Part 2
Lily looked toward the front hallway instead of answering.
Her tiny fingers tightened around the wooden blocks.
“The pretty lady…” she whispered.
Rosa smiled distractedly.
“Miss Vivien?”
Lily nodded once.
“She pushed the grandma.”
The folded towels slipped from Rosa's arms.
They landed on the tile floor with a muffled thud.
For several seconds, she simply stared at her daughter.
“What did you say?”
“The pretty lady pushed the grandma.”
Lily demonstrated with both hands, stretching her small palms forward in an awkward shove.
“She said...” Lily lowered her voice, copying an adult. “‘Move.’”
Rosa's heartbeat became painfully loud.
“No, sweetheart.”
She crouched quickly, forcing a gentle smile.
“You mustn't tell stories like that.”
“I not story.”
Lily frowned.
“She mad.”
“Lily...”
“She looked at me.”
The little girl suddenly wrapped both arms around her mother's neck.
“She said go hide.”
A cold chill traveled down Rosa's spine.
Children imagined monsters under beds.
They did not invent details like whispered commands.
“When did you see this?”
“Yesterday.”
“Where were you?”
“I chasing Mr. Buttons.”
The family cat.
Rosa closed her eyes.
Of course.
The cat loved sleeping near the staircase because the afternoon sunlight warmed the marble landing.
Lily often followed him there while Rosa cleaned nearby rooms.
“Nobody saw me.”
Lily buried her face into Rosa's shoulder.
“I scared.”
Rosa held her daughter tightly.
Everything inside her screamed to forget what she'd just heard.
Forget it.
Go back to work.
Collect your paycheck.
Protect your child.
That was what sensible people did.
Especially when the people involved owned half the county.
But another voice refused to stay quiet.
If Margaret Whitmore had died...
Then Lily would have been the only witness.
—
Across the estate, Vivien stood alone in the upstairs guest bathroom.
She locked the door.
Opened her handbag.
Removed a second phone.
Her expression transformed.
The tears disappeared instantly.
“So?”
A man's voice answered.
“Is the old woman dead?”
“No.”
A long silence.
“You promised me one push would be enough.”
“I said she was old, not made of glass.”
Vivien stared at herself in the mirror.
“She survived.”
“You'll have to finish it.”
“No.”
Her answer came immediately.
“Too much attention now.”
“The wedding is in six weeks.”
“I know.”
“If Nathaniel marries you before changing the trust...”
“I know.”
Her jaw tightened.
“I've read every page.”
The man lowered his voice.
“If Margaret stays alive, she can still block everything.”
Vivien looked toward the bathroom door.
“No one suspects me.”
“Are you sure?”
Nathaniel's face flashed through her mind.
His silence.
The way he had watched her instead of comforting her.
For the first time since yesterday...
She wasn't completely sure.
“I have to go.”
She disconnected the call.
Then calmly removed the phone's battery.
Wrapped both pieces separately inside tissues.
And flushed neither.
Instead, she hid them behind a loose panel beneath the bathroom sink.
Old habits.
Never destroy evidence immediately.
Only amateurs panicked.
—
Nathaniel entered his mother's hospital room shortly after noon.
Margaret was awake.
Her wrist rested inside a cast.
She looked exhausted.
But when she saw him, her eyes sharpened.
“You've been thinking.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
He pulled a chair closer.
“Tell me exactly what happened.”
Margaret took a slow breath.
“I was walking downstairs.”
“She offered to help me.”
“I refused.”
“She smiled.”
Margaret's voice became flat.
“Then she stepped closer.”
“How close?”
“Close enough for me to smell her perfume.”
Nathaniel said nothing.
“She whispered something.”
“What?”
Margaret looked directly into his eyes.
“'The trust dies with you.'”
Nathaniel felt every muscle in his body tighten.
“Then?”
“She put both hands on my back.”
“She pushed.”
No hesitation.
No uncertainty.
“She pushed.”
Nathaniel closed his eyes.
Every instinct told him to believe his mother.
Every lawyer in his head demanded proof.
Witnesses.
Footage.
Evidence.
Without it...
An accusation against his own fiancée would destroy both families.
Margaret reached across the bed with her uninjured hand.
“Nathaniel.”
He looked up.
“You've spent your entire life finding the truth.”
“Don't stop because this one hurts.”
—
Back at the estate...
Rosa stood outside the security office.
Her hand hovered over the door.
Inside was the digital archive for every surveillance camera on the property.
Except...
She remembered something.
The marble staircase had no camera.
Margaret had always refused.
“A home shouldn't feel like a prison,” she'd said years earlier.
Rosa slowly lowered her hand.
No footage.
No proof.
Only a frightened three-year-old.
And a billionaire who might never believe the maid over the woman he planned to marry.
She turned to leave.
“Mama?”
Lily pointed toward the grand staircase.
“What is it?”
The little girl stared upward.
“The shiny eye.”
Rosa followed her finger.
Above the staircase...
Hidden inside an antique brass wall sconce...
A tiny green light blinked once.
Not a security camera.
A renovation camera.
The contractors had installed temporary recording equipment two weeks earlier to monitor structural work on the upper landing.
Everyone had forgotten it was there.
Everyone...
Except the child who noticed the blinking light.
Rosa's breathing stopped.
If the camera had been recording yesterday...
May you like
Then somewhere inside the estate...
The truth was still alive.
