The Maid Who Walked Past A Fortune

The heavy mahogany doors of Leo's suite opened with a quiet click. I stepped inside, the morning sunlight filtering through the heavy blackout curtains. Leo was sitting in the middle of a massive Persian rug, aggressively pushing a wooden train along a track.

It had been two days since my sudden promotion. Moving to the family wing felt like stepping into another dimension. The air was colder here, the silence heavier.

"Morning, Leo," I said softly.

He didn't look up, just smashed two train cars together. "Uncle Adrian is angry again. He broke a glass in the kitchen."

I knelt beside him on the rug. "Adults get frustrated sometimes, buddy. It doesn't mean he's mad at you."

"He's mad at Uncle Grant," Leo stated factually. "They yelled about Caroline."

My pulse jumped. Caroline Wells. The woman who had been ready to marry Adrian for his money. Why was Grant talking to her?

Before I could ask, Leo shoved a small, worn stuffed bear into my hands. "Mr. Barnaby needs a hug. He's scared of the loud voices."

I smiled, pulling the bear against my chest. "Well, Mr. Barnaby is safe with me. And so are you."

Leo finally looked up, his dark eyes—so much like Adrian's—studying my face. "Do you promise? Because Mommy promised, and then she went in the car."

The raw grief in his five-year-old voice nearly broke me. I pulled him into a tight hug, resting my chin on his soft hair. "I promise, Leo. I'm not going anywhere."

Later that afternoon, while Leo was taking a nap, I left his room and slipped down the hallway. Adrian was in a meeting with his captains downtown. Grant's car was gone. The family wing was deserted.

This was my chance.

I moved silently to Grant's door, expecting it to be locked. To my surprise, the handle turned easily. I slipped inside, closing it behind me. The room was meticulously clean, smelling of expensive cologne and cigar smoke.

I went straight to his mahogany dresser, carefully pulling open the drawers. Silk ties, cufflinks, expensive watches—but not the silver one with the scratched glass. I moved to the nightstand, flipping through a leather-bound notebook. Nothing but shipping manifests and numbers.

Frustration burned in my chest. I needed to know how he got my father's watch. I needed to know why Clara Vale had my father's train ticket.

Suddenly, the floorboards outside the door creaked.

Panic seized me. I dropped the notebook, kicked the drawer shut, and threw myself into the large walk-in closet, pulling the louvered door closed just as the bedroom door opened.

Through the wooden slats, I saw Grant walk into the room. He wasn't alone.

Caroline Wells stepped in behind him, her arms crossed, looking distinctly unimpressed. "This is a massive risk, Grant. If Adrian finds me here—"

"Adrian is distracted by his new bleeding heart project," Grant sneered, walking to his dresser and pouring two glasses of scotch. "He's weak, Caroline. Keeping the boy a secret? Firing the heads of five allied families just to prove a point? The syndicate is losing faith in him."

"And you want to step up," Caroline observed, taking the glass.

"I want to protect the Vale empire," Grant corrected. "But to do that, I need the boy out of the picture. As long as Leo is the heir, Adrian will prioritize playing house over ruling the streets. I need you to convince your father to back me when I make my move."

Caroline took a slow sip. "And the nanny?"

Grant’s expression darkened into something violent. "Nora is a problem. She sees too much. She’s too close to Adrian. I'm going to handle her tonight."

A cold sweat broke out across my back. I clamped a hand over my mouth to quiet my breathing. They were planning a coup. And they were going to kill me to get to Leo.

I waited until they finished their drinks and left the room before I stumbled out of the closet, my knees shaking. I had to warn Adrian. I had to protect Leo.

I sprinted back down the hall and threw open the door to my own suite, intending to grab my phone.

But I froze in the doorway.

My bed had been completely destroyed. The pillows were shredded, feathers covering the floor like snow. And resting in the dead center of the ruined mattress was Mr. Barnaby, Leo’s favorite stuffed bear.