Chapter 4 - Broken Glass
The sharp snap of breaking glass echoed off the brick walls of the patio, followed immediately by the harsh glow of the cracked smartphone screen flickering before finally going completely dark. For three seconds, nobody moved. The baby, sensing the sudden spike in adult adrenaline, began to wail with renewed intensity, its tiny face turning bright red against the damp white blanket.
Elena stared down at her ruined phone, her jaw tightening. She did not raise her voice, nor did she lunge forward in anger. Instead, her stillness was far more terrifying than Clara’s frantic outbursts. Elena slowly knelt, picking up the shattered device by its undamaged corner, and slid it back into the pocket of her green wrap dress.
“That was a very expensive mistake, Clara,” Elena said, her voice chillingly quiet. “And it certainly doesn't make you look innocent.”
Clara was shaking violently now, her blonde hair plastered to her cheeks, making her look less like the polished, affluent woman of the house and more like a cornered animal. She clutched the infant so tightly that the baby squirmed uncomfortably.
“You provoked me!” Clara screamed, her voice cracking as she backed further into the shadows near the brick planter box. “You’ve always hated me! You and David—you think you own this place, but I gave him a son! I gave him what you never could!”
Maya remained kneeling by the pool edge, shivering in her wet uniform. She watched the exchange with wide eyes, her heart pounding against her ribs. The mention of David’s past—and his complicated history with Elena—hung heavy in the humid night air. Maya had only been working as a live-in maid for three weeks, but she had already learned that the sprawling estate held more secrets than rooms.
“Clara, stop talking,” Elena warned, stepping forward with slow, deliberate grace. “You are digging a grave you won't be able to climb out of.”
“Try and stop me!” Clara snarled. She spun around, clutching the baby, and bolted toward the French doors leading into the ground-floor study.
She grabbed the brass handle, yanked with all her might, but the door refused to budge. It was locked from the inside.
Before Clara could turn around to face them, the heavy oak front door of the main hallway swung open with a loud creak, and a deep, groggy voice echoed from the dark interior.
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“What in God’s name is going on out here?” David called out, stepping onto the patio in his bathrobe, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
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