Chapter 3 - THE UNSEEN EYE
“Enough!” Jary bellowed, the sound reverberating off the high ceilings.
Clare gasped, recoiling from the harshness in his voice. She pulled her wrist free, instantly softening her expression into one of wounded innocence. Tears welled in her eyes with practiced ease.
“Jary, why are you shouting at me?” she whimpered, pressing a manicured hand to her chest. “I came downstairs to check on them, and she... she snatched them from their cribs! I told you she was unstable when you hired her through that bargain agency. A woman from the South Side, Jary! You don't know what kind of germs or diseases she’s exposing Noah and Eli to!”
Olivia didn’t flinch. She simply unclipped Noah from the front harness with calm, practiced grace, cradling the warm boy against her shoulder. “Miss Clare,” Olivia said, her voice cutting through the hysteria like a clean scalpel. “You didn’t come downstairs. You were on the phone on the eastern balcony discussing your trip to St. Barts. And the nursery door was locked from the hallway. I took a photo of the door stopper before I pulled it out.”
Clare’s face went completely white for a fraction of a second before twisting into a sneer. “You lying thief! Jary, fire her! Fire her right now or I am walking out of this penthouse and taking the press with me!”
Jary didn’t answer. His heart was hammering against his ribs. He looked at Clare—the woman he had promised to marry next spring, the woman his late wife had called a friend—and then he looked at Olivia. Olivia’s hands were rough from bleach and lye, but the way she supported Noah’s neck was tender, instinctual, and fiercely protective.
“Olivia,” Jary said, his voice dangerously level. “Take the boys into the guest suite. Close the door and stay there until I call for you.”
“Jary, no!” Clare shrieked. “Don’t let her take them!”
“I said go, Olivia,” Jary commanded, his gaze never leaving Clare’s face.
Olivia nodded once, carefully transferring Eli to her hip while holding Noah close. As she disappeared down the corridor, the nursery silence returned, suffocating and sharp.
Jary turned slowly toward Clare. “Why was the door wedged shut, Clare?”
“She’s lying, Jary!” Clare rushed toward him, wrapping her slender arms around his waist, burying her face into his chest. “She’s trying to drive a wedge between us! You know how hard it’s been for me since Sarah passed. I’ve sacrificed everything to take care of your children! I just went out on the balcony for ten minutes to get some fresh air because the nursery was giving me a headache. You believe me, don't you?”
Jary looked down at the woman in his arms. He had built a multi-billion-dollar logistics empire by trusting numbers, data, and hard facts, never emotions. For months, he had felt an uneasy disconnect in this home—the twins were always fussy, their milestones delayed, their skin pale, while Clare always complained of how exhausting they were.
“Of course I want to believe you,” Jary murmured, stroking her blonde hair with a cold, absent hand. “Go lie down, Clare. You’ve had a stressful afternoon. Let me handle Olivia.”
Clare smiled, satisfied, kissing his cheek before sashaying back toward the master bedroom.
The moment her door clicked shut, Jary walked into his private study. He locked the double mahogany doors, sat behind his desk, and pulled open a hidden panel beneath the oak drawer. Inside was a black leather-bound laptop that had never been connected to the penthouse’s public Wi-Fi.
Two weeks ago, after noticing a faint purple bruise on Eli’s inner thigh, Jary had hired an elite private security firm to install twenty-four pinhole cameras throughout the nine-thousand-square-foot penthouse. The cameras were hidden in smoke detectors, air vents, and picture frames.
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Up until this moment, he hadn’t possessed the courage to review the encrypted hard drive. He had been terrified of what he might find.
Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Jary typed in his master password and clicked on the live feed folder labeled NURSERY.
