Page 5 of Split

I stare back at her, unsure how to reply to that. Growing up beneath my father’s thumb, our household staff was at least warm and friendly towards me. In a lot of ways, they were more like family to me than my own father was. I’d hoped that would be the case here, but from the vibe Clara is putting off, I doubt we’ll be swapping gossip over afternoon tea anytime soon.

“Come, I’ll show you to your room,” she offers, stepping past me to ascend the staircase, her Mary Janes clicking against the marble tiles underfoot. They’re also black, like everything else in sight.

The house is eerily quiet as we make our way upstairs, following the split in the staircase to the left. As Clara previously indicated, the second level appears to be divided into two wings, meaning everything to the right is off-limits.

For now, at least.

I’ve never been a big fan of rules.

She takes me down the long hallway of the west wing, stopping short at a large set of double doors and brandishing a key from her apron to unlock them.

“Where are all the other staff?” I ask, glancing around as Clara fits the brass key in the lock and turns it. My father’s house was never this quiet– the hired help always kept things feeling lively.

“It’s just me here in the house, ma’am,” she replies, slipping the key back into her pocket. “Mr. Volkov doesn’t keep a full staff anymore.” Turning the knob, she slams a shoulder against the door and it begrudgingly creaks open, flooding the hallway with light. She steps inside and I follow, pausing in the doorway to draw a short gasp.

This room is nothing like the rest of the house. Where everything else has a dark, ominous feel, this room is light and airy, with floor-to-ceiling windows running the length of the entire back wall. A set of French doors is in the center, leading out to a wide stone balcony that overlooks the grounds. I’m immediately drawn to them, crossing the enormous room to gaze out at the sprawling property below.

There’s nothing but grass and trees as far as the eye can see. The lawn is perfectly manicured, giving way to a thick tangle of forest beyond. This place is definitely remote, far away from city lights and prying eyes. A groundskeeper with a head of thinning gray hair is clipping the tall hedges on the far side of the property, and…wait, is that…?

“Does he have a dog?” I ask excitedly, lifting a hand to shade my eyes from the sun and squinting at the large black animal trotting along the border of the lawn.

“Two,” Clara provides, pulling open the double doors to the walk-in closet. “You’d best keep your distance from them, though. They’re not pets, they’re trained to guard the property.”

As I watch the animal run around, sniffing the earth, my lips spread into the first genuine smile I’ve managed all day. My father never allowed me to have pets, but I’ve always had a deep love for animals. “I’ll bet I could win them over with some treats,” I muse.

“The dogs are on a strict diet.”

I turn away from the window, sighing heavily as I fold my arms across my chest. “Is there anything thatisn’toff-limits around here?”

Clara gives me a strange look, then disappears inside the closet, reappearing a few minutes later with several hangers in her grasp. “You’ll be having dinner with Mr. Volkov this evening in the dining room, seven-thirty sharp,” she supplies, crossing the room to lay the garments out on the bed. “He’d prefer that you wear red.”

I watch as she carefully lays three choices atop the plush goose down comforter, each dress more exquisite than the last. The crimson fabric stands out in stark contrast to the white bed linens, and though the gowns are undeniably beautiful, the fact that my new husband thinks he can dictate my wardrobe sets my teeth on edge.

Fuck him, I’m wearing black. As far as I’m concerned, I’m still at my funeral.

“I’ll be in around six-thirty to help you get ready,” Clara says, thoughtfully smoothing the fabric of each dress before turning back around to face me.

“No need, I can get ready myself,” I grumble bitterly.

“Erm… are you sure, ma’am?” she asks with a wince. “I know what Mr. Volkov prefers…”

“Yes, I’m sure,” I cut in, growing increasingly annoyed by the second.

Clara nods obediently, clasping her hands tightly in front of her. “Okay,” she relents, giving me a quick once-over. “Hair down. Not too much makeup. Red lips.”

My mouth falls agape.

I’m not sure what I expected from this arranged marriage, but it definitely wasn’t to be dressed up like a doll for my new husband’s amusement. Here I am, taking orders on what to wear and how to style my hair, while he’s off tending to things he deemed more important than helping his newwifeget settled in.

Yeah, I’ll take a hard pass on conforming to his preferred style.

“Can I help you with anything else?” Clara asks, blowing past my obvious shock and disdain.

I snap my mouth closed, shaking my head.

She nods, stepping away from the bed and striding toward the door, glancing back at me once she reaches it.

“If there’s anything I can do to make your stay here more comfortable, please let me know,” she says. “Preferred soaps, shampoos, anything of that sort. You can make a shopping list and I’ll be sure that Andrew gets it.”

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