Chapter 8
The next two weeks were a blur of planning.
We got Rico to agree to testify, in exchange for immunity and witness protection. He was scared of Liam, scared of what would happen to him in prison, but he was more scared of spending the rest of his life behind bars for murder.
We got the three bribed board members to flip, too. James threatened them with prison time, and they caved fast, agreeing to testify against Vanessa and Liam in exchange for lighter sentences.
Clara kept sneaking into the main house, gathering more evidence, keeping an eye on Vanessa and Liam. She was good at it—quiet, careful, invisible when she wanted to be. No one ever noticed the maid in the corner, listening, watching, remembering everything.
We grew closer, too.
Every night, after the planning was done, we’d sit in the cottage, talking. She told me about her parents, who’d died in a car crash when she was sixteen, about her grandmother who’d raised her, about how she’d started working for my family to pay for her grandmother’s medicine.
I told her about my mother, who’d died when I was ten, about my father who’d thrown himself into work and never had time for me, about how I’d built the company from a small local business into a billion-dollar empire, just to make him proud.
We never kissed again, not like that night by the fire. But we held hands, and we looked at each other like we had a secret, something precious that no one else could touch.
Three days before the gala, Vanessa came to my room.
She was drunk, her dress unbuttoned at the top, her hair messy. She sat on the edge of my bed, running a finger up my arm.
“Ethan,” she said, her voice slurred. “I’ve been thinking. Maybe we don’t have to do this the hard way. You sign the papers, and we can still get married. We can go away, just the two of us. Leave the company to Liam. We’ll be happy.”
I stared at her. She really thought I was that stupid. She really thought I’d trade everything I’d built for a fake marriage to a woman who hated me.
“I don’t think so,” I said.
Her hand stopped. Her face went cold, the drunk act vanishing in a second.
“You’re making a mistake,” she said. “You think you can beat me? You think that little maid of yours can help you? I know she’s still here. I know she’s sneaking around, telling you things. When I’m done with her, she’ll wish she’d never been born.”
She stood up, smoothing her dress.
“The gala is in three days,” she said. “By the end of the night, everything will be mine. And you? You’ll be in a home somewhere, rotting away, forgotten. No one will care. Not even your father.”
She left, slamming the door behind her.
I sat there for a long time, my hands shaking. She knew Clara was still here. She knew we were planning something. She’d make her move soon, before the gala.
I called Marcus.
“Double the guard on the cottage,” I said. “No one gets in or out without your approval. And put a tail on Vanessa and Liam. Everywhere they go, I want to know about it.”
Then I called Clara.
“She knows,” I said. “She knows you’re helping me. She’s going to come for you. Stay in the cottage. Don’t leave. Marcus has guards posted.”
“I’m not scared,” she said. But her voice shook a little.
“You should be,” I said. “But I won’t let her hurt you. I promise. Three more days, Clara. Just three more days. Then it’s over.”
May you like
“Three more days,” she repeated. “Then us.”
“Then us,” I said.
