# Chapter 27: The Black Mazda
Hello everyone, it’s me again! How are you all doing? I hope you’re ready for another twisty, tense ride, because today I’m going to walk with you through Chapter 27 of *The Housemaid’s Secret*. This is the chapter where the escape plan is finally set in motion—and where Millie’s carefully managed nerves begin to unravel. Buckle up. We’re about to hit the road.
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The morning had the strange, fragile calm of a held breath. I was sitting in the driver’s seat of my rental car, the engine humming just enough to remind me I was one step away from freedom. And not just my freedom—Wendy’s freedom. The woman who had been trapped for years in a gorgeous penthouse that was really a gilded cage was about to make a break for it.
My phone buzzed. Douglas, of course.
Even from out of town, that man couldn’t stop micromanaging his life. He was texting to confirm that I’d be there for my next cleaning shift. The sheer audacity of it made me want to laugh out loud. He thought he was keeping everything under control while he flew off to Los Angeles, blissfully unaware that his wife was preparing to vanish from his life forever.
I typed back: *I'll be there.*
Of course, I would *not* be there. I would be transporting his wife to a safe place. The lie tasted sweet on my tongue.
Despite the annoyance of the mix-up at the rental place and the long drive ahead, I smiled to myself. This was what I used to find so rewarding. This was exactly why I decided to get a degree in social work. I wanted to spend my life helping people like Wendy—people who needed someone to believe in them and to show them the door when their world turned dark.
I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Wendy coming down the street, pulling two pieces of luggage behind her. Her hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail. Dark sunglasses perched on her nose. And she was wearing—wait, was that a hoodie sweatshirt and blue jeans? Comfortable clothes. Real clothes. The sight made my heart lift.
I got out of the car to help her load the trunk. She was absolutely beaming at me.
“I forgot how comfortable jeans are,” she said, almost giddy.
“You don’t wear jeans?”
She scrunched up her nose. “Douglas hates them. That’s why all I’m bringing with me are jeans!”
We laughed together. I threw her luggage into the trunk, we both climbed into the car, and I started up the GPS. As we pulled out, I realized something: I hadn’t been behind the wheel in a couple of years. And you know what? It felt good. Driving again—really driving—felt like reclaiming a piece of myself I’d let go of for too long.
Of course, driving in the city is super stressful. Cars everywhere. Pedestrians jumping out of nowhere. But soon I’d get on the highway, and then it would be smooth sailing. At least until we hit rush hour.
“So Douglas didn’t suspect anything?” I asked Wendy.
She pushed her sunglasses up the bridge of her button nose. “I don’t think so. He came in to say goodbye before he left, and I pretended to be asleep in bed.” She looked down at her watch. “And right now, he’s probably boarding a plane to Los Angeles.”
“Good.”
Then she turned to peer at me, lifting her sunglasses slightly. “You didn’t tell anyone about any of this, did you?”
“Absolutely not. Not a soul.”
She looked relieved. “I can’t wait to get out of here. I could hardly even sleep last night.”
“Don’t worry. I am a super-fast driver. We’ll be at the motel before you know it.”
As I said that, I came to a screeching halt at a red light—narrowly missing a pedestrian, who graciously gave me the finger. Okay, so maybe “super-fast driver” was overselling it. I needed to get us there fast, but more importantly, I needed to get us there in one piece.
While I waited for the light to change, I glanced in the rearview mirror. My eyes snagged on a car behind me. A black sedan.
My breath caught.
It had a cracked right front headlight.
Or was it left? I craned my neck to look behind me, because I always get left and right confused in the mirror. No, it was definitely the right front headlight. And the front grill—that little circle logo. Mazda.
A black Mazda with a cracked right front headlight. The same car I had been seeing multiple times over the last couple of months.
My heart sank like a stone. That car was tailing me. It had to be.
I tried to catch a glimpse of the license plate, but a blast of horns sounds off behind me. The light had turned green, and I was holding up traffic. I floored the gas, pulse thumping.
“Are you okay?” Wendy’s forehead was bunched up above her sunglasses. “What’s wrong?”
I debated how much to tell her. There was no way I could get a good look at that license plate while I was driving. And Wendy was already extremely nervous. The last thing she needed was to hear that I thought someone might be following us. Especially if that someone was her husband.
