MTLNOVEL Chapter 4: New Place
The car suddenly slowed.
Through the window, tall black gates came into view—towering and cold, like they were built not to keep people out, but to keep someone like me in.
A guard stepped out of a booth and nodded as Diego's window slid down. No words were exchanged. Just a silent acknowledgment, then the gates creaked open with a mechanical groan.
The estate was massive.
Long gravel paths lined with trimmed hedges. Dim garden lights glowing under the rain. A mansion that sat at the center like a sleeping beast, quiet but menacing, waiting to awaken.
I swallowed hard.
This wasn't a home.
This was a cage dressed in elegance.
The car stopped near the entrance. One of the suited men opened the door for me, but I didn't move.
"Out," Diego's voice came, emotionless.
I stepped out into the rain, the cold drops kissing my skin like tiny reminders that I was still real. Still trapped in this nightmare.
The door to the mansion opened before we even reached it. A woman in her mid-forties stood there—tall, lean, eyes sharp behind a pair of glasses. Her hair was tied back so tightly it looked like it hurt.
"Maria," Diego called casually, "she's yours now. Handle the paperwork later."
Maria glanced at me with the kind of expression you give dirt on a clean floor.
"Follow me," she said without waiting for a response.
I did.
Because what else could I do?
The interior was stunning, but cold. Marble floors. Chandeliers. Everything gleamed but nothing felt alive. Not a single photo on the walls. No laughter echoing. No signs that real people lived here—just power, wealth, and silence.
Maria led me down a hallway, her heels clicking against the floor like a ticking clock. At the end was a wooden door. She opened it and stepped aside.
"This is where you'll sleep," she said. "You'll be given a schedule. Wake up early, be in uniform, and obey instructions. There's a list of rules on the desk. Break them, and you'll regret it. Understood?"
I looked past her into the room. It was small—bare. A narrow bed, a desk, and a wardrobe. A barred window high on the wall. It looked more like a servant's quarter than a bedroom.
"I asked you a question."
I turned to her, blinking slowly. "Understood."
Maria nodded stiffly. "Go through those rules, don't skip anyone!"
She turned and walked away, heels clicking into the distance.
I stepped into the room and gently closed the door.
No lock.
Of course.
I leaned my back against the door and stared around. The air smelled like lemon polish and unfamiliar soap. I walked to the bed, sat down, and looked up at the ceiling.
This was it.
I had no home, no family, no voice, and no freedom.
I was no longer Seraphina, the daughter of a man who once loved her.
I was just another name on someone's debt list. A servant in a stranger's house. A soul quietly fading.
I sighed and walked to the narrow bed, there was no mattress, just an old smelly rug. I trailed my hands around it, it was hard. It wasn't even good to let servants use it but here I was.
I couldn't even bring myself to blame anyone. If there was someone I should be blaming, it would be myself.
Yes.
My existence.
I caused my mother's death and now my father's. Would I be able to forgive myself?
I couldn't.
The guilt is something I would learn to live and grow with.
The paper on the desk caught my attention, so I picked it up with trembling fingers and began to read.
There were so many rules.
Too many.
Each one printed in dark ink, cold and precise like the voice of someone who had never known kindness.
---
HOUSE RULES – FOR SERVANT CLASS PERSONNEL
1. Wake-up time: 4:30 a.m. sharp. Latecomers will be punished.
2. Uniforms must be clean and properly worn at all times.
3. Speak only when spoken to. Silence is expected unless permitted otherwise.
4. No wandering around the mansion after 8:00 p.m.
5. Meals are served after the main house has eaten. No seconds.
6. No touching of any items belonging to the Master or guests.
7. You must remain within designated servant areas.
8. Failure to follow orders results in disciplinary action.
9. No visitors. No phone. No letters. No contact with the outside world unless approved.
10. Do not attempt to leave the estate. Ever.
---
My hands trembled as I reached the bottom of the list.
There, scribbled in a sharper font, almost like a warning instead of a rule, was a final line:
> You are not here to be treated. You are here to repay what you owe.
My chest tightened.
I gently set the paper back down, though I wanted to tear it in two—shred it, scream into the silence, run as far as my legs could take me. But I knew better.
I sat back on the edge of the bed—if I could even call it that. The rug smelled of mold and sweat, and beneath it, the wood dug into my thighs like punishment. I ran my fingers across it again, slower this time.
No one deserved this.
Not even a servant.
But I wasn't even that—I wasn't hired. I hadn't applied. I hadn't agreed.
I was owned.
The ache behind my eyes grew heavier, pressing until my vision blurred, but I blinked the tears away. Crying wouldn't change the reality. It wouldn't change what I had done. What I had caused.
My mother had died giving birth to me.
My father had died trying to keep me alive.
And now I was here. In this cold, unfamiliar place. A cage painted with marble floors and chandeliers. No warmth. No name. No home.
I wrapped my arms around myself tightly and curled up on the stiff bed. The air was colder now, like the room was swallowing me inch by inch.
There was no blanket.
Just silence and guilt.
I listened to the wind whistle softly outside the barred window.
If I closed my eyes and imagined hard enough, I could hear my father humming in the kitchen. Off-tune, always. His voice was deep and gentle, always louder when he was proud of something he cooked—especially when he burned it.
A strangled breath left my throat.
I wasn't ready for this.
But life didn't wait for readiness.
It just took—and I was tired of being the one it always took from.
Still, some fragile, stubborn part of me deep down whispered…
Maybe, just maybe, it hasn't taken everything yet.