Ch.4: The Glass Fortress

The Thorne Estate didn't look like a home. It looked like a maximum-security prison designed by an architect with a glass fetish.

I stood at the service entrance, clutching my cheap plastic folder like a shield. My hair was dyed a chestnut brown that smelled of ammonia and cheap drugstore chemicals. I wore glasses I didn't need and a shapeless gray cardigan that swallowed my figure.

Elena Vance was gone. I was Mara Kovic now.

The main gate was twelve feet of black iron, topped with spikes that looked sharp enough to gut a deer. Cameras buzzed on every pillar, their red eyes tracking my approach.

I pressed the intercom button. The metal was cold against my sweating palm.

"State your business," a voice crackled. No warmth. Just static and suspicion.

"Mara Kovic," I said, forcing my voice to be steady, flat. "I'm here for the nanny interview. I have an appointment with Dr. Thorne."

A heavy mechanical clank echoed through the ground. The gate didn't open. Instead, a smaller pedestrian door to the side unlatched with a magnetic hiss.

I stepped through.

The driveway was a mile long, lined with manicured hedges that looked like they were trimmed with a laser. At the end of the asphalt river sat the house—a monstrosity of steel and floor-to-ceiling windows. It was beautiful and terrifying. You could see everything from the outside, which meant there was nowhere to hide on the inside.

I reached the front steps just as the double doors swung open.

A woman stood there. She wasn't Dr. Thorne. She was shorter, wider, encased in a black uniform that strained against her shoulders. Her gray hair was pulled back so tight it pulled her eyebrows up, giving her a permanent expression of skepticism.

Mrs. Higgins. The Head Housekeeper. The gatekeeper.

"You're late," she said. She didn't check a watch. It was a power move.

"I'm five minutes early," I countered, holding up my phone.

She snatched the folder from my hands, ignoring my defense. She flipped it open, her eyes darting across the forged documents I had spent my life savings on.

"Mara Kovic. Twenty-six. Previous employment in London. No next of kin." She looked up, her eyes hard little marbles. "You travel light."

"I focus on my work."

She huffed, a sound like a tire losing air, and turned on her heel. "Follow me. Don't touch the walls. Don't look at the cameras. And if you see the Mrs., you lower your eyes."

I followed her into the foyer. The air inside was freezing. It smelled of antiseptic and lemon polish—the smell of a hospital disguised as a hotel.

Higgins led me to a small office off the kitchen. She sat down behind a desk that looked too small for her and slapped my file down. She pulled out a tablet and started tapping.

"I need to verify your biometrics for the NDA," she said. "Thumb on the pad."

My stomach dropped. The hacker hadn't mentioned biometrics. The fake ID packet included a digital footprint, but my physical prints were still Elena Vance's—still in the nursing board database.

"Is that necessary for an interview?" I asked, keeping my hands in my pockets.

"It's necessary for breathing the air in this house," she snapped. "Thumb."

I hesitated. If I touched that screen, the system might flag me instantly. But if I refused, I was out.

I pulled my hand out, my thumb shaking slightly. I pressed it to the glass.

The tablet beeped. A loading circle spun.

Higgins frowned. She tapped the screen. "Odd."

"What is it?" My heart was slamming against my ribs so hard I thought she could see it through the cardigan.

"The system is flagging a mismatch on your birth year," she said slowly. She looked at the tablet, then at my fake ID, then at me.

She zoomed in on the screen.

She saw it. She had to see it. The digital ghost of Mara Kovic didn't align with the living, breathing woman standing in front of her.

I braced myself. I measured the distance to the door. I could run. I could make it to the gate before security—

Higgins looked up. A slow, oily smile spread across her face. It wasn't a smile of discovery. It was a smile of ownership.

She tapped a button on the screen. *Override.*

"Must be a glitch in the cloud," she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "We get those sometimes."

She pushed the tablet away and leaned forward. "You're desperate, aren't you, girl?"

I froze. "Excuse me?"

"I can smell it on you. You're not just here for a paycheck. You're running from something."

She stood up and walked around the desk, stopping inches from me. She reached out and adjusted my collar, her touch lingering too long.

"Dr. Thorne likes them desperate," she murmured. "It makes them obedient. I'll approve your clearance."

She opened the door to the main hallway.

"Go on up. The study is on the second floor. Don't make me regret this."

I walked past her, my skin crawling. I had expected to be caught. I had expected to be thrown out.

She didn't let me in because she trusted me. She let me in because she needed fresh meat for the grinder.