Chapter 3 - The Triplets’ Labyrinth
The third-floor hallway was silent, save for the muffled, rhythmic thumping of a heavy bassline coming from behind a reinforced oak door. Claire paused outside the third door on the left, taking a deep breath. She raised her hand and knocked firmly.
The music cut off instantly.
For a few seconds, there was absolute silence from the other side. Then, a small voice piped up.
“She’s still alive, Noah. I told you the bucket was too small.”
“Shut up, Caleb. She’s probably crying in the hallway like the last one.”
“I’m not crying,” Claire called out loudly through the wood, her voice carrying clearly into the room. “And if you two don’t open this door in the next five seconds, I’m going to use my master key—which your father gave me, by the way—and confiscate every electronic device in this room.”
A scramble of frantic footsteps echoed inside, followed by a loud click. The door swung open a crack, and a pair of identical gray eyes peered out at her. It was Noah, the self-proclaimed ringleader.
“You don’t have a master key,” Noah challenged, crossing his arms over his chest.
Claire didn’t say a word. She simply reached into the pocket of her damp blazer, pulled out a heavy brass key ring with a shiny silver tag stamped MASTER, and dangled it casually in front of his face.
Noah’s eyes widened slightly before he quickly masked his expression with a scowl. He stepped back, pushing the door wide open.
Claire stepped into the playroom, and her jaw almost dropped. The room looked like a cross between an elite military training facility and a high-tech hacker’s lair. There were computers lining one wall with glowing monitors, architectural Lego masterpieces scattered across a massive custom table, and a miniature indoor climbing wall on the far side.
Sitting on a leather sectional were the three boys. Noah, Caleb, and Miles. Except for tiny details—a small scar near Noah’s eyebrow, a slight smudge of ink on Caleb’s wrist, and the fact that Miles was sitting quietly in the corner reading a thick book on electronics—they were completely indistinguishable.
“Nice setup,” Claire said, walking calmly past a pile of dismantled remote-controlled cars. “Though the wiring on that drone by the window is a fire hazard.”
Miles looked up from his book, his gray eyes fixing on her with surprising intensity. “The resistor is rated for twenty-five volts,” Miles said quietly, his voice deadpan. “It won't catch fire unless the capacitor shorts.”
“Unless you overload the circuit board by hacking into the estate’s security gate to open it remotely for your friends,” Claire countered, arching an eyebrow.
Caleb’s jaw dropped. “How did you know about that?”
“Because I worked in hotel management for five years, boys. I’ve dealt with unruly teenagers, leaking pipes, angry corporate executives, and guests who try to smuggle raccoons into luxury suites. Three six-year-olds with a penchant for indoor plumbing disasters? You’re amateur hour.”
Noah bristled, his face flushing with anger. “We are not amateurs! We made the last lady lock herself in the pantry for six hours!”
“And she was pathetic for letting you,” Claire replied smoothly, pulling up a chair and sitting down directly across from them. She uncrossed the towel from her shoulders and draped it over the back of the seat. “Listen up, because I’m only going to say this once. I am not here to be your friend, I am not here to lecture you, and I am certainly not going to cry in a pantry. I am here for forty-eight hours to do a job. You can either make these two days moderately entertaining, or you can spend them dealing with a very stubborn woman who will match every single prank you pull with a consequence ten times worse.”
Caleb swallowed hard, looking toward Noah for guidance. “What kind of consequence?”
“For starters,” Claire smiled sweetly, “no dessert for a month, confiscation of the gaming consoles, and I’ll personally ask your father to make you memorize the entire dictionary starting with the letter A.”
Miles closed his book with a soft thud. He looked at Claire, really looked at her, as if weighing her soul in a balance.
“She’s not leaving,” Miles stated softly to his brothers.
Noah glared at Claire, his fists clenched at his sides. “We’ll see about that.”
May you like
“Indeed we will,” Claire said, standing up and brushing off her damp slacks. “Now, wash your hands. Dinner is in twenty minutes, and I intend to find out what kind of chef your father employs.”
As Claire walked out of the playroom, leaving the three triplets sitting in stunned, bewildered silence, she felt a tiny spark of triumph. Round one belonged to her. But she knew the real test was yet to come—because downstairs, waiting in the shadows of the mansion, was Adrian Moretti, a man who didn’t lose control, and didn’t lose games.
