Chapter 3 - THE CALCULATED INTERRUPTION
Nathaniel knew that if he revealed his knowledge now, they would scramble, destroy evidence, and perhaps escape the trap they were building for him. He needed them to believe they were still winning. He needed to be the ruthless predator he was in the boardroom. He slipped his phone back into his pocket, took three steps back down the hall toward the side entrance, and slammed the heavy oak door shut with as much force as he could muster.
The sound echoed through the mansion like a gunshot.
“Evelyn? Clara? Is anyone home?” Nathaniel called out, injecting his voice with a breezy, exhausted cheerfulness. He intentionally knocked over a heavy brass umbrella stand, creating a metallic clatter to give them time.
Inside the laundry room, the security feed—which he now monitored covertly from his smartwatch—showed instant panic. Evelyn jerked the iron away from Clara, her eyes darting toward the door. She slammed the iron onto its base, grabbed Clara by the shoulders, and shook her violently. “Not a word. Smile, or your daughter is finished,” she mouthed silently.
By the time Nathaniel casually strolled past the kitchen and turned the corner into the hallway, the scene had miraculously transformed. Evelyn was standing by the washing machine, examining a silk blouse with a perfectly practiced look of mild frustration, while Clara furiously folded towels, her back to the door to hide her tear-stained, flushed face.
“Nathaniel!” Evelyn gasped, turning around with a radiant, flawless smile. She practically glided across the floor, throwing her arms around his neck. She smelled of expensive vanilla perfume and cold deceit. “Darling! You’re home early. Why didn’t you call?”
Nathaniel forced himself to return the embrace, wrapping his arms around the woman who was actively planning his ruin. He pressed a kiss to her temple, suppressing the urge to recoil. “The weather grounded the jet. The meeting fell through. I decided I missed you too much to stay in a hotel.”
He pulled back, keeping his hands on her waist, playing the part of the devoted fiancé perfectly. “Everything alright in here? It sounded tense.”
“Oh, just a minor catastrophe,” Evelyn laughed lightly, waving a dismissive hand. “Clara nearly scorched my favorite blouse, but we caught it in time. Right, Clara?”
Clara flinched visibly. She turned around, keeping her eyes glued to the floor. Her hands were shaking. “Yes, Mr. Cross. My apologies. I’ll be more careful.”
Nathaniel looked at the housekeeper. He saw the terror in her eyes, the slight redness on her cheek where the heat had radiated. A quiet, terrifying rage bloomed in his chest. “Don’t worry about it, Clara. Take the rest of the day off. Actually, take the weekend. You look exhausted.”
Evelyn’s smile tightened for a fraction of a second. “Darling, she has the engagement party prep—”
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“We have caterers for that,” Nathaniel interrupted, his voice smooth but leaving no room for argument. “Go home, Clara. Get some rest.”
As Clara hurried past them, practically fleeing the room, Nathaniel looked back at Evelyn. “I have something for you in my coat,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, affectionate murmur. “Why don’t we go to the library?” He was going to give her the sapphire bracelet. He was going to put the ring on her finger. And then, he was going to burn her world to the ground.
