The Perfect Disguise

The wind slapped against Amara's scarf as she stepped off the dusty bus and adjusted the plain black satchel on her shoulder. Her palms were sweating. Her heart? Drumming like war. 

But her face, her face was calm, foreign to the world now, soft and remade by magic, but her name? Still hers. Amara.

The morning air in the countryside estate was crisp. Gravel crunched under her worn flats as she approached the high iron gates of Elias Blackthorne's estate, her home once, before death carved her out of it. 

Today, she would walk back in. Not as a ghost, but as something new. A housekeeper. A lie, a vengeance wrapped in truth.

She had left Dora hours before. No hugs. Just firm eyes and one promise: "Eleven months, Dora. On December 28th, Magnus falls."

There was no vacancy, not really. Elias hadn't called for one. But Amara had whispered to the wind, laid her hands on the cracked pages of her magical book, and bent thought itself.

In the office earlier that morning, Lydia, the estate assistant, had looked up from her desk, suddenly frowning. "Didn't Elias say something about needing a housekeeper?" she asked aloud.

Pedro, the aging estate manager, blinked from his coffee. "Last week, I think. Something about the kids needing more order."

"I'll check our applicant list. But let's just put it out again," Lydia said, already writing up the job brief, unaware of the spell humming beneath her thoughts.

Now, Amara stood before the estate's gatekeeper, Benjamin.

Benjamin greeted, "Morning, Miss. You are?"

She handed over her envelope with her fake but perfect CV. Her real name sat boldly on the top.

"Amara. I heard there was an opening."

Benjamin took the papers, eyes squinting, and slowly smiled. "Housekeeper, right? We've been waiting. You're early. Come in."

Her breath caught. Come in.

She walked through the iron gates like she belonged, because she once did. But this time, she didn't belong to love or longing. This time, she belonged to vengeance.

Inside, the estate was silent, the early sun brushing gold on the glass-paneled halls. Lydia met her first.

"Amara, right? We're thrilled. Pedro and I looked through your CV. Very impressive."

"Thank you," Amara said, her smile modest but eyes watchful. Every step she took felt like walking across memory.

Pedro entered the hallway and greeted her with a curt nod. "Mr. Elias Blackthorne hasn't met you yet, but he approved your hiring this morning. We had your file and references. Everything checked out."

Amara tilted her head. "He did?"

Pedro smiled faintly. "Of course. Last week he mentioned the house was getting messy with the children running about. You came at the perfect time."

Amara nodded slowly, letting the false memory bloom deeper in his mind.

They led her to her room, a modest guest wing overlooking the back garden. It smelled of lemon polish and sun-dried linen. She closed the door behind her and pressed her fingers to the wood.

Home. Not really. She pulled out her phone, dialed Dora.

"I'm in," she said.

Dora replied: "Already?" "Eleven months. That's all I need."

She ended the call and tucked the phone into her apron. A knock came. Lydia again.

"Just so you know, there are two children, Ethan and Jose. Ten years old. Twins. They are curious, noisy, but sweet.

Lydia blinked, continued: "Mr. Elias their father is rarely home, travels often. Your duties are simple. Clean, organize, oversee the twins' safety. Nothing too heavy. You'll report to Pedro and me."

"Understood." She was told breakfast was by six, rooms cleaned by ten, and no one entered the West Wing.

"Why not?" Amara asked lightly.

"That's Magnus's wing."

A chill ran down Amara's back.

"Is he still here?" she asked, controlling the tremor in her voice.

"He left months ago. On business, I think. But he comes and goes. You may see him."

She didn't reply. Her silence was louder than thunder.

Later that afternoon, while polishing the grand hallway mirror, Amara watched the reflection of herself. She barely recognized the face she had carved through spell and pain. The same name, the same soul, in a vessel changed. But still her.

Hours later, Amara stood quietly before the tall, oak door of Elias's private study. It was her first day, yet something pulled her there, an old connection that wouldn't let go. With a soft whisper of magic, the lock clicked open. She slipped inside, her heart was drumming and her senses heightened. The room smelled like old wood and leather-bound books, exactly how she remembered it.

She moved carefully, fingers trailing along shelves, drawers. Then she saw it, a frame peeking from beneath a stack of files on Elias's desk. She reached for it, her hands trembling. When she turned the picture over, her breath caught.

It was her. Her old face, before death changed everything. Her heart shattered. Behind Elias's stern, composed life, he still kept this. A quiet sign he hadn't forgotten. They were meant to marry.

Tears slipped down her cheeks as memories surged.

The fire and the lies. Magnus Blackthorne, Elias's father, calling her a witch. Accusing her of selling company secrets. And then setting the vault ablaze, with her trapped inside. She remembered the flames, the heat, the horror.

And she remembered Magnus watching without moving. Elias had arrived too late.

She clutched the photo, her tears falling freely.

He had loved her. Still did, but where was Magnus now?

That night, after everyone had slept including the twins she was yet to meet, Amara stood outside the West Wing door. It was locked. Her fingers hovered over the doorknob, magic pulsing in her bones, but to no avail.

She pondered again! Where are you, Magnus Blackthorne?

The man who killed her. The man she had returned for.

A noise echoed down the hall. Footsteps.

She turned quickly, wiping her hands on her apron, pretending to adjust a picture frame.

Pedro appeared from the corner. "Everything alright?"

"Just settling in," she smiled. He nodded and walked past.

But her heart wouldn't settle. It thudded against her ribs.

When she returned to her room, she lit a candle and wrote in her secret journal.

"Day one. I'm inside. Eleven months to erase Magnus. But where is he hiding?"

She closed the book, placed it under the floorboard, and crawled into bed.