"She was being punished," Vivian interjected.
Her voice floated over them, crisp and authoritative. She had stopped walking when Marcus ignored her, crossing her arms over her chest. "She was being extremely disrespectful this morning, Marcus. I caught her trying to steal from my vanity. You know how children can be when they lack structure. I was merely teaching her the value of hard work. A little discipline."
Marcus kept his eyes on his daughter. "Did you steal anything, sweetheart?"
Maya shook her head frantically, tears spilling over her eyelashes. "No. I was just looking at the picture of Mom. The one she put in the back drawer."
Marcus closed his eyes for a fraction of a second. When he opened them, the sorrow in his gaze had hardened into something cold and sharp.
He stood up, pulling Maya to her feet with him. He tucked her gently behind his back, shielding her body with his own. Only then did he turn to look at his wife.
"Discipline," Marcus repeated. The word sounded foreign in his mouth.
"Exactly," Vivian said, lifting her chin. She was recovering her confidence now. She had manipulated Marcus for years, playing the loving, concerned partner. "You've been gone for half a year, Marcus. You don't see how she behaves when you aren't around. She's entitled. Lazy. She needed to learn respect."
"By wearing a maid's uniform?" Marcus asked softly.
Vivian waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, that old thing? I found it in the storage closet. I thought it would make the lesson feel more real. Honestly, you're overreacting. It was just a few chores."
Marcus reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket. He pulled out his smartphone.
The screen was still illuminated.
He walked slowly over to the glass coffee table in front of the sofa and placed the phone face-up on the surface.
"I've been in the driveway for twenty minutes," Marcus said.
Vivian looked down at the phone.
On the screen, a live black-and-white feed of the living room was playing. It showed Marcus standing near the table. It showed Vivian looking down. It was streaming directly from the dome camera tucked into the corner of the ceiling.
Vivian's mouth opened slightly. The color drained from her cheeks, leaving her designer makeup looking like a pale mask.
"I heard you tell her that her bleeding hands weren't your problem," Marcus said. His voice was dropping in volume, becoming dangerously quiet. "I heard you tell her that her father wasn't here to coddle her."
Vivian stepped back. "Marcus, you... you spied on me?"
"I installed a new security system three days ago," Marcus said. "I didn't tell you because the installation team flagged something in the previous camera logs. Something that made me cancel a multi-million dollar meeting in Dubai, board a private jet, and fly fourteen hours straight just to see what my wife was doing to my daughter."
Vivian swallowed hard. She looked at the phone, then at Marcus, her mind clearly racing to find a new angle, a new lie to spin. But the evidence was glowing right in front of her.
So she stopped pretending.
The elegant, concerned stepmother vanished. Vivian's posture stiffened, her lips curling into a cold, defensive sneer.
"Fine," Vivian said. "So you saw her doing some housework. What are you going to do about it? Divorce me? Over a little floor scrubbing?"
"I'm going to give you exactly ten minutes to go upstairs, pack whatever fits into a single suitcase, and walk out that front door," Marcus said.