My Boss Caught Me Sneaking Into His Private Library At 2 AM — Then He Found Out Why
Part 1
I stood in the staff kitchen, staring at the new notice pinned to the corkboard.
Mrs. Peterson’s precise, rigid handwriting was unmistakable.
Under no circumstances is any member of the household staff to approach the estate’s rescue dog.
Infringement will result in immediate dismissal.
I read the words twice, feeling the eyes of the other maids on my back.
They all knew exactly who that rule was meant for.
It was for me, the quiet new girl who somehow attracted the massive gray wolfhound.
The dog’s name was Bear.
He had belonged to Greg Harrison’s younger brother, who passed away six months prior.
Everyone feared him.
Except, it seemed, he didn’t fear or despise me.
I never sought him out or offered him scraps.
I simply went about my duties, keeping my head down and my face perfectly composed.
Yet Bear found me everywhere I went.
If I was in the library wiping dust from the leather-bound spines, he would appear and lie by the fireplace.
Mrs. Peterson, the head housekeeper, saw it as an intolerable breach of discipline.
Now, she had drawn a public line in the sand.
I had to obey the rule, because my position here was too precarious.
My real name wasn’t Brenda Davis, the orphaned maid with forged references.
I had come to this grand, cold house not for wages, but for justice.
Two years ago, my father passed away, leaving me a secure inheritance and a collection of rare books.
But I never saw a penny of it.
A distant relative produced a revised will, swept in, and cast me out with nothing.
That relative was Mrs. Peterson’s brother.
I spent a year in destitution before an old friend of my father’s told me a crucial secret.
My father used to consult on the cataloging of the extensive private library at this very estate.
He suspected my father had hidden the original deed in that library for safekeeping.
So I vanished, taking a job as a junior maid at the Harrison estate.
I was waiting for the perfect opportunity to search the library.
Greg spent most of his hours buried in estate papers, a formidable and unapproachable figure.
He moved through his home with a heavy silence, completely ignoring me.
It was exactly how I needed it to be.
But the new rule about the dog made my task incredibly dangerous.
Now, constant surveillance by Mrs. Peterson would become my reality.
Carrying the heavy buckets of water to the grand entrance, my knees met the cold stone.
A shadow fell over me, and looking up was entirely unnecessary to know who it was.
Bear stood on the top step, looking down at me with a soft whine.
Whispering for him to go away, my voice was barely audible.
The dog nudged my shoulder with his wet nose, offering a gentle, imploring gesture.
My hand ached to reach out and stroke the shaggy fur between his ears.
But the housekeeper’s words echoed in my mind, warning of immediate dismissal.
Shaking my head, my brush scrubbed the stone with a renewed, desperate energy.
The massive animal finally turned and padded slowly back up the steps.
Scrubbing didn’t stop until my knuckles were completely raw.
Suddenly, a heavy gaze from an upper window pierced through the morning mist, and the watcher was definitely not the housekeeper.
It was Greg.
The invisible shield I had was gone, and my days became a campaign of isolation.
Mrs. Peterson sent me to scrub the dampest corridors and sort mildewed linens in the cellar.
She kept me working in the servants’ hall until I was too exhausted to even think of searches.
I felt time slipping away.
One night, the harsh realization struck that my time was finally up.
Waiting until the entire house descended into complete silence was agonizing.
Slipping out of my room fully dressed, a dark shawl wrapped tightly around my shoulders provided little warmth.
The massive private library served as my ultimate destination.
Everything hinged on the desperate gamble that Greg was taking one of his long, restless walks through the estate.
Moving through the darkened service corridors, my heart beat like a frantic drum against my ribs.
Finding the library door unlocked, a silent push allowed me inside.
The room smelled of leather and ink, lit only by the low red glow of the embers.
The exact location of the hidden stash was burned into my memory.
Discovering the hidden spiral staircase, the cold iron steps felt icy beneath my feet.
Trembling slightly, my fingers ran over the ancient book spines.
Then, a floorboard creaked somewhere below me.
Fear froze my limbs instantly, turning my blood to absolute ice.
Holding my breath, every muscle strained to listen.
There was a low sound, the unmistakable scrape of a log shifting in the grate.
Someone was in the room.
I had miscalculated terribly.
Greg hadn’t gone for a walk at all.
He had been sitting in the pitch blackness the entire time.
I was completely trapped.
Discovery meant instant dismissal, disgrace, and the end of all hope.
I had to get back down the stairs and out the door while the room was still dark.
I slid my feet along the floor, not daring to lift them.
I took the first agonizingly slow step down.
The old iron groaned, a loud, protesting sound in the absolute silence.
I abandoned any pretense of stealth and practically ran down the rest of the steps.
My hand was on the cold brass door handle when his voice came out of the darkness, stopping me dead.
He didn’t shout.
It was a low, quiet command that held the absolute authority of a man who had never been disobeyed.
I froze with my back to him, squeezing my eyes tightly shut.
I heard his soft footsteps crossing the room until he stopped just a few feet behind me.
He took a step closer in the dark, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper as he asked exactly whose name was on the forged references in my pocket.
