The next morning, Clara Haughan woke up with an exhausted body and a mind stretched taut as a wire. Her sleep had been restless, haunted by the image of the technical room under the white light and Jonathan Goldsmith's cold, fleeting gaze. She had successfully escaped, gaining a clue about the Goldsmiths family's secret, but the price was the feeling of being placed directly in the crosshairs of the master of this place. Did he see her? Did he know she had been there? That question hung over her like an invisible blade.
She tried to maintain her usual calm exterior, performing her morning rituals mechanically. However, her observation was now elevated to the highest level. Every small sound, every slight change in a servant's expression caught her attention. Were there any signs of abnormality? Did it seem like the Goldsmiths' mansion was on alert?
Butler Reid appeared on time, still with her customary professionalism and distance. She announced the day's schedule in an even tone; nothing seemed different. Her gaze still rested on Clara Haughan's face only briefly, with no obvious probing or suspicion. The other staff were the same; they went about their work silently and efficiently, showing no tension or anxiety beyond the usual norm within the Goldsmiths mansion.
This "normalcy" only made Clara more uneasy. If Jonathan Goldsmith had discovered the intrusion, would he do nothing? No search? No lockdown? Or was it simply that he genuinely hadn't seen her, and she was just scaring herself?
At breakfast, Jonathan appeared. He was still elegant in his perfectly tailored suit, his demeanor calm and self-possessed as if nothing had happened. He sat at the head of the table and began his meal.
She carefully observed him. His face was serene, his deep eyes unreadable. He smiled faintly at her, the familiar, subtle smile.
"Good morning, Clara," he said, his voice deep and warm as usual.
"Good morning, Mr. Goldsmiths," She replied, trying to keep her voice steady, suppressing the tremor in her chest.
Throughout breakfast, he spoke of trivial matters, the weather, and a book he had just read. He spoke easily and naturally, without any mention of the previous night or anything related to the East Wing. He treated her as usual, with that confusing politeness.
But Clara felt as though every word he spoke carried a hidden meaning. His eyes, though not staring directly at her for long, felt like they were scrutinizing her to the bone whenever they glanced her way. Was he playing a game of cat and mouse? Did he know she was curious about that area, capable of action? Could this calmness be a test to see if she had the nerve to conceal her actions?
She answered him cautiously, briefly, trying not to reveal any tension or unease. Inside, her mind was working at full capacity, analyzing his every small gesture, searching for a sign, an opening. After breakfast, Jonathan Goldsmith left for work. Clara stayed behind, feeling as though she had just survived a mental battle.
However, she had also obtained important information from the night before. Data about gene and biological research, the symbols on the card. She had to find a way to understand them better. Although she couldn't access the computer in the East Wing anymore (at least not in the near future), she could search for related information elsewhere in the mansion. The library was the most likely place.
In the following days, Clara Haughan spent more time in the library. She searched for books on biology, genetics, and biotechnology. She read, memorized, trying to connect basic knowledge with the complex terms and figures she had seen on the computer screen in the East Wing.
This was very difficult. The books in the library were extensive, but her foundational knowledge in this field was limited. Furthermore, she had to do it discreetly, not letting Butler Reid or anyone else notice the change in her reading interests. She still had to intersperse her reading with other books on history and literature to maintain her cover.
At the same time, she continued to observe the Goldsmiths' mansion, looking for signs of abnormality. She noticed that security seemed slightly tighter around the East Wing area. The number of men in black suits walking around seemed higher, their eyes more alert. Was this related to the intrusion the night before? Or just a routine Goldsmiths family activity? This uncertainty kept Clara Haughan in a state of high tension.
Occasionally, she would encounter Jonathan Goldsmith in the mansion. He was still polite, still calm, as if that night in the technical room had never happened. He might ask her about her reading, about life in the Goldsmiths mansion, but he never delved too deeply. Each time she faced him, she felt like she was walking on thin ice. She tried to smile, answer calmly, while inside, a cold war raged.
The plastic card remained hidden. The data seen was still vague. The Goldsmiths mansion was still a mysterious maze. Jonathan was still a difficult puzzle. But Clara knew she had crossed a boundary. She had seen a part of the dark truth. And she could not go back.
The assassination mission was still there, but now it was intertwined with the task of lifting the veil on the Goldsmiths family's secret, a secret perhaps more terrifying than she imagined. She was a pawn trying to overturn his chessboard, and he seemed to be watching her every move in silence.
The tense psychological game had begun. And Clara knew that every wrong move could cost her life.