Chapter 12
Back at the Sterling estate, the atmosphere had transformed from a tense prison into a peaceful sanctuary. Clara walked down the sunlit hallway of the second floor, carrying baby Ethan in her arms. The infant was cooing happily, dressed in a soft cotton outfit, completely unaware of the dark storms swirling around his family. Clara kissed the top of his head softly, a deep sense of purpose filling her heart.
The transition had been surreal. Going from a frightened maid in yellow cleaning gloves to the trusted head of household operations had changed her daily life entirely, but her core instincts remained the same: protect Ethan at all costs. She knew Victor was waging a silent war in the corporate world, and she knew that danger could return to their doorstep at any moment.
As she entered the nursery, her phone buzzed on the rocking chair. It was a text message from an unknown number, accompanied by a single photograph.
Clara picked up the phone. Her blood ran cold as she stared at the screen. The photo showed the exterior gates of the Sterling estate taken from a long-lens camera across the street, timestamped just ten minutes ago. Superimposed over the image was a short, chilling text: Tell Victor his time is running out. I’m coming for what’s mine.
Clara’s heart hammered against her ribs. She didn't hesitate. She scooped up Ethan, hurried down the grand staircase, and dialed Victor’s private direct line on the house intercom.
“Mr. Sterling,” Clara said, her voice urgent but controlled. “You need to see this immediately.”
Within twenty minutes, Victor’s black bulletproof SUV pulled up to the front entrance. Victor strode through the double doors, shedding his suit jacket as he walked briskly into the living room where Clara and Ethan were waiting. His face was carved from stone, his eyes blazing with restrained fury.
“Show me,” Victor demanded, holding out his hand.
May you like
Clara handed him her phone. Victor stared at the screen, zooming in on the metadata of the image. A dark, predatory smile slowly formed on his lips. Julian Vance was arrogant enough to think he could play cat and mouse with a man who owned the very streets he was standing on.
“He thinks he’s hunting us,” Victor said quietly, handing the phone back. “He has no idea he just walked straight into my trap.”
