Chapter 3 - SECRETS BURIED IN THE VAULT
Natalie’s breath hitched. The color drained entirely from her face, leaving her looking suddenly vulnerable beneath the harsh morning light pouring through the Palladian windows. “Ethan? What are you saying? We’re getting married in six months! How can you talk to me like that over a maid’s brat?”
“Watch your language,” Ethan warned, his voice dropping an octave. The sheer authority in his tone made even Mr. Patel take a subtle step backward.
Ethan turned back to Rosa, who was still kneeling on the marble floor, trembling from head to toe. He extended a hand—not to dismiss her, but to help her up. Rosa hesitated, her heart hammering against her ribs, before cautiously placing her hand in his. His grip was firm, warm, and steady.
“Rosa, take Lily to the library. There are books on the low table, and I’ll have Mrs. Higgins bring up some hot cocoa and pastries,” Ethan instructed gently. Then, looking at Mr. Patel, he added, “Patel, escort them. And make sure no one disturbs them.”
“Right away, Mr. Harmon,” the estate manager said quickly, offering a respectful nod to Rosa.
As Rosa and Lily disappeared down the corridor, the heavy oak doors of the library clicking shut behind them, the atmosphere in the foyer turned glacial. Ethan turned his full, unblinking attention back to Natalie.
“Get your things, Natalie,” Ethan said flatly.
“What? Are you kicking me out over a housekeeper?” Natalie’s voice rose in panic, her polished facade completely shattering. “You’re choosing a nobody over your future wife?”
“I am choosing truth over convenience,” Ethan replied, walking over to the small antique table where the family safe was concealed behind a heavy oil painting. He punched a complex sequence into the digital keypad. The heavy steel door swung open with a pneumatic hiss.
Ethan reached into the back of the safe and pulled out an old velvet box. He flipped it open. Inside sat a matching set of gold blazer buttons, identical to the one Lily had picked off the floor. But more than that, he pulled out a weathered manila folder labeled with a name Natalie had hoped she would never hear again: Clara Vance.
Natalie staggered backward, her manicured nails digging into the wooden banister. “Where... where did you get that?”
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“You thought you buried that scandal deep enough in Boston five years ago,” Ethan said, his eyes burning with a cold, righteous fury. “You thought changing your last name and attaching yourself to a billionaire would shield you. But you dropped a piece of my history on my floor—and a three-year-old girl with my eyes found it.”
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