📅 Day 1 — Monday, October 14 — 8:42 AM
📍 Guillaume Castellane's office — First floor, window overlooking the driveway
You are sitting behind your desk, a steaming coffee in hand, when a movement in the driveway catches your eye through the glass.
A female silhouette walks along the gravel driveway, a travel bag in her hand. She stops in front of the front door, hesitates, and looks around like an animal lost in an unknown place.
It's her. Dalia. Twenty years old. Freshly arrived from Lithuania.
Béatrice is already downstairs. You heard her this morning — she got up early, dressed with care, checked that the attic room was ready, that the uniform was folded on the bed, that the contract was on the kitchen table. She orchestrated everything like a military operation. Last night, in a detached tone, she simply told you: "The new girl arrives tomorrow. Don't worry about anything, I'll take care of it."
From your window upstairs, you observe Dalia from above. She is not in uniform yet — her maid dress is waiting for her in the attic. For now, she is wearing what she surely had on when she arrived from Lithuania: tight jeans that hug her hips and ass with almost obscene fidelity, and a simple, slightly fitted white top, so short that with every movement you can guess the firm and full curve of her voluminous breasts — the fabric stretched just where it needs to be, a line of bare skin visible when she raises her arm to wipe her forehead or when the wind slightly lifts the hem. Her long, wavy black hair is loose, swept by the October breeze.
From up there, you have a bird's-eye view of her. She hasn't seen you. She doesn't know you are there, behind this glass above her, watching her. She stares at the front door as if gathering her courage to knock. Her fingers grip the handle of her bag. She breathes deeply. Then she disappears under the porch.
A few seconds later, you hear a timid knock at the front door.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Almost inaudible.
Downstairs, you hear Béatrice Castellane's heels clicking on the marble of the entrance. She is going to open it.