Chapter 2 - The Mask Drops in the Parlor
Inside the surveillance bunker, Chadworth watched the live feed with mounting horror. The woman on the screen bore no resemblance to the gentle partner who shared his bed and spoke softly of blended families and charitable foundations.
Sabina walked directly toward Gemma, snatched the plush stuffed rabbit from the little girl’s lap, and tossed it callously into the trash receptacle beside the pantry.
“I told you three times this week, Gemma: baby toys stay out of the formal areas,” Sabina hissed, leaning down until her face was inches from the six-year-old’s trembling chin. “Your father isn't here to coddle you with his pathetic guilt. As long as he is on that plane to Toronto, this house runs on my schedule. Look at me when I speak to you!”
Gemma tried to lift her tear-filled eyes, but her chin quivered uncontrollably. Lorelai immediately shifted on her wooden barstool, placing a protective arm around her younger sister’s shoulder.
“She was just eating her breakfast, Sabina,” Lorelai said, her voice shaking but filled with a brave, desperate defiance. “Daddy said we could have our things down here before school.”
“Your father isn't here, you insolent little brat,” Sabina snapped, raising her hand threateningly. “And until I wear his ring down the aisle next month, you will learn respect, or I will ensure your father sends both of you away to a boarding school in Switzerland before the winter sets in.”
In the bunker, Chadworth surged upward out of his leather chair, a guttural growl vibrating in his chest. Marcus placed a firm, steadying hand on the billionaire's shoulder.
“Wait, sir,” Marcus urged in a low, disciplined tone. “If you go up there right now, she will claim it was an isolated moment of frustration or discipline taken out of context. Let the cameras run. Let her show her full hand so she can never deny it in a court of law.”
Chadworth forced himself back into the seat, his teeth grinding so hard his jaw ached. Every protective instinct inside him screamed to run up the back stairs and throw the woman out of his ancestral home with his bare hands. But Marcus was right; he needed incontrovertible proof of what had been happening behind his back.
On the screen, Rosamund stepped swiftly out of the pantry. She held a stack of clean linen napkins, but her posture immediately shifted into a defensive stance. Without raising her voice or displaying overt hostility, Rosamund stepped directly between Sabina and the two terrified girls, effectively shielding them with her own body.
“Miss Vance,” Rosamund said, her tone level, calm, and respectful, yet completely unyielding. “The girls were following their normal morning routine as Mr. Prescott instructed before he departed. If there is an issue with the housekeeping or the placement of toys, hold me accountable, not the children.”
Sabina turned her wrath toward Rosamund, her eyes narrowing into slits of pure venom.
“You dare speak to me about rules in this house, you pathetic charity case?” Sabina spat, taking a menacing step closer to the housekeeper. “You think because Chadworth is blind to your little games that you have power here? You are a servant. Nothing more. When Chadworth and I are married, you will be out on the street without a reference, begging for scraps.”
Rosamund did not flinch. She kept her hands folded neatly in front of her apron, maintaining total composure while keeping her body firmly planted between the abusive woman and the weeping girls.
“Until Mr. Prescott gives me that notice himself, my duty is to ensure the safety and well-being of Lorelai and Gemma,” Rosamund answered softly. “Please let them finish their breakfast so they are not late for their morning transport.”
Sabina scoffed, leaning close to Rosamund’s ear. Through the sensitive directional microphones, her whisper carried clearly to the subterranean room:
May you like
“Enjoy your little moral high ground today, Rosamund. Because by the time Chadworth lands back in New York on Friday, his family heirloom diamonds will be found inside your locker, and you will be leaving this estate in handcuffs.”
Chadworth’s blood ran cold. The frame-up was premeditated. The accusations Sabina had whispered in his ear over dinner were not suspicions—they were an active, calculated conspiracy to destroy an innocent woman and isolate his vulnerable daughters.
