Chapter 3
The morning sun filtered through the heavy velvet drapes of the master bedroom, casting long, dusty rays across the Persian rug. Julian sat on the edge of the king-sized bed, rubbing his temples as a dull throbbing behind his eyes threatened to bloom into a full migraine. The bed beside him was neatly made; Elena had not slept there. She had spent the remainder of the night in her private dressing wing, plotting her next move with the cold precision of a chess grandmaster.
Downstairs, the household was waking up, but the usual hum of domestic efficiency was replaced by an oppressive, brittle silence. Julian dressed in a fresh dark suit, his movements mechanical. He walked down the grand staircase, his hand trailing over the polished wooden banister where, less than twenty-four hours earlier, Clara had been left broken and weeping.
In the kitchen, Clara was already preparing warm milk and toast for Leo. Her face bore a faint, purplish bruise along her jawline, partially concealed by foundation, but her hands were steady as she poured the milk into a small blue cup. When she heard Julian’s footsteps, she turned sharply, fear momentarily flashing in her eyes before she recognized him.
"Good morning, Mr. Vance," she murmured, keeping her gaze respectfully lowered toward the marble countertop.
"How is your jaw, Clara?" Julian asked, stopping a few feet away, careful not to crowd her.
"It's... better, sir. The doctor gave me some ointment last night." She hesitated, wringing the cloth in her hands. "Mr. Vance, I need to speak with you about my position here. After what happened..."
"You are not leaving," Julian interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. "If you leave, Elena wins, and Leo loses his only advocate in this house. I have arranged for private security to monitor the interior wings. You and Leo will not be left alone together with her again."
Clara looked up, her young eyes searching his face for any sign of betrayal or weakness. "She will find a way around the guards, sir. You don't know her. She isn't just strict; she’s... relentless."
"I know exactly who she is," Julian said, a bitter taste rising in his mouth. "More than you realize. Just stay close to Leo, keep a low profile, and let me handle the legal fallout. I am meeting with my corporate counsel at noon."
Before Clara could respond, the kitchen doors swung open with a soft swish. Elena entered, looking impossibly pristine in a cream-colored silk blouse and tailored trousers. Her dark brown hair was pulled back into a severe, elegant chignon. She didn't look like a woman who had violently assaulted her employee the day before; she looked like a philanthropist visiting a charity gala.
"Good morning, darling," Elena said, ignoring Clara entirely as she walked up to Julian and lightly brushed her cheek against his. "I see you're checking up on our domestic help. How dedicated of you."
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"Someone has to ensure the household functions without unnecessary violence," Julian replied coldly, stepping back from her touch.
Elena smiled, a thin, razor-sharp expression. "Of course. By the way, my lawyer called from New York. It seems our offshore accounts require your signature by the end of the week. I do hope your business affairs are as orderly as your domestic ones."