It didn’t have to be Douglas. Despite what Mrs. Randall said, it was entirely possible that Xavier Marin had gotten out of jail and was now tormenting me. But that didn’t quite make sense either. Whether or not he was in jail, Xavier surely had his own problems right now. He wouldn’t be wasting his time following me into Manhattan, and certainly not all the way to Albany.
I shook off the chill crawling down my spine and tried to drive creatively. I kept the Mazda in my sight as I changed lanes, trying to see if it would change lanes with me. It didn’t always—but every time I checked my mirrors, it was behind me. And at one point I managed to catch the first three characters of its license plate: 58 F.
The exact same characters of the car that had been following me around.
“Millie!” Wendy gasped as I nearly sideswiped a green SUV. “Slow down, please! I don’t want to get in an accident.”
“Sorry,” I mumbled. “It’s just been a little while since I’ve been behind the wheel.”
We finally reached the FDR Drive. I kept one eye on my rearview mirror. That black Mazda was still there, glued to our tail. And once we hit the highway, it would be even easier for them to keep following me. We hadn’t hit rush-hour traffic yet, so the lanes were wide open.
That also meant I could go as fast as I wanted and lose them.
As I merged onto the FDR, I pressed my foot on the gas, ready to gun it. Let’s see if that beat-up old Mazda could do eighty. I felt the engine surge, my hands gripping the wheel.
Then I checked the rearview mirror one more time.
The Mazda was gone. It didn’t turn onto the highway with me.
I let out a breath, simultaneously relieved and confused. I was *sure* that car had been following me. I would have bet my life on it. But it turns out it was all just a coincidence. Nobody was following me. Everything was going to be fine.
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We drove for a while in comfortable silence, the road stretching out ahead of us. Wendy seemed lighter, freer. Then she suddenly said, “Let’s stop for McDonald’s.”
She was obscenely excited about the idea of getting fast food. About fifty percent of my diet consists of fast food, so I wasn’t nearly as excited. But I understood: Douglas was strict about what Wendy could and couldn’t eat. I was honestly scared that she was so skinny and deprived of fat products that if she ate even one single McDonald’s French fry, it might kill her.
Fortunately, a highway sign popped up with the McDonald’s logo prominently displayed. I got off at the next exit. I could use some gas anyway.
I pulled into the parking lot, and Wendy’s eyes lit up like it was Christmas morning. When she opened her door, the familiar odor of frying food invaded my nostrils. I was about to follow her out of the car when my phone rang.
I grabbed it, and my stomach plummeted when Brock’s name appeared on the screen.
Oh no. I had been so caught up in rescuing Wendy that I completely forgot to cancel our dinner. How could I have done that to him *again*? I’m so crazy about Brock. Why do I keep sabotaging our relationship?
Sometimes I wonder if I’m doing it on purpose. So that he’ll—
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And that’s where we have to leave our poor, conflicted Millie for now. She’s standing in a McDonald’s parking lot with her phone buzzing in her hand, a runaway wife beside her, and the ghost of a black Mazda still lurking in her rearview memory. Is she self-sabotaging again? Or is there something deeper going on?
**Reader’s Impressions & Star Rating:**
This chapter gave me everything I love about this series: the quiet tension of a high-stakes escape, the evolving bond between Millie and Wendy, and of course, that glorious moment of relief—which we all know can’t last. The black Mazda subplot is a fantastic recurring creepy detail, and the way Millie’s paranoia plays out is so vividly written you’ll find yourself checking your own mirrors while reading. The ending is a masterful gut-punch of guilt and uncertainty. I’m honestly torn between wanting to shake Millie and wanting to hug her.
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ Rating: 4.8 / 5 Stars
**Next Chapter Prediction:**
Brock’s phone call can’t end well. I predict Millie will make up some flimsy excuse to cancel their dinner, and Brock will start to question just how invested she really is. Meanwhile, Wendy’s escape is only just beginning—and we haven’t seen the last of that black Mazda. My bet is that someone connected to Douglas will figure out what’s happening sooner than anyone expects, and Millie will find herself in the middle of a crisis she can’t simply text her way out of. Also, that hint about Millie’s past with social work is bound to come roaring back to haunt her.
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