Chapter 1 - The Dog Who Chose Her
For the first month at the Fiero estate, Dalia Ashford survived by being forgettable.
She learned which hallways creaked after midnight, which doors locked automatically, which cameras turned with real attention and which were only there to intimidate delivery drivers. She learned that Mrs. Hargrove inspected silver like a priest inspecting sin. She learned that the west staircase was rarely used, the east wing was always colder, and no one entered the basement unless Mr. Fiero personally ordered it.
Most importantly, she learned that Bobby noticed everything.
The mastiff followed no one except Rowan Fiero. Yet after that first morning in the kitchen, he began appearing wherever Dalia least expected him.
If she dusted the library, Bobby lay outside the door.
If she carried linens up the back stairs, Bobby waited on the landing.
If nausea forced her into the pantry before dawn, Bobby padded in silently and sat between her and the hallway like a wall made of muscle and judgment.
Dalia tried to discourage him.
“You are making me memorable,” she whispered one morning while slicing lemons for breakfast service.
Bobby thumped his tail once.
“That was not a compliment.”
Another thump.
Mrs. Hargrove noticed before anyone else.
The old housekeeper stood in the kitchen doorway with a tray in her hands and her eyes narrowed at the impossible sight of Bobby resting his enormous head against Dalia’s ankle.
“That dog does not attach himself to staff.”
Dalia froze. “I did not call him.”
“I know.”
“I never feed him.”
“I know that as well.”
Mrs. Hargrove set the tray down. Her face gave away nothing, but her voice lowered.
“Animals recognize conditions humans pretend not to see.”
Dalia’s hand tightened around the knife.
“I don’t understand.”
Mrs. Hargrove looked at Dalia’s stomach. Not obviously. Not long enough to accuse. But long enough.
Then she said, “You should be careful with stairs.”
Dalia stopped breathing.
Mrs. Hargrove turned and left before Dalia could answer.
That night, Dalia lay awake in the narrow staff room beneath the eaves and pressed both hands over her stomach. She was ten weeks pregnant now. Still small enough to hide beneath loose uniforms and aprons. Still early enough that fear could convince her this secret remained hers.
But secrets inside the Fiero estate did not stay buried because people were careless.
They stayed buried because people were afraid.
The next morning, Rowan Fiero noticed Bobby.
Dalia was replacing white roses in the foyer when the front doors opened and Rowan entered with rain on his coat and two men behind him. He stopped halfway across the marble floor.
Bobby had risen from beside Dalia’s feet.
The dog did not run to Rowan. He did not even walk toward him. He simply stood between his master and the maid, watching.
The two men behind Rowan exchanged a look.
Rowan’s expression did not change.
“Bobby.”
The dog’s ears shifted, but he did not move.
Dalia lowered her eyes. “I’m sorry, Mr. Fiero. He came in while I was working.”
“I did not ask why he was there.”
His voice was calm, deep, and controlled. Somehow that made it worse.
Dalia kept her hands around the vase. “No, sir.”
Rowan looked from the dog to her.
“What is your name?”
The question struck harder than it should have. Until that moment, she had been part of the furniture.
“Dalia Ashford.”
“How long have you worked here?”
“Four weeks, sir.”
“Where did Hargrove find you?”
“Through the agency.”
“I did not ask who sent you. I asked where she found you.”
Dalia swallowed. “Greenwich before here. I worked for Judge Halpern.”
At the judge’s name, something faint shifted in Rowan’s eyes. Recognition. Calculation.
Then Bobby stepped backward until his body pressed against Dalia’s knee.
Rowan saw it.
Everyone saw it.
One of the men behind him gave a soft laugh. “Looks like the beast has a new favorite.”
Bobby turned his head.
The laugh died immediately.
Rowan removed his gloves. “Leave us.”
The two men obeyed without question.
Dalia wanted to move, but Bobby had pinned her in place with the full force of his presence. Rowan walked closer, his shoes making no sound on the marble.
“You are afraid of me,” he said.
It was not a question.
Dalia kept her eyes down. “Most people are, sir.”
“That is an honest answer.”
“I try not to lie.”
Rowan studied her for a long moment.
Then he said, “In this house, that is dangerous.”
Before Dalia could answer, his phone vibrated. He glanced at the screen, and the temperature in the foyer seemed to fall.
His jaw tightened.
“Where is my uncle?”
Mrs. Hargrove appeared from the dining corridor as though summoned by fear itself.
“Mr. Salvatore is in the east sitting room.”
“And my cousin?”
“Mr. Enzo left an hour ago.”
Rowan’s eyes stayed on the phone. “No. He did not.”
Mrs. Hargrove went still.
Dalia felt Bobby’s body tense against her leg.
Rowan looked toward the east wing.
“Lock the staff floor after dinner,” he said. “No one leaves their rooms tonight.”
Mrs. Hargrove’s face paled. “Yes, Mr. Fiero.”
Rowan turned back to Dalia.
“If Bobby follows you again, do not push him away.”
Then he walked toward the east wing.
Dalia stood frozen in the foyer with the roses trembling in her hands.
Bobby remained beside her.
May you like
For the first time since arriving at the estate, Dalia understood that the dog had not chosen her because he liked her.
He had chosen her because something in the house already wanted her dead.
