Chapter 2 - The Gathering Storm
Ethan did not return home until late that evening, long after the sun had dipped below the Houston skyline and the mansion was bathed in the cold, clinical glow of security floodlights.
He walked through the front doors with deliberate slowness.
Patricia was waiting in the formal living room, pouring a glass of amber scotch from the crystal decanter. She wore a silk emerald blouse that caught the light of the chandelier, her blonde hair pinned in an immaculate French twist. Her smile was practiced, welcoming, and entirely devoid of warmth.
“Ethan,” she purred, setting the glass down. “You’re back early from Chicago. Did the board meeting wrap up ahead of schedule?”
Ethan didn’t take off his coat. He didn't put down his briefcase. He stood in the center of the Persian rug, towering over her, his expression a mask of stone that made Patricia’s smile falter for a fraction of a second.
“The meeting was canceled, Patricia,” Ethan said, his voice terrifyingly quiet. “Tell me something. Where is Clara?”
Patricia blinked, recovering her composure with a light, dismissive laugh. “Clara? Good heavens, Ethan, are you checking on the domestic staff before you even kiss me hello? I sent her home early. She was becoming a distraction for the twins. Honestly, I thought you’d be pleased to see I’m finally taking control of this household.”
“You sent her home?” Ethan stepped closer. “At what time?”
“Around four. Why does it matter?”
“Because her shift ends at eight,” Ethan said, his voice dropping an octave. “And her bag, her coat, and her car keys are still hanging in the pantry.”
Patricia’s eyes flickered. For the first time, the polished armor cracked. “She must have stepped out to run an errand for the kitchen.”
“Without her car?” Ethan pulled his phone from his pocket, unlocked it, and tossed it onto the coffee table right in front of her.
The screen was lit up with live footage from the exterior security camera facing the detached staff quarters behind the pool house. It showed the heavy wooden door locked from the outside with a thick steel padlock—a padlock that had never been there before.
“Explain that,” Ethan said.
Patricia stood up, her sophistication instantly evaporating into defensive fury. “She was undermining us, Ethan! Every time I tried to instill discipline, that woman coddled them! She was turning your daughters against me—against us! If you want a functional family, you have to prune the dead weight. I was doing you a favor!”
“You locked an employee in an unheated shed,” Ethan said, his breathing shallow and ragged with a fury he hadn't felt since the day he buried Madeline. “In the middle of November.”
“She’s just a maid!” Patricia shrieked, her mask finally shattering completely. “A nobody from a trailer park with no family and no options! Who are you going to choose—a hired peasant or your future wife?”
May you like
Ethan looked at her with a cold, dead gaze that sent a shiver straight down her spine.
“I choose my daughters,” he whispered. “And right now, you are going to pack your things, get out of my house, and pray to whatever god you believe in that I don’t call the police for unlawful imprisonment.”
