Chapter 1 - THE BLINKING RED LIGHT
The sound of a toddler’s bone popping against marble wasn’t loud, but it was sick enough to stop Lily’s heart.
“Please… you’re breaking his arm!”
Lily threw herself across the polished Italian stone of the Blackwood foyer, her hands trembling as she tried to shield fourteen-month-old Ethan. The baby choked on his own sobs, his face bright crimson, tears pooling in his golden-brown eyes. His tiny wrist was pinned under Serena’s designer stiletto.
Serena Vance didn’t flinch. In just six weeks, the diamond on her ring finger would make her the lady of this four-hundred-million-dollar estate. She looked down at Lily with icy, pale eyes. Her hair was immaculately coiffed, her silk blouse pristine, her lips painted the color of fresh blood.
She pressed down slightly harder. Ethan let out a tiny, breathless shriek.
“Don’t touch me, you worthless little rat,” Serena whispered, her voice low, melodious, and terrifyingly calm. “You don’t look at me, you don’t touch me, and you certainly do not question how I discipline my future son.”
“He was just reaching for his teddy bear!” Lily sobbed, wrapping her arms protectively around the baby’s legs, taking the brunt of Serena’s next kick against her own ribs. “He’s a baby! He’s only fourteen months old! Serena, please!”
Serena crouched down slowly, grabbing a fistful of Lily’s dark hair and violently pulling her head back until their faces were inches apart. The scent of French lavender and pure rot drifted from her breath.
“Listen to me very carefully, Lily,” Serena sneered, a twisted grin curling her lips. “You are hired help. An orphan who cleans spit-up for minimum wage. Who do you think Victor will believe? His gorgeous, aristocratic fiancée who was handpicked by his board… or a cheap, replaceable nanny?”
She let go of Lily’s hair, letting the young woman’s face hit the cold floor.
“I’ll tell Victor you dropped him down the spiral staircase,” Serena added smoothly, adjusting her diamond tennis bracelet. “I’ll tell him you’re clumsy, incompetent, and dangerous. By midnight, you won’t just be fired. You’ll be in a holding cell.”
What Serena didn’t hear was the quiet click of the private elevator doors at the end of the long hall.
What Serena didn’t see was the towering, shadow-drenched figure stepping out of the dark alcove.
Victor Blackwood was six-foot-three of pure, concentrated fury. He had come home four hours early from his Tokyo buyout negotiations because his gut had told him something was wrong. His tailored charcoal overcoat was still draped over his broad shoulders, his briefcase hanging loosely in his massive hand.
He had heard every single word.
Victor walked forward, his leather shoes making no sound against the thick wool runner until he stepped onto the cold marble. When the shadow of his towering frame fell across Serena’s back, the socialite froze.
She spun around, her face instantly melting from cruel malice to pure, theatrical panic.
“Victor! Oh my God, thank heaven you’re home!” Serena cried, clutching her chest, tears welling in her eyes with Oscar-worthy speed. “It’s Lily! She slipped while carrying Ethan down the stairs! I ran to catch him, but she was so reckless—look at his arm!”
Lily stayed on the floor, holding Ethan tightly against her chest, shaking so violently her teeth rattled.
Victor looked at the baby’s swollen, bruising wrist. He looked at Lily’s bruised cheek and torn collar. Then, his dark, calculating gaze shifted up to the ceiling corner, where the high-definition security camera hung dark and dead. The green power light had been manually switched off.
His voice cut through the grand hall like a razor through raw meat.
“What happened here?”
“She did it!” Serena pointed an accusatory, manicured finger at Lily. “She’s been careless all week, darling! I told you she was unstable! I tried to save Ethan, but she attacked me!”
Lily didn’t even defend herself. She just held the whimpering baby tighter, whispering soothing words into Ethan’s soft curls, bracing for the worst.
Victor didn’t say a word. His cold, gray eyes dropped to the floor. Underneath the glass-and-iron console table, half-hidden by the baseboard, a tiny matte-black device was magnetically attached.
A pinhole red light was pulsing steadily.
Victor stepped forward, crouched down, and plucked the audio-video recorder from its perch. He stood up, turning it over in his hand, and pressed the small rubber PLAY button.
Serena’s chilling, unfiltered voice blasted through the mansion’s towering entryway with crystal clarity:
“Who do you think Victor will believe? His gorgeous, aristocratic fiancée… or a cheap, replaceable nanny?”
Serena’s jaw dropped. The color drained from her skin until she looked like a corpse.
“Victor… Victor, that’s… that’s an AI fake, she set me up—”
“Sir…” a trembling voice choked out from the top of the grand spiral staircase.
Victor glanced up.
Standing at the top landing was Martha, the Blackwood family’s head housekeeper of twenty-five years. The elderly woman was clutching a stained towel to her chest, her face pale, tears streaming down her wrinkled cheeks.
“Martha?” Victor said, his tone deadly calm.
May you like
The old woman began to sob uncontrollably.
“Sir… this wasn’t the first time,” Martha whispered. “And you need to see what’s inside the guest room closet before she burns it.”
