THE HOUSEKEEPER FOLLOWED THE SOUND OF A CHILD’S CRY — AND FOUND THE BILLIONAIRE’S NEW WIFE’S TERRIFYING SECRET SEALED BEHIND A HIDDEN BASEMENT WALL…

"Looking for something, Emma?"

The voice echoed smooth, sweet, and entirely devoid of warmth through the narrow stairwell.

Emma whipped her head around, her phone light cutting upward. Standing halfway down the spiral staircase, framed by the dim amber glow of the hallway above, was Isabella Sterling. She had traded her flowing ivory satin ballroom gown for a sharp, tailored black blazer and trousers. In her right hand, she casually twirled a heavy silver master key ring. Her lips curved into a chilling, predatory smile.

"Isabella," Emma breathed, scrambling to her feet and instinctively positioning herself between the steel grate and the stairs. "What have you done to this boy? He's William's son!"

"Was, my dear Emma. Or rather, he was about to become an inconvenient memory," Isabella replied smoothly, descending the remaining steps with the slow, calculated grace of a cat cornering a mouse. "Children are so fragile, aren't they? They grieve too much, they cling too hard, and they ask far too many questions about why their mothers suddenly die in car accidents."

Emma’s blood ran ice-cold. "What did you say?"

"Oh, come on. Did you really think William's first wife died of brake failure by sheer coincidence?" Isabella laughed softly, a sound that sent shivers down Emma’s spine. "It took months of planning to position myself in William’s life. But this little brat—Ethan—found my notebook. He saw what I did to his mother's car. He had to be... managed."

Inside the sealed floor cavity, Ethan began to cry out again, pounding weakly against the metal. "Let me out! She's a monster!"

"Shut up, you little rat," Isabella snapped, her polite facade cracking for a brief second to reveal pure, venomous malice. She turned her icy gaze back to Emma. "And as for you, Emma... you should have stayed in the ballroom collecting champagne glasses. Curiosity is a fatal flaw in domestic staff."

Isabella reached into her blazer pocket and drew out a heavy, matte-black firearm equipped with a suppressor.

Emma’s heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. She knew she had seconds to live unless she acted. As Isabella raised the weapon, taking aim with terrifying calm, Emma didn't run. Instead, she lunged sideways, slamming her hand down onto the emergency maintenance port of the digital keypad while simultaneously throwing her full body weight against the heavy iron grate.