My father’s painted eyes seemed to watch us both.
I walked to the desk, opened a drawer, and removed a framed photograph of my mother.
Julian watched me.
“Do you remember the day she died?” I asked.
His face hardened.
“Don’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because dragging Mom into this won’t help you.”
“I spoke to Margaret Vale today.”
The color drained from his face.
That was enough.
I did not need an answer.
He already gave me one.
Before he could speak, Ethan opened the door.
His smile faded as he looked between us.
“Everything okay?”
Julian recovered first.
“Fine.”
Ethan turned to me.
“Olivia?”
I held my mother’s photograph against my chest.
“I’m tired.”
He studied me carefully.
Then he smiled again.
“Of course. Go upstairs. I’ll join you soon.”
But I did not sleep in our bedroom that night.
I locked myself in the guest suite and pushed a chair beneath the handle.
At three in the morning, I woke to footsteps outside the door.
Slow.
Soft.
Someone stood there.
Waiting.
I held my breath.
The doorknob turned once.
Stopped against the lock.
A pause.
Then Ethan’s voice came softly through the wood.
“Olivia?”
I did not answer.
Another pause.
“Open the door.”
Still, I said nothing.
The handle moved again.
Harder.
The chair scraped slightly against the floor.
My heart pounded so loudly I thought he could hear it.
Then his voice changed.
Lower.
Colder.
“You shouldn’t have gone to Margaret.”
My blood froze.
He knew.
The footsteps retreated.
I stayed awake until dawn.
By morning, Ethan was gone.
So was Julian.
On my pillow lay a single sheet of paper.
No envelope.
No signature.
Just one sentence typed in black ink.
You should have stayed the maid.
My hands shook as I read it.
Then my phone buzzed.
A message from an unknown number.
A photograph appeared.
Grace.
Standing outside the mansion near the service gate.
Beside her was a black SUV.
The message below read:
Tell Margaret to stop, or your loyal little maid disappears first.
For a moment, the world went silent.
Then another message came through.
This one was not a photograph.
It was a video.
Grace sat in the back seat of the SUV, pale and terrified.
Beside her, just barely visible, was a woman’s hand.
A sapphire necklace glittered at the wrist like a bracelet.
My necklace.
Vanessa’s voice came through the speaker, sweet and amused.
“Hello, Olivia. Now that you’ve finally learned to play dress-up, let’s see if you can play war.”
The video ended.
I stared at the screen.
And then a final message appeared.
Ask Margaret what really happened to your mother.
