THE BILLIONAIRE'S DAUGHTER WAS CALLED A MONSTER—UNTIL HER NEW NANNY DISCOVERED WHAT WAS HIDDEN BEHIND THE BLUE DOOR

Matteo's voice cut through the hallway like a blade.

Celeste stood beside the blue door, her fingers tightening around the folder.

"I strongly recommend we discuss this privately."

"Open the door, Celeste."

I remained several feet behind him with Leah pressed against my side.

The child's breathing had grown shallow again.

Her gaze stayed fixed on the door.

"Mr. Duca," I said quietly, "maybe someone should take Leah somewhere she feels safe before you go inside."

He turned toward me.

"Where?"

I looked down at her.

"Leah, is there somewhere you'd like to go?"

She considered the question.

Then she whispered, "Kitchen."

"Okay."

I looked back at Matteo.

"Would you mind if I took her there?"

He hesitated, his attention divided between the door and his daughter.

Finally, he nodded.

"Stay with her."

"Of course."

I didn't pick Leah up.

I offered my hand.

To my surprise, she took it.

We had almost reached the kitchen when she suddenly stopped.

"Maya?"

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"Don't drink blue water."

I looked down.

"What blue water?"

But she wouldn't answer.

She simply pulled me forward.

The penthouse kitchen was enormous, with white cabinets, polished countertops, and appliances that looked as though they belonged in a professional restaurant.

A middle-aged woman stood near the sink.

She wore a gray housekeeper's uniform, and her dark hair was streaked with silver.

When she saw Leah holding my hand, she nearly dropped a plate.

"Miss Leah?"

The child ran toward her.

"Marisol!"

Marisol crouched immediately and gathered her into her arms.

I saw relief spread across her face.

Then she looked at me.

"You're the new nanny?"

"Yes. Maya Torres."

She nodded.

"I'm Marisol Vega. I've worked for this family for eleven years."

I glanced toward the hallway.

"Do you know what's happening?"

Her expression changed.

"That depends on what you've seen."

"Leah is terrified of a blue room."

Marisol's hands went still.

For a moment, the only sound was the refrigerator humming.

Then she whispered, "Oh, thank God."

I frowned.

"For what?"

"Someone finally listened."

Before I could question her, a sharp crash echoed from the hallway.

Leah flinched violently.

Marisol held her tighter.

"It's all right, sweetheart."

But I wasn't sure it was.

A man's voice followed.

"Who authorized this?"

Matteo.

I moved toward the doorway.

Marisol caught my arm.

"Don't leave her."

I looked back at Leah.

Her eyes were locked on mine.

I returned to the counter and crouched.

"I'm not leaving the penthouse, Leah. I'm just going to look down the hall."

She shook her head.

"No blue."

"Not for you."

I pointed toward Marisol.

"Can you stay with Marisol while I check?"

After a long moment, she nodded.

I walked toward the hallway.

Matteo stood in the doorway of a small room painted pale blue.

Celeste was beside him.

The door had a heavy electronic locking mechanism mounted on the outside.

Inside, the room looked almost innocent.

There was a padded rug, a low chair, a shelf of children's books, and a small lamp shaped like a moon.

But something was wrong.

No windows.

No toys with removable parts.

No visible handle on the inside of the door.

And mounted high in one corner was a small black camera.

I stopped breathing for a second.

Matteo pointed toward the lock.

"Why does a three-year-old need an electronically secured door?"

Celeste folded her arms.

"It's a safety feature."

"Safety for whom?"

"She becomes aggressive. You've witnessed her behavior yourself."

"Then why can't she open it from inside?"

Celeste looked at me standing in the doorway.

"This discussion is confidential."

Matteo didn't move.

"Answer me."

She drew herself taller.

"Some children benefit from short periods of controlled isolation."

I felt cold.

"That isn't the same as helping a child regulate her emotions."

Celeste turned toward me.

"I don't remember asking for your opinion."

"You're not getting an opinion."

I pointed at the door.

"I'm asking why a little girl is so terrified of this room that she panics when someone walks toward the hallway."

Matteo examined the lock.

Then he looked at Celeste.

"How long has this been happening?"

She didn't answer immediately.

"How long?"

"Approximately four months."

His expression emptied.

"Four months?"

"You approved the treatment plan."

"I approved behavioral therapy."

"And this is part of it."

He stared at her.

Then he walked inside.

I followed to the threshold.

The room smelled faintly of cleaning products.

There was another odor beneath it.

Something sweet and medicinal.

Matteo crouched beside a small table.

A plastic cup stood beneath the lamp.

The liquid inside was tinted pale blue.

I remembered Leah's warning.

Don't drink blue water.

"Mr. Duca."

He looked up.

"Please don't let anyone throw that away. Leah mentioned it."

His gaze moved to the cup.

Celeste immediately stepped forward.

"It's simply a flavored electrolyte drink."

Matteo held out his hand.

"Then you won't object to having it tested."

The room fell silent.

He took out his phone and called security.

"Gabriel, I need you upstairs immediately."

A man's voice answered.

"Yes, sir."

"And contact our legal department. Nobody enters or cleans the room until we document what's here."

Celeste stared at him.

"You're making a terrible mistake."

Matteo turned.

"No, Doctor. I'm beginning to think I made that mistake four months ago."

I looked around the room again.

There were faint scratches near the bottom of the wall.

Not deep.

Not dramatic.

Just little marks in the paint.

As if small fingers had repeatedly dragged across the surface.

Beside them were three faded letters.

I crouched.

My throat tightened.

Leah had tried to write her name.

I touched the air above the marks without touching the wall.

"Mr. Duca."

He came closer.

I showed him.

For several seconds, he said nothing.

Then he sat back on his heels.

"My daughter did this?"

I nodded.

He covered his mouth.

That was when I noticed something tucked behind the low bookshelf.

A small speaker.

Almost hidden.

I pointed toward it.

"What's that for?"

Celeste answered quickly.

"Relaxation exercises."

Matteo reached toward it.

"Don't touch it yet," I said. "Could security photograph it first?"

He paused, then nodded.

When Gabriel arrived, Matteo instructed him to document the equipment before moving anything.

Gabriel Shaw was tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in a dark suit. His manner was controlled, but I noticed how carefully he looked around the room.

After photographing the shelf and speaker, he examined the device.

"It has internal storage, sir."

"Can we preserve what's on it?"

"Yes. I'll have our forensic technician make a copy."

Celeste suddenly stepped toward him.

"That material is protected treatment information."

Matteo blocked her path.

"Then our lawyers can determine who is entitled to access it. Nobody is deleting anything."

Gabriel connected the device to a laptop and checked the visible file directory without changing the stored recordings.

There were dozens of audio files.

Most had dates.

Matteo selected one from the previous evening.