Maid To The Three Mafia Kings

⋆ Chapter 79: The Art Room

The silence inside the old mansion was suffocating, thick with memories. Millie trailed just a few steps behind Ethan, her footsteps barely daring to echo in the long hallway. And though the house was empty, she couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.

As they approached the last door at the end of the hall, her breath quickened, and her heart beat so loudly it nearly drowned out everything else. She couldn't help but wonder if he was bringing her back to confront her.

Ethan stopped in front of the door, his hand hovering just above the worn brass knob. His shoulders were stiff, and he took a deep breath, staring at the door like he needed a moment to prepare himself. Millie stood a few steps behind, watching him. Her own nerves kicked in, and she had a strong feeling that going into this room again was going to bring her more trouble.

Finally, Ethan twisted the knob and pushed the door open, letting it swing slowly on its creaky hinges. The air inside was still, carrying a faint smell of old paint and canvas. He stepped in, exhaling deeply, and as he did, his shoulders slumped, a strange mix of resignation and longing settling over him. He moved further into the room, his gaze drifting across the familiar shapes of easels, canvases, and art supplies.

Millie stood in the doorway, her hand resting on the doorframe as she looked around the room. Everything was just as she'd left it—the worktable she'd cleared, the paints she'd sorted by color, the brushes lined up neatly. Being back here felt like returning to the moment she'd first, without realizing it, made a connection to Ethan she never could have expected.

"My mother spent countless hours in this room..." Ethan's voice broke the silence, low and edged with a hint of sorrow. He didn't look back at her, but his words felt heavy, filling the space between them.

Millie swallowed, her throat tight. "This was your mother's..." she said, almost to herself, letting the reality sink in. "Ethan, I'm really—" She glanced at the table she'd carefully cleaned before, back when she hadn't known who it had belonged to or how much it meant. "I didn't know this was—"

"She was most peaceful and happy when she was painting," Ethan interrupted, his voice almost distant, as if he were speaking to someone only he could see. He didn't turn around to look at her; instead, he nodded toward the corner. "She was working on that one," he said, pointing to an unfinished painting on an easel, brushes scattered on the floor beside it. Even half-finished, the painting was striking, with vivid colors that seemed to hold onto a moment that had never been completed.

Millie felt her chest tighten as she watched him, standing so still. Why had he brought her here? Was it to make her feel guilty, to remind her of her mistake?

Silence followed, and she stayed by the doorway, casting glances around the room, her eyes landing briefly on each item she'd touched, each tool she'd tidied.

As the moments passed, she noticed the subtle rise and fall of Ethan's shoulders, his breathing slow and deep, almost like he was absorbing the memories in the room. He seemed lost in thought, taking in each detail as though he were trying to see them the way they were before.

Millie bit her lip, a surge of regret twisting in her stomach. She understood now. She'd trampled on a space filled with pieces of Ethan's past, unaware of the memories it held. And now she was standing there, staring at his back, her pulse thundering with an urge to say something—anything that might make this right.

After a tense moment, Ethan finally turned to face her, his expression as hard as stone. "You had one job," he said, his voice low but laced with anger. "Clean the place. That's it. And the instruction was clear and simple—leave this damn room alone."