Chapter 2 - Cold Eyes and Empty Rooms
The silence in the penthouse kitchen felt heavier than a lead weight. Jary stood frozen, his bespoke suit sharp and immaculate, contrasting starkly with the raw, trembling exhaustion radiating from Olivia. Her hands—still clad in cheap yellow rubber—hovered protectively over Noah’s back. Noah let out a soft, milky sigh against her collarbone, his fingers clinging to her collar as if letting go meant falling into an abyss.
“Give them to me,” Jary said, his voice dropping into that quiet, chilling register he used in boardrooms before firing an executive. He took two strides forward, reaching for the carrier buckles.
Olivia didn’t step back, but she tilted her torso just enough to shield the infants. Her dark eyes, ringed with dark circles, locked onto his with an unyielding steel that took him completely off guard.
“You can take them, Mr. Wilson,” she said softly, her breath steady. “They are your flesh and blood. But if you take them right now, you need to hold their heads properly. Noah has been running a low fever since noon, and Eli hasn’t kept down his formula because whoever made the bottle mixed the cold water with curdled milk.”
Jary froze mid-motion. His hands hung suspended between them. “What did you say?”
“I said they are sick, sir,” Olivia replied, never raising her tone. “And while I am indeed the maid hired to scrub your Italian tiles and polish your sterling silver, I am also a mother. A mother knows the difference between a child crying for attention and a child crying in pain. When I came up from the basement laundry, the nursery door was locked from the outside with a brass wedge. They were choking on their own tears.”
A cold dread coiled in Jary’s stomach. “Clare wouldn’t lock that door. She loves these boys. She quit her modeling agency to help me raise them after their mother died.”
“Then you should ask Miss Clare why the nursery door was wedged shut, Mr. Wilson,” Olivia said quietly. “And you should ask her why she left two five-month-old babies alone for four hours while she had a private Pilates session on the terrace.”
Before Jary could process the accusation, the click-clack of designer stiletto heels echoed down the grand marble hallway. Clare Montgomery swept into the kitchen like a breath of expensive perfume and sharp edges. She was dressed in an ivory cashmere loungewear set, her blonde hair swept into an effortless chignon, holding a flute of champagne in one manicured hand.
“Jary, darling!” Clare purred, her face lighting up with theatrical warmth. “You’re home early! I was just telling the event planner that we—"
Her voice abruptly died. Her sky-blue eyes dropped to Olivia, then widened in theatrical horror as she took in the sight of the twin babies strapped to the maid’s chest and back.
May you like
“Oh, my god!” Clare shrieked, dropping her glass. It shattered against the polished marble floor, splashing sparkling wine across the hem of Olivia’s uniform. “Get away from them! Jary, do you see this? She has her filthy hands all over our babies! Call the police right now! She’s trying to abduct them!”
Clare lunged forward, her long acrylic nails aimed directly at Olivia’s face. But before she could make contact, Jary caught her wrist in an iron grip.
