His fiancée threw his son's puppy into a thunderstorm—and never expected what happened next.

The heavy front doors of the Vance estate groaned as Julian pushed them open, ushering Grace and the golden retriever back into the cavernous foyer. The contrast between the freezing rain outside and the stifling, polished warmth inside was immediate. Crystal chandeliers cast a brilliant, unforgiving light over the marble floors, reflecting the expensive art that lined the walls—art bought with money Julian was only now beginning to understand was entirely tainted.

Grace clutched the puppy tightly against her chest, her wet boots leaving muddy prints across the pristine white marble. She shivered, water dripping from her frayed uniform onto the floor.

“Stay close to me,” Julian whispered, unbuttoning his sodden suit jacket and tossing it onto a mahogany console table. He pulled a small, brass-handled key from his trouser pocket—a key to the hidden safe behind the library’s floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.

From the top of the grand staircase, a soft sound broke the silence. The slow, deliberate click of a heel against hardwood.

Eleanor descended the stairs, her long white dress sweeping gracefully behind her like a shroud. She looked as though she had never stepped foot in the rain, her blonde hair pinned into an immaculate French twist, her makeup flawless. There was no anger in her eyes, only a chilling, clinical curiosity as she looked down at the two intruders in her home.

“Julian,” Eleanor said, her voice smooth and melodic, carrying effortlessly across the cavernous room. “I thought you were taking the trash out. I didn’t realize you were inviting stray animals into our parlor.”

“The only trash in this house, Eleanor, is the web of lies you’ve been spinning,” Julian replied, his voice deadly calm as he placed himself squarely between his wife and Grace.

Eleanor stopped halfway down the stairs, resting one slender hand on the polished banister. She tilted her head, her gaze drifting past Julian to fix on the shivering young maid. A faint, condescending smile played on her lips.

“Grace, dear, you really should know better than to fraternize with things that don’t belong to you,” Eleanor said softly. “That puppy was an accident waiting to happen. Just like your employment here.”

“You tried to drown it, Mrs. Vance,” Grace spoke up, her voice surprisingly steady despite the tears still clinging to her lashes. “And you tried to hide the transfer records from the Cayman accounts. Mr. Vance sees everything now.”