Chapter 6: Back to the BlackBoat Mansion

Walking forward, she glanced around, taking in the long, tedious pathway. The architecture of the building ahead resembled a duke’s estate—grand, imposing, and dripping with unnecessary extravagance.

How much was this pleasure worth, built on the backs of hundreds of thousands of people?

She was certain that while most of the profits funneled into the family’s business empire, those who had actually built it—those who had sacrificed their talent and hard work—were given far less than they deserved.

Lost in her musings, her eyes suddenly caught a hooded figure darting from the right side of the sprawling garden. Snapping her head toward the motion, her gaze fixated on something.

It took only a second for her to see them—statues of sculpted women, eerily lifelike, their detailed gowns cascading in frozen waves of fabric. They stood in a domino-like arrangement, leading into an unknown pathway. But what truly held her attention were the statues themselves.

Even from a distance, she could almost feel the silkiness of the fabric, the smooth precision of their sculpted hands. The accurate depiction of muscle and movement was beyond anything she had seen before.

Her fingers twitched with the urge to trace the cemented figures.

Glancing around, she saw no one—except for two maids walking by, carrying baskets.

One of the maids, having just stepped out of a side building with a large laundry basket, blinked in surprise. Was she hallucinating?

The youngest granddaughter of the master was rarely seen in this mansion. They could count her visits on one hand. To see her standing there, lingering, rather than making a swift exit after handling her business—it was baffling.

Who didn’t know about the rift between the master and his so-called favorite granddaughter? And the reason behind it? Every maid and butler knew.

“Miss Olean!” one of them exclaimed in shock.

Oleander gave them a small nod before returning her gaze to the statues.

“Aren’t they gorgeous, Miss? The sculptor was incredibly skilled—his hands moved like magic. We were all in awe,” one of the Scottish maids said with enthusiasm. “Some of the servants even volunteered as models. That one is Ella, and the other’s Jane.”

They chatted for a while, but despite her subtle attempts, Oleander couldn’t get the sculptor’s name out of them. Not that she wanted to push too hard—she had no intention of drawing the patriarch’s attention to her curiosity.

His senses were terrifyingly sharp. If he caught even a whisper of her interest, his shadows would sniff out every detail.

Then her mind wandered back to what had drawn her attention in the first place. Was it just her eyes playing tricks on her? What exactly had she seen? Describing it out loud would make her sound insane. But she could swear it had no human shape. The inkling of what it might be sent a shiver down her spine—to her toes. In thrill.

A woman named Isla, the estate’s caretaker, met her halfway to the mansion.

“Little Miss! It’s good to see you back!”

“Hello, Isla. How have you been?”

Without another word, Isla pulled her into a tight hug—a reunion long overdue. Then, guiding her toward the right wing of the second compound, a little farther from the main house, Isla kept stealing glances at her, talking about the events of the past ten years as if checking to see if she was truly alright.

She knew.

The memories tied to this place weren’t kind to Oleander.

The workers here had been around for decades. They had watched the master’s children and grandchildren grow up. They knew what had happened. They knew why she had left.

Yet, despite everything, they still adored her. She was the most normal of all the children in the family.

The workers had contracts—well-paid ones, with benefits. But the fine print? That was something else entirely.

- No one may leave the estate after 10 PM.

- In the case of an unnatural death, an additional salary will be provided to their family.

- Employees must work here until the end of their allotted time.

Ominous, yet enticing. The financial security it offered allowed struggling people—single parents, the desperate—to breathe a little easier.

And in between it all, the only shred of normalcy they had was her.

Unlike the others, Oleander never set boundaries between herself and the staff. She treated them like people—equal, despite the rigid hierarchy of the household.

“Miss, the whole house has been cleaned for you. The guest bedrooms are also available for use,” Isla mentioned, her voice holding a subtle hint.

Oleander acknowledged the information with a smile before shifting her gaze again.

Isla sighed. In her seventies now, she wondered if she was simply too old to understand what the young Miss was thinking anymore.

This child used to be bubbly yet sweet. She never gave the servants a hard time and was always smiling shyly. Every servant in the estate had pampered her. But the poor girl had suffered because of the family she was born into.

The mansion’s walls were old but well-maintained. Every inch of the estate was decorated with the finest luxury money could buy. Old, yet familiar. Nothing had changed since she lived here. But what caught Oleander’s eye were the framed photographs lining the hallway.

She halted at the oldest one, peering closer. Nostalgia hit her—warm yet unsettling.

Six children huddled together in a group photo, their faces lit up with wide, carefree smiles.

Her gaze landed on the boy in the far right. His grin stretched wide, his eyes remained the boldest of them all. He stood slightly apart, but his shoulder touched hers. Hand in hand.

She reached out, fingers brushing lightly over the glass.

A sharp jolt of unease hit her. Her heart pounded, her breath uneven. Clutching at her clothes for comfort, she fought the rising panic.

Isla noticed instantly, stepping forward. “Miss? Miss!”

Oh no. Was she having another episode? Just like when they had found her—frightened and unrecognizable. The little girl who had been curled up in fear, lost in an episode no one could fully understand.

“Granny Isla… d-did Grandfather give anyone else permission to stay here?” Oleander’s voice wavered. She patted her chest, trying to calm herself. Her eyes darted around.

Isla’s expression froze. A long pause followed. Then, as if choosing her words carefully, she answered, “Yes, Miss… but do not worry. She is the least of your concerns. This building belongs to the third master. Only the family and their guests are allowed

Another pause.

“But one of your friends stayed here briefly.”

Feeling a bit better, Oleander’s grip on her shirt loosened. “Charlie?”

Isla nodded in confirmation. Miss knew?

A wave of relief passed through her.

“Still here?” she asked, tilting her head in curiosity.

Surprise flickered across Isla’s face.

Oleander smirked, patting the old maid’s arm. “Why do you look so shocked? Haven’t I always been good at guessing?”

Isla wasn’t easily fazed, but every time her Miss predicted something like a fortune teller , it left her amazed.

Grinning, she looped her arm through Isla’s, the same way she used to when she was a child. For the first time in a long while, she felt at home.

Later, as she unpacked her suitcase and organized her belongings, Oleander checked the time. If she left soon, she could still make it to the group project meeting.

A message from Dorothy popped up at that exact moment.

Wanna grab a bite after the assignment?

Oleander typed a quick reply.

Sure!

Then, pursing her lips, she thought back to Isla’s earlier hint about inviting friends over.

Right.

She should relax a little. Maybe even give her Nanny a little surprise. With a smirk, she deleted the message and typed something new.