THE LIES SHE POURED

"Give that to me."

Rebecca’s voice was barely a whisper, but it carried the sharpness of a razor. She stepped toward me, her heels clicking ominously against the hardwood floor.

I stood up, keeping my hand closed around the silver bracelet. The cold metal pressed into my palm. My pulse pounded in my ears. I was just a housemaid, a twenty-seven-year-old woman who needed this job to pay off my own sister's medical debts. I was not equipped to play games with a mafia boss’s furious fiancée.

"I was just picking it up, Miss Ellis," I said, keeping my voice carefully neutral. I extended my hand, opening my fingers to offer her the jewelry.

She snatched it so hard her nails scratched my palm. Her breathing was shallow as she hastily stuffed the bracelet into her designer clutch, snapping it shut with a loud click.

"You didn't read it," she said. It wasn't a question. It was a threat.

"I didn't see anything," I lied smoothly. Growing up in a rough neighborhood had taught me how to keep my face blank when survival demanded it.

Rebecca stepped into my personal space. The scent of her expensive jasmine perfume was suffocating.

"If you breathe a word of this to Dominic, I will ruin you, Sadie. I know about your sister's hospital bills. I know Dominic pays you well. But when I marry him, I will control the household finances. You cross me, and you'll be on the street with nothing."

She didn't wait for my response. She turned and marched out of the dining room, her posture rigid with panic.

I stood alone in the dim room, my mind racing. For the night we became free. That wasn't a charm commemorating a tragic accident. That was a celebration. And it wasn't from Arthur.

I needed to tell Dominic. But Rebecca was right; if I spoke out of turn and Dominic didn't believe me, my sister’s care would be compromised. I had to be smart.

I spent the next hour making up the blue guest room for Arthur, smoothing the crisp white sheets and plumping the pillows. When I finally went down to the kitchen to fetch him a glass of warm milk, I found a small boy sitting at the granite island, swinging his legs.

It was Leo, Dominic’s six-year-old nephew. Dominic had taken him in after his brother was killed three years ago. Leo was a sweet, quiet kid who usually hid from Rebecca, terrified of her sharp temper.

"Hey, buddy," I smiled, grabbing a carton of milk from the industrial fridge. "Why are you up so late?"

Leo looked down at a piece of construction paper on the counter. "I heard yelling. I was making a drawing for Grandpa Artie. But Becca said he’s going away."

My heart softened. Leo adored Arthur. They spent hours in the garden together while Rebecca ignored them both.

"He's not going away, Leo. He's staying right here in the guest room."

Leo’s face lit up. "Really? Can you give this to him?"

He slid the paper toward me. I picked it up, expecting a stick-figure drawing of a garden or a dog.

Instead, a chill ran down my spine.

It was a crayon drawing of a dark road. A red car was smashed against a large brown tree. But what made my breath catch were the figures standing outside the car.

There were three stick figures. One was lying on the ground. One was standing over it with yellow hair (Rebecca). And standing next to Rebecca, holding her hand, was a tall figure in a black suit.

Arthur had said only he and Rebecca were in the car.

"Leo," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "Where did you see this?"

Leo blinked innocent brown eyes. "I didn't see it. Becca showed me a picture on her phone once when she was mad at me. She said if I didn't behave, the bad man in the black suit would come make me sleep in the dirt like her mommy."

Sick disgust churned in my stomach. She was terrorizing a six-year-old child to keep him compliant.

"Thank you, Leo. I'll make sure Mr. Arthur gets this."

After tucking Leo back into his bed, I carried the warm milk and the drawing to the blue guest room. I knocked softly.

"Come in," Arthur called.

He was sitting in the armchair by the window, staring out at the dark estate grounds. He looked incredibly fragile, the weight of his confession finally pressing down on his shoulders.

I set the milk on the bedside table and handed him the drawing. "Leo wanted you to have this."

Arthur took the paper. As his eyes adjusted to the child's crude crayon strokes, his hands began to tremble violently. He dropped the paper as if it burned him.

"Where did you get this?" he choked out.

"Leo said Rebecca showed him a photo on her phone to scare him. Arthur... who is the man in the black suit? Who was with Rebecca the night her mother died?"

Arthur buried his face in his hands, a ragged sob tearing from his throat. "I didn't know he was there," he wept. "I swear to God, Sadie, I didn't know until it was too late."

Before he could explain, the heavy oak door to the bedroom swung open.

Dominic stood in the doorway. His face was a mask of cold, hard stone. He walked into the room, bypassing me entirely, and stopped in front of Arthur.

Dominic reached into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out a faded, crinkled photograph. He threw it onto the bed.

"I just found this hidden in the lining of Rebecca’s suitcase while her maid was packing it," Dominic said, his voice deadly quiet.

I looked down at the photograph on the bed.