Amanda's POV

I could hardly believe my eyes. Standing before me was a mansion that was more like a sprawling kingdom than a simple home. It towered over everything else in the subdivision, its grandeur overwhelming in a way that made the surrounding houses look like mere cottages in comparison. The gates alone seemed to have been designed to keep out the outside world—only to let in the elite, the powerful, the untouchable. As I took it all in, I couldn't help but wonder what it must be like to live in a place like this, surrounded by such opulence. The owners of these mansions must live lives of unimaginable wealth.

The massive front door groaned open, revealing a man in his thirties dressed in an impeccable business suit, his phone pressed to his ear as he walked briskly ahead of me. A butler followed closely behind, holding a tuxedo with the care one might give to a priceless work of art. As the man put down his phone and noticed my arrival, his face softened into a warm smile. "You must be Brysen's nurse. Amanda Foster, isn't it?"

I stammered, momentarily thrown off by his polished presence. "Y-Yes, sir."

He gave a slight nod. "Well, good luck with him. Anderson here will show you the way. I must be off. Take care of Brysen, do your job as ordered." He paused for a brief moment, looking back over his shoulder. "If you're thinking I'm Mr. Coleman, you're mistaken. I'm his assistant, Aiden Rodriguez. A pleasure to meet you."

I extended my hand, and he shook it with a firm, confident grip—an effortless display of professionalism. There was no stutter in his words, no hesitation. Aiden Rodriguez was the kind of person who could command a room just by speaking, someone who had likely given speeches more persuasive than the ones presidents made.

Without another word, Aiden slipped into his sleek Porsche, its engine roaring to life as he sped away, the sun gleaming off the polished metal. It was like something straight out of a movie. I couldn't help but stare as the car disappeared down the long driveway.

Anderson, the butler, stood silently by, his expression impassive as he gestured for me to follow him. "Follow me, please."

I trailed behind him like a curious child, taking in every detail of the mansion as we moved through the entrance. White flowers cascaded down the columns lining the entrance hall, the delicate petals swaying gently as if to greet me. I couldn't believe this was only the foyer; if the entrance was this grand, I could only imagine how the rest of the house would unfold.

We moved down the hallway, passing rooms so lavishly decorated that I felt out of place just walking through them. The opulence seemed to suffocate me, yet there was something captivating about it—a sense that everything here had been designed for a purpose, to impress, to overwhelm, to control. We finally reached the end of the hall, where Anderson opened the door leading to a garden.

Stepping outside, I was greeted by the sight of a private lake nestled in the distance. It shimmered under the overcast sky, surrounded by manicured hedges and trees. There, sitting on a swinging bench, was Mr. Coleman. He was dressed casually, his ironed jeans and green striped shirt giving him a more approachable appearance than I had expected. A German Shepherd lay at his feet, occasionally looking up at him as if waiting for direction.

As I approached, the dog noticed me and, with a sharp bark, caught Mr. Coleman's attention. He stood up, a genuine smile crossing his face as he stepped forward to greet me. "Welcome, Miss Foster," he said, his voice deep and warm. "Brysen is just upstairs in his room. But for now, I'd like to speak with you for a moment."

I nodded, trying to steady my nerves. "Your backyard is beautiful, Mr. Coleman," I said, hoping my voice didn't betray the nerves I was feeling.

He chuckled softly. "The gardener is a professional, after all," he replied, his hands slipping into the pockets of his jeans. "I have a lot of people to thank for keeping this place looking pristine."

I let my gaze wander once more to the flowers. A gardener, drenched in sweat, was carefully watering each plant, his movements slow and deliberate. It was a mesmerizing sight—yet something about the whole scene felt oddly surreal. I had heard whispers about this place, rumors that there were dark secrets hidden beneath its perfect exterior. Was it true? Were these tales about sudden deaths and illicit affairs just urban legends, or was there some grain of truth to them?

I was snapped out of my thoughts when Mr. Coleman handed me a set of documents. The hospital's name was boldly printed on the cover, and Brysen's name was the first to catch my eye. I opened the file, flipping through the pages quickly, my hands shaking as I read the diagnosis: schizophrenia.

The words hit me harder than I expected, a tight knot forming in my stomach. I looked up at Mr. Coleman, who was watching me with a steady, unwavering gaze.

"You must be wondering why I offered you this job," he began, his tone serious. "Not only are you a nurse who can cure physical wounds, but you also have the heart and the faith to help heal mental ones. You may not realize it, but your presence, your attitude—it can make all the difference for someone as broken as my son."

I swallowed hard, flipping through more pages as the reality of the situation sank in. Brysen's condition was far worse than I had anticipated. The weight of it was almost too much to bear. But then Mr. Coleman spoke again, his words cutting through the tension.

"You're the only one who can help him, Amanda," he said, his voice quiet but firm. "I don't trust psychiatrists or doctors. You're the only one I believe can save him."

There was a long pause as his words lingered in the air. I looked at the papers in my hands, the names and diagnoses blurring before my eyes.

"I might not be the father Brysen always wanted," Mr. Coleman continued, his voice tinged with something like regret, "but I'm trying my best. That's all I can do."

I thought of my own father, of how I had let him back into my life despite everything that had happened. Perhaps this man wasn't so different after all.

I looked up at Mr. Coleman and smiled lightly. "I'll do my best. I won't give up on him, Mr. Coleman." My voice was more confident than I felt. I even formed my hand into a fist, a gesture of determination.

He chuckled softly, the warmth returning to his smile. "Now I know why Brysen likes you so much."

As I left the garden and headed toward Brysen's room, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was off about this place. The mansion, the garden, Mr. Coleman—it all seemed too perfect. But perfection had a way of hiding things, didn't it? And I couldn't help but wonder what other dark secrets this house might be hiding.