Chapter 2 - THE TREMBLING MOTHER
The ballroom doors groaned open. Two security guards escorted Carol Bennett down the flower-lined aisle.
She looked entirely out of place. She wore her standard gray housekeeping uniform, her hair pulled back into a tight, messy bun. But it was her face that made my chest tighten. She was terrified. Her eyes darted wildly, landing on the hundreds of staring guests, then on Vanessa, and finally on me.
“Ivy,” Carol gasped, dropping to her knees. She reached for her daughter. “I am so sorry, Mr. Sterling. I told her to stay in the kitchens. I’m so sorry.”
Ivy clung to my leg. “Mommy, I told him. I told him the bad lady hurts you.”
Vanessa stepped forward, her voice dripping with artificial honey. “Carol, darling, it’s alright. Children have vivid imaginations. Let’s just get her back to the nursery.”
Carol wouldn’t look at me. She kept her head bowed, staring at the marble floor. “Yes, Miss Vanessa. Come, Ivy. We’re leaving.”
“Wait,” I commanded. My voice echoed through the massive room.
I walked over to Carol and knelt beside her. “Carol. Look at me.”
She slowly raised her head. There was a faint, yellowing bruise along her jawline, hastily covered with cheap foundation.
“Did Vanessa do that to you?” I asked softly.
Carol’s breath hitched. She looked at Vanessa, who was staring back with cold, dead eyes.
“No, sir,” Carol whispered. “I... I walked into a cabinet.”
It was a lie. A desperate, terrified lie.
“Nathaniel, this is absurd,” Vanessa hissed, grabbing my elbow. “The minister is waiting.”
“The wedding is paused,” I announced loudly to the room. I turned to my head of security, Marcus. “Take Carol and Ivy to my private study. Lock the door. Do not let anyone in. Especially not my fiancée.”
Vanessa’s face contorted with rage. “You’re humiliating me over a maid?”
“I’m protecting a child,” I replied.
I didn’t go to the study. I went straight to the security room in the East Wing. I needed to see what happened when I left for my business trips.
Marcus pulled up the footage from the past month. I watched the black-and-white monitors, fast-forwarding through hours of mundane tasks.
Then, I saw it. Tuesday, 4:00 PM. I was in London.
The camera in the main hallway showed Carol polishing a silver table. Vanessa walked up to her. There was no audio, but Vanessa was screaming. Then, Vanessa reached into her pocket, pulled out something small and silver, and shoved it roughly against Carol’s chest, pushing her backward into the wall.
I froze the frame and zoomed in.
My blood ran cold. It wasn't just physical abuse.
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The silver object in Vanessa's hand was my late mother's antique rosary. The one that had been missing for six months.
And Vanessa was shoving it into Carol’s apron pocket.
