Chapter 3 - Whispers in the Dark|
Three weeks before the disastrous engagement party, the Whitmore mansion had been quiet. The forty-room estate sat on twenty wooded acres outside Boston, overlooking a dark stretch of the Atlantic coastline.
Naomi rose at five every morning. She tied her dark hair into a neat bun, brewed fresh coffee, opened the heavy library drapes, and arranged fresh flowers in the foyer. Most people in the house barely noticed her, and Naomi preferred it that way.
Only old Harold Whitmore, the ninety-one-year-old family patriarch, had ever looked closely at her. When he hired her fourteen months ago, his pale blue eyes had lingered on her stance.
"You move like someone who pays attention," the old man had murmured.
"It's useful in household work, sir," Naomi had replied with a polite smile.
His grandson, thirty-four-year-old Ethan Whitmore, was the newly appointed CEO of Whitmore Development. The press called him a ruthless billionaire, but Naomi knew the man who forgot to eat when he was stressed. She knew the man who loosened his tie when he lied about being fine, and who stood alone in the dark kitchen at midnight.
Their silent understanding had begun six months ago when Naomi found him staring at an untouched glass of whiskey in the pantry.
"Couldn't sleep?" she had asked softly, placing a warm cup of chamomille tea beside him.
"I didn't ask for tea," Ethan had said, looking up.
"You also haven't touched the alcohol," Naomi pointed out.
May you like
Ethan had laughed for the first time in weeks. From that night on, their late-night kitchen chats became a sanctuary. He spoke about corporate pressure, his grandfather’s failing health, and the burden of his name. Naomi listened without judgment.
Then Vanessa Sterling had noticed.
