Chapter 2 - The Whispers in the Nursery
Inside the mansion, silence settled like a heavy blanket.
Clara stood in the middle of the grand kitchen, her shoulders shaking softly.
The cold tap water was still running in the sink.
Julian walked back into the room with slow, deliberate steps.
He reached out and gently turned off the faucet.
The sudden quiet was deafening.
"You don't have to wash those plates anymore, Clara," Julian said softly.
Clara wiped her tear-stained cheeks with the back of her wrist.
"She will come back, sir," Clara whispered, her voice trembling.
"Victoria never loses a battle without burning the house down."
Julian stepped closer, his dark suit jacket unbuttoned.
His dark eyes were fierce with protective rage.
"She will never step foot in this house again," he vowed.
"I gave her everything, and she treated my family like trash."
"My son Leo deserves a real mother, not a monster in diamonds."
Clara looked down at her hands, which were red and raw from cleaning chemicals.
"I am just a maid, Mr. Vance," she murmured.
"The world will judge you for throwing her out for me."
Julian reached out and gently rested his hand on her trembling shoulder.
"Let them judge," Julian stated firmly.
Suddenly, a high-pitched cry echoed from the top of the grand staircase.
It was eight-year-old Leo.
Julian and Clara both looked up at the ceiling simultaneously.
The boy's frantic footsteps pattered across the upper hallway.
"Daddy!" Leo screamed from the top landing.
Julian rushed toward the stairs, with Clara right behind him.
When they reached the upper hallway, the nursery door was wide open.
Leo was standing in his pajamas, pointing a trembling finger into the dark room.
His face was pale, and his hazel eyes were wide with terror.
"There was someone in my room, Daddy!" Leo sobbed.
Julian immediately drew a small pocket knife from his inner coat.
He stepped cautiously into the dark nursery, searching every corner.
The window was unlocked and swinging gently in the night breeze.
On the child's small wooden desk lay a single red rose with a sharp silver pin through its stem.
Pinned beneath the rose was a handwritten note in blood-red ink.
Julian picked up the paper, his jaw clenching tightly.
Clara leaned over his arm to read the slanted handwriting.
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The note contained only eight words:
“A maid cannot protect what is mine, Julian.”
