Chapter 3 - The Broken Brake LineThree weeks later, the Mercer estate was enveloped in the golden hues of late autumn.
The atmosphere in the grand manor had shifted seismically. The heavy, suffocating silence was gone, replaced by the occasional sound of laughter echoing from the back gardens. Lucy Bennett had somehow turned the billionaire's sprawling estate into her personal kingdom, and Evan Mercer—to the utter shock of his staff—was her most loyal subject.
On Thursday afternoon, Evan’s custom Bentley pulled up to the front portico. He stepped out, loosening his tie, intending to check on the garden renovations.
As he walked past the gravel driveway toward the staff quarters, he heard raised voices coming from behind the maintenance shed.
"I'm telling you, Nora, you're playing with fire!" a rough voice shouted.
Evan froze, stepping into the shadows of a towering oak tree.
It was Marcus, the estate’s head groundsman, a burly man with shifting eyes. Standing opposite him was Nora, her arms crossed defensively, her face flushed with anger.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Marcus, and keep your voice down," Nora hissed.
"Don't play innocent with me," Marcus snarled, stepping closer to her. "You think because the big boss is paying attention to your kid now, you're untouchable? If the cops find out why you really left Stamford three years ago—if they trace the car—"
Evan’s blood ran ice-cold. Stamford.
The word hit him like a physical blow. The same stretch of road. The same town where Grace and Caroline had died.
"I left Stamford because my ex-husband was a criminal, and I was running for my daughter's safety!" Nora shouted back, tears of frustration stinging her eyes. "It had nothing to do with that accident! Nothing!"
"The timing is awfully convenient, though, isn't it?" Marcus sneered, grabbing her wrist. "A woman flees Stamford the exact week Grace Mercer's car goes off the guardrail..."
Before Marcus could finish his sentence, a shadow fell over them.
An iron grip clamped onto Marcus’s shoulder, spinning the burly groundsman around with enough force to send him crashing into the wooden wall of the shed.
Evan Mercer stood over him, his eyes burning with a terrifying, cold fury. The billionaire looked less like a corporate executive and more like an apex predator defending its territory.
"Let go of her," Evan whispered, each word dropping like a lead weight.
Marcus stammered, pale with terror. "Mr.—Mr. Mercer! I was just—she was—"
"You're fired," Evan cut him off, his voice dangerously calm. "Pack your things. If you're still on this property in twenty minutes, I won't just have you thrown off—I'll make sure you never work in this state again."
Marcus scrambled up from the gravel, casting a venomous glare at Nora before fleeing toward the employee parking lot.
Evan turned slowly to face Nora. Her breathing was ragged, her hand trembling as she rubbed her wrist. She looked up at him, fear and shame warring in her eyes.
May you like
"Mr. Mercer... I can explain," Nora whispered, her voice breaking.
Evan stared at her, his mind racing through a labyrinth of dark, long-dormant suspicions. "Explain why my estate manager hired a woman fleeing Stamford, Nora? Because right now, it sounds like you have a lot of explaining to do."
