The cold blue light of the security monitors bathed my face in a sick, ghostly glow. On screen two, Patricia had already turned her back on Rosa, her posture stiff with calculated fury. She walked over to the antique mahogany side table, her manicured fingers tapping sharply against the wood before she whirled back around.

“Pack your things, Rosa,” Patricia hissed, her voice low enough to barely register on the high-fidelity perimeter mic, yet sharp enough to slice through the quiet of the morning. “You have two hours to clear out your quarters and leave the estate. If I see you lingering near the gate after noon, I’ll ensure my fiancé makes sure you never work a domestic job in this country again.”

Rosa didn’t flinch. She simply stood her ground, her body shielding Martina and Daniela, who huddled together on the plush wool rug.

“I report only to Mr. Sterling, Miss Patricia,” Rosa replied, her voice steady, though a slight tremor in her hands betrayed her composure. “He hired me. He pays my wage. Until he tells me to leave my girls, I stay right here.”

A dark, venomous smile twisted Patricia’s lips. It was a terrifying sight—the face of a woman who believed she had already won, a woman who looked at two innocent children not with maternal warmth, but as obstacles to be systematically crushed.

“Your precious master is currently thousands of feet in the air over the Atlantic,” Patricia mocked, taking a slow, predatory step forward. “By the time he lands in London, you’ll be a distant memory, and these ungrateful brats will have learned their proper place in my home.”

In the hidden monitoring room, my fists clenched so hard my fingernails bit deep into my palms. Blood wicked against my skin, but I felt no pain. Only a freezing, terrifying rage that began to thaw into absolute clarity.

She thinks she’s untouchable, I thought. She thinks she owns my life, my home, and my blood.

My head of security, Marcus, stood beside me, his jaw set in a hard, uncompromising line. He reached out and touched my shoulder.

“Sir, do we pull the plug now? Do we go down there and throw her out?”

“No,” I whispered, my voice chilling even Marcus. “Not yet. A predator doesn’t run out of the brush when it first shows its teeth. You let it step entirely into the clearing. I want every single recording from the last six months pulled, backed up, and encrypted. Every harsh word, every cruel look, every dropped mask. I want a digital fortress of proof.”

Marcus nodded briskly, his fingers flying across the console. “It’s already archiving to a secure off-site cloud server. She can’t delete a frame of it.”

I turned back to the screens. Downstairs, Patricia had turned her attention back to my daughters. She leaned down, grabbing Daniela roughly by the chin, forcing the little girl to look up into her unblinking, glassy eyes.

“Listen to me very carefully,” Patricia whispered, her voice dripping with sadistic sweetness. “Your father doesn’t love you the way he loves me. You are just reminders of his past life—mistakes he tolerates. Once we are married, this house gets cleansed. Starting with your annoying little habits... and ending with your precious Rosa.”