The next afternoon, Ada stood in the second-floor guest bedroom. She wore the ill-fitting, coarse gray maid's uniform.
Her arms trembled as she dragged a heavy wet rag across the floor-to-ceiling windows. The severe malnutrition from prison made every movement feel like lifting weights. Cold sweat beaded on her forehead.
The bedroom door clicked open.
Jacklyn walked in, swaying her hips elegantly. She carried a silver tray with sliced apples. She kicked the door shut behind her with her heel.
Ada stopped wiping the glass. She gripped the wet rag tightly, her muscles tensing in defense.
Jacklyn set the tray on a side table. She picked up the small, razor-sharp silver fruit knife resting next to the apples. She ran her thumb lightly over the flat of the blade.
"You really made a fool of yourself yesterday, Ada," Jacklyn whispered, walking slowly toward her. "Claiming Jakob is yours. How pathetic."
Jacklyn stopped two feet away. She leaned in, her perfume sickeningly sweet. "But you know what the funniest part is? He sleeps in silk sheets bought with your family's money. He calls me Mommy."
Ada's chest heaved. The anger boiled over, burning her throat. "The stillbirth report," Ada gritted out. "You forged it, didn't you? You stole him."
Jacklyn didn't deny it. Instead, a slow, terrifyingly triumphant smile spread across her face.
That silent confirmation snapped the last thread of Ada's sanity. She dropped the rag and took a step forward, her hands reaching out to grab Jacklyn by the throat.
Just as Ada's fingers brushed the silk of Jacklyn's blouse, heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway outside. Desmond was walking past with his assistant.
Jacklyn's eyes darted to the door. Her triumphant smile vanished, replaced by a look of sheer, calculated madness.
Without a second of hesitation, Jacklyn raised the silver fruit knife.
Ada watched in frozen horror as Jacklyn slashed the blade hard across the inside of her own left forearm.
Blood instantly welled up, bright red and thick, soaking into the pristine white silk of her sleeve.
Jacklyn grabbed Ada's hand and forcefully shoved the bloody handle of the knife into Ada's palm.
Then, Jacklyn threw her head back and let out a piercing, blood-curdling scream.
Bang!
The heavy wooden door was kicked open so hard it rebounded off the wall.
Desmond burst into the room. He stopped dead.
Jacklyn was collapsed on the floor, clutching her bleeding arm, sobbing hysterically. Ada stood over her, holding a blood-dripping knife.
The visual triggered a violent flashback in Desmond's mind. The stairs. The blood. Three years ago.
His vision tinted red with rage.
"Desmond!" Jacklyn wailed, crawling toward him. "She tried to kill me! She said I took her place!"
Ada's hand shake so violently the knife rattled. She shook her head frantically. "No! Desmond, she cut herself! I swear to God!"
Desmond didn't listen. He lunged forward and kicked Ada's wrist with his heavy leather shoe. The knife flew out of her hand and clattered against the wall.
He grabbed a fistful of Ada's hair and yanked her backward.
Ada screamed in pain as she was dragged out of the room and thrown onto the hallway carpet.
"Get the medics!" Desmond roared at his assistant.
He turned back to Ada, grabbed her by the collar of her uniform, and dragged her down the hallway like a corpse. Ada's knees banged against the stairs as he hauled her down to the basement.
Deep in the bowels of the manor was a reinforced steel Panic Room, built for extreme security threats.
Desmond punched a code into the keypad. The heavy metal door hissed open.
He threw Ada violently into the pitch-black room. She hit the concrete floor hard, scraping her palms.
"You want to act like a violent animal?" Desmond spat, his voice echoing in the dark. "Then you'll live in a cage. No food. No water. Until you learn."
Ada scrambled to her knees, crawling toward the sliver of light at the door. "Desmond, please! Don't lock me in the dark! Please!"
Desmond looked down at her with absolute disgust. He hit the button.
The heavy steel door slammed shut with a final, echoing boom. The locks engaged.
Absolute, suffocating darkness swallowed Ada whole.
The silence was deafening. Only the faint hiss of the air vent broke the quiet.
Ada curled into a tight ball on the freezing concrete. The severe claustrophobia she developed in solitary confinement hit her like a freight train. Her throat closed up. She began to hyperventilate, her body shaking uncontrollably in the dark.
