Chapter 1: The Blue Envelope
The silence in the penthouse was thick enough to choke on. The only sound was the jagged, uneven rhythm of my own breathing and the soft, terrified whimpers coming from little Chloe, who was still buried against my chest.
Marcus didn’t yell. He didn’t scream. He moved across the white marble floor with a terrifying, absolute stillness. His eyes never left the golf club in Evelyn’s hands until he was standing less than three feet away from us.
Only then did Evelyn seem to remember how to breathe.
She dropped the 9-iron. It hit the floor with a sharp metallic clatter that made Chloe flinch against me.
Instantly, Evelyn’s face crumpled into a mask of pure, unadulterated terror—a performance so flawless it made my stomach turn. Tears spilled over her perfectly applied makeup as she took a staggering step toward her husband.
“Marcus!” she cried out, her voice pitching into a hysterical sob. “Oh my God, Marcus, thank God you’re home! She went crazy!”
Marcus stopped. “What?” he asked. His voice was dangerously low.
“Maya!” Evelyn pointed a trembling finger at me. “She just snapped! I walked into the living room and she was screaming at Chloe, yanking her arm! She shoved her to the floor! I didn’t know what to do, Marcus. I just grabbed your club to defend her. She wouldn’t let go of my baby!”
My jaw dropped. The sheer audacity of the lie left me paralyzed for a split second. The throbbing pain in my shoulder, where the club had just struck me, flared hot and sharp as I shifted my weight to look up at him.
“That is a lie,” I said, my voice shaking with adrenaline and pain. “Mr. Sterling, that is a complete lie.”
I tried to stand, but the moment I moved, a sharp stabbing sensation shot down my back. I groaned, sinking back onto my knees. Chloe clung to my blazer, her small hands locked in the fabric, her face buried in my side.
Marcus looked down at us. His eyes drifted over my protective crouch, over the way his daughter was anchored to me as if I were a life raft. Then, his gaze landed on the right side of Chloe’s face.
He saw the scratches. Three bright, jagged red lines running from her cheekbone to her jawline.
“Chloe,” Marcus breathed, his voice cracking. He dropped to one knee, reaching out a hand. “Sweetheart, come here. Come to Daddy.”
Chloe turned her head, burying it deeper into my jacket. She was trembling so violently her teeth were chattering.
“It’s okay, bug,” I whispered, rubbing her back with my free hand. “It’s okay. Go to your dad.”
Slowly, reluctantly, Chloe unlatched her fingers from my lapel and allowed Marcus to lift her into his arms. He stood up, cradling his daughter tightly, his hand gently cupping the back of her head so she didn’t have to look at Evelyn.
“Marcus, you have to call the police,” Evelyn sobbed, moving closer and placing a manicured hand on his arm. “She needs to be locked up. Look what she did to Chloe’s face! I tried to stop her, but she was like a wild animal!”
I didn’t argue with her. I didn’t scream or call her a liar again. I knew how it looked. I was the hired help, twenty-four years old, wearing a cheap blazer and scuffed flats. Evelyn was his beautiful, polished wife, a woman he had trusted enough to marry just three months ago after a whirlwind romance.
Instead of fighting her words, I slowly raised my left hand.
My knuckles were white from how hard I was gripping the crumpled blue envelope.
“I didn’t touch Chloe,” I said, my voice finding a steady, calm rhythm despite the searing pain in my shoulder. “I walked into the study to retrieve Chloe’s iPad. The wall safe was open. Mrs. Sterling was standing in front of it. And this envelope was sitting on the desk.”