a box of bandages.
An entire cabinet.
Sterile gauze.
Antiseptic.
Gloves.
Burn treatment.
Emergency supplies.
She stared at it.
The nurse beside her rolled her eyes.
"Apparently somebody nearly declared war over your hand."
Tessa looked toward the camera.
"Ridiculous."
Downstairs, Damian watched her say it.
Paul stood behind him.
"You realize she knows where the cameras are now."
"Obviously."
"She'll behave differently."
Damian watched Tessa close the cabinet.
Then she turned directly toward the camera.
Raised her injured hand.
And gave it a sarcastic little wave.
Paul choked on a laugh.
Damian slowly leaned back.
"Get out."
Paul left quickly.
The corner of Damian's mouth lifted.
For the first time in months, perhaps years, he smiled while sitting alone in the bunker.
But Day 8 brought trouble.
Not from Beatrice.
From Tessa's past.
At 6:40 p.m., Paul entered Damian's office.
"We have a situation."
Damian looked up from paperwork.
"Define situation."
"Two men were waiting near the employee bus stop."
"For?"
"Tessa."
Damian went still.
Paul put photographs on the desk.
Security had captured the men.
One was heavyset with a shaved head.
The other wore a leather jacket despite the heat.
"Who are they?"
"Collectors."
"For her medical debt?"
"Looks that way."
Damian's eyes hardened.
"What happened?"
"Nothing here. She saw them and went back through the employee gate. Guards kept them off the property."
"And now?"
"They're parked down the road."
Damian stood.
"Where's Tessa?"
"Break room."
"Does she know we know?"
"No."
Damian crossed the office.
Paul followed.
"Boss."
"What?"
"How do you want to handle it?"
Damian stopped.
A year earlier, the answer would have been simple.
Men who threatened people under his roof vanished.
Problems were solved permanently.
But he remembered Tessa in Room 104.
She's scared. She doesn't know what day she's in.
Tessa saw people before she saw problems.
Damian wondered, with irritation, whether that habit was becoming contagious.
"No bodies," he said.
Paul stared.
Damian looked at him.
"Was that unclear?"
"No."
"Find out exactly who owns her debt."
"Then?"
"Bring me numbers."
"And the men?"
"Tell them if they step onto Costa property again, they'll regret the decision."
Paul nodded.
"That sounds more like you."
Damian walked toward the break room.
He found Tessa alone beside a vending machine.
She was staring at her phone.
Her face had lost color.
When she saw him, she quickly locked the screen.
"Mr. Costa."
"Who are they?"
She knew instantly.
"Nobody."
"They waited outside my gate."
"It's personal."
"You're employed in my home."
"That doesn't make my debts yours."
"No."
His voice softened slightly.
"But men waiting outside my gate make them my concern."
Tessa looked away.
"They're collectors."
"I know."
Her eyes snapped back.
"Of course you do."
"They threatened you?"
"No."
"Tessa."
"Not exactly."
"What does 'not exactly' mean?"
She pressed her lips together.
"They said they're tired of waiting."
"For money?"
"Yes."
"How much?"
"I'm handling it."
"How much?"
Her embarrassment became anger.
"I said I'm handling it."
Damian studied her.
Most people became smaller under his stare.
Tessa became more stubborn.
Interesting.
"I don't need charity," she said.
"I didn't offer charity."
"You were about to."
"No."
"What were you about to offer?"
Damian paused.
He had no answer that wouldn't sound like charity.
Tessa shook her head.
"I'll take care of it."
She walked toward the door.
"Tessa."
She stopped.
"Don't walk to the bus stop tonight."
"I've been taking buses since I was sixteen."
"Tonight you're taking a car."
"I'm not."
Damian exhaled.
"Do you enjoy arguing?"
"Not particularly."
"You seem talented at it."
She looked over her shoulder.
"You seem used to people obeying."
"I am."
"Maybe this will be good for you."
She walked away.
Damian stared after her.
Then pressed the call button on his phone.
"Paul."
"Yeah?"
"Have a car follow the bus."
There was a pause.
"You know she's going to hate that."
"She doesn't have to know."
But as Damian would soon discover, keeping things from Tessa Miller was becoming increasingly difficult.