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The air in the security room grew heavier as Marcus tapped a few keys, bringing up the archive footage from the main hallway and the second-floor landing. On screen, the house was quiet. The morning sunlight streamed through the tall Victorian windows, casting long, geometric shadows across the polished hardwood floors. / Chapter 6 / 8

Chapter 6 - TRAPPED IN THE MASTER SUITE

The heavy oak doors of the master suite clicked shut behind Patricia as she rushed inside, locking them with a sharp turn of the deadbolt.

She hurried over to the custom painting behind her bed, swinging it open to reveal the biometric wall safe embedded in the reinforced concrete. Her fingers flew across the digital keypad, punching in the six-digit code.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

A harsh red light flashed across the screen. ACCESS DENIED.

"What?" Patricia muttered, her breath hitching. She punched the code in again, faster this time.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. ACCESS DENIED.

"Damn it!" she hissed, slamming her palm against the keypad.

Unknown to her, the primary biometric override had been shifted to Mr. Vance’s private terminal downstairs ten minutes ago by Marcus under direct orders. The safe was now an impenetrable vault.

"Looking for something, Patricia?"

The calm, glacial voice cut through the silence of the bedroom like a razor blade.

Patricia spun around, her eyes widening in sheer terror.

Mr. Vance was leaning casually against the doorframe of the adjoining walk-in closet, his arms crossed over his chest, watching her with a look of terrifying tranquility. He hadn't come up the stairs loudly; he had used the private service elevator that connected the basement security room directly to the master wing.

"Arthur!" Patricia’s face instantly shifted gears, morphing into a mask of wounded, tearful innocence. She rushed toward him, her hands outstretched, ready to clutch at his lapels. "Oh, thank goodness! You won't believe what’s happening—someone hacked my phone, and the house security alarms are glitching, and I was just trying to secure our valuables—"

She stopped dead in her tracks.

Mr. Vance didn't flinch. He didn't open his arms to catch her. He just stared at her with eyes as cold and empty as deep-space vacuum.

"The safe code was changed, Patricia," Mr. Vance said softly, stepping out of the doorway and walking slowly toward her. "Just like the offshore transfer portal was blocked. Just like the security feeds were finally reviewed."

Patricia swallowed hard, her theatrical tears drying up instantly as she realized the game was entirely, irrevocably over. Her posture stiffened, the sweet socialite mask melting away to reveal the sharp, calculating predator beneath.

"You checked the cameras," she whispered, her voice losing its high-pitched quiver and dropping into a flat, icy register.

"Every single second of them," Mr. Vance replied, stopping just two feet away from her. "From the day you moved in, to the day you framed Rosa, to the afternoon you destroyed Daniela's art."

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Patricia’s lips curled into a bitter, humorless smile. She didn't cower. Instead, she lifted her chin defiantly.

"You fool," she spat, her voice dripping with pure disdain. "You built an empire, Arthur, but you were so starved for a pretty face to sit beside you at dinner that you handed me the keys to your entire life on a silver platter. You deserve everything that's coming to you."

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