Candice gasped softly. “Are you sure?”
“Especially since you’re pregnant with our baby,” Jaxon replied. “I won’t let her hurt you or our child again.”
My lungs froze. It felt like my soul detached itself from my body and watched my life crumble piece by piece.
He wasn’t just using me. He wasn’t just cheating on me. He was plotting to kill me on my birthday.
I backed away quietly, swallowing a scream. My hands shook violently. I pressed them to my chest, forcing myself to breathe. Not now. Not here.
I have to stay alive. I have to act normal. I have to win.
When I returned to my suite that evening, Jaxon was waiting on the couch, his expression soft, almost affectionate.
I nearly laughed.
“There you are,” he said with a relieved exhale, standing up. “We need to talk.”
I didn't sit. “About what?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “About Candice’s situation. You fired her… so I was thinking.”
I braced myself. He smiled—gentle, understanding, supportive. The same smile that once made me fall for him.
The same smile he used right before betraying me every time.
“…we can hire her as our maid,” he said.
My heart stopped.
“Our… what?” I whispered.
“She needs income,” he continued easily, as if discussing the weather. “And since you trust her less now, this way you can still see what she’s doing. And I can help her. It’s a win-win. You know she is a close friend with no relatives and I can’t just let her be alone with nothing.”
Win-win. For him and his mistress.
“Absolutely not,” I said immediately, my voice sharp. “I fired her. She’s not stepping foot in this house again.”
His smile faltered. “Ysobel—”
“No.” I turned away before the trembling in my chest could turn into screaming. “I’m tired, Jaxon. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
“Come on,” he called softly, following me as I headed to the bedroom. “You don’t have to be so emotional—”
“Goodnight,” I said, shutting the door before I could say something that would expose how much I knew… how much danger I was in.
I pressed my back against the door, exhaling shakily.
They wanted me dead on my birthday and now he wanted his mistress living in my house.
Over my dead body.
But the next morning, when sunlight hit my face and sleep loosened its grip—I sensed it immediately.
Someone else was in the room.
I shot up and froze.
Candice was kneeling beside my dresser, wiping it with a cloth, humming softly like she belonged there. She wore an apron. Hair tied. Head down.
She looked up with a smile that trembled. “Good morning, Ma’am.”
My heart dropped to my stomach. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh!” She stood quickly, bowing her head. “Jaxon told me you changed your mind and agreed to let me stay… as the maid.”
My blood turned to ice. “That’s a lie. I didn’t agree to anything.”
She wrung her hands nervously, eyes glossy with fake tears. “Ma’am, please… please let me stay. I need this job. I can do everything, I promise. I’m not picky. I can cook, clean, wash, iron, sew—anything. I just need somewhere to stay… even if you make me sleep in the storage room.”
I clenched my jaw. She was performing. Every trembling word is a calculated move.
“Get out,” I said coldly. “Before I change my mind about letting you walk out of this house.”
She flinched. “Please… give me a chance. I’ll show you!”
She darted forward, grabbing a glass spray bottle and a rag. “See? I clean very well. Look—look how shiny I can make it.”
She wiped the table too aggressively, desperate to prove her worth, moving with frantic energy. Then she rushed toward the shelf where my mother’s porcelain urn stood—a delicate hand-carved piece, white with gold trimming, the most precious thing I owned.
My breath hitched. “Don’t touch—”
“I can clean everything!” she insisted, dusting around it. “I’m very careful, Ma’am. I can—”
Her elbow hit it. The urn shook. Time slowed.
“Candice, stop—!”
But it was too late.
The urn teetered.
It fell.
It shattered on the floor.
Porcelain exploded into pieces.
And the ashes—my mother’s ashes—scattered across the marble like gray snow.
