Chapter 4 - Shadows in the NurseryThe grand mansion in Buckhead was draped in the heavy, amber shadows of late afternoon by the time Rosamund returned.
She pushed open the heavy back service door, expecting to find the house quiet, compliant, and waiting for her instructions. Instead, the atmosphere felt different. The air was unnaturally still, the marble floors colder than usual.
“Lorelai? Gemma?” Rosamund called out sharply, tossing her designer handbag onto the kitchen island.
No answer.
Frowning, she strode down the long hallway toward the west wing. The girls' nursery and study rooms were located at the far end, past a heavy oak door that normally remained unlocked.
Today, it was locked.
Rosamund’s eyes narrowed. She pulled her master keys from her pocket, slid the brass key into the heavy iron lock, and twisted it. The latch clicked open with a loud, hollow echo.
She pushed the door wide open.
Inside, the room was dark. The heavy velvet drapes were pulled tight across the windows, blocking out the fading sunset. Standing in the center of the dark room, illuminated only by the faint blue glow of a single iPad screen, were Lorelai and Gemma.
They weren't crying. They weren't cowering.
They were standing side by side, perfectly still, staring directly at her.
“What is this?” Rosamund snapped, stepping into the room and letting the door swing shut behind her with a heavy thud. “Why are you sitting in the dark? Did I tell you homework was finished? Where are your tutors?”
Lorelai didn't flinch. The little girl—usually timid, compliant, and easily cowed by Rosamund’s sharp tongue—slowly raised her head.
“You lied to us,” Lorelai said. Her voice wasn't shaking. It was eerily calm, carrying a cold clarity that sent an instantaneous shiver down Rosamund’s spine.
Rosamund forced a sharp, nervous laugh, stepping closer. “What nonsense are you babbling about now? Did you get into the television again? Go to your desks immediately or—'”
“You told us Dad didn't love us,” Gemma chimed in, her voice small, sharp, and biting. “You told us he left because he didn't want us anymore. You said he only cared about Sabina and his money.”
Rosamund froze. For a fraction of a second, panic flickered in her eyes, but she quickly masked it behind a mask of cold authority. She lunged forward, grabbing Lorelai’s arm. “You ungrateful little brats—!”
Click.
The overhead lights of the nursery suddenly flooded the room with blinding, uncompromising brilliance.
Rosamund gasped, spinning around.
Standing in the doorway, blocking the exit, was Chadworth Prescott.
He wasn't in Canada. He wasn't wearing a travel suit. He stood tall, broad-shouldered, and impeccably dressed in a custom charcoal three-piece suit, his hands tucked casually into his trouser pockets. His expression was a terrifying void—no anger, no grief, just the dead, chilling calm of an apex predator looking at trapped prey.
“Dad...?” Gemma whispered, a sudden wave of emotion breaking her composure as tears welled in her eyes.
Chadworth didn't break eye contact with Rosamund. He raised one hand gently, gesturing to his daughters. “Go to the master suite, girls. Marcus is waiting outside the door. He’ll take care of you.”
Lorelai grabbed Gemma’s hand, and without looking back at the housekeeper who had terrorized their home, the two girls walked swiftly past their father and out into the bright hallway.
The heavy oak door clicked shut once more.
Leaving just the billionaire and his maid alone in the silence.
Rosamund’s chest rose and fell in ragged, shallow breaths. Her face had turned the color of ash. She backed up against the nursery bookshelf until the polished wood pressed hard against her spine.
“Mr... Mr. Prescott,” Rosamund stammered, her voice losing its icy arrogance, replaced by a pathetic, trembling whine. “You... you're supposed to be in Canada. I... I can explain. The girls... they misunderstood—”
“Save your breath, Rosamund,” Chadworth interrupted smoothly, taking one slow, deliberate step forward into the room.
He reached into his breast pocket, pulled out a slim, high-end flash drive, and tossed it casually onto the study desk between them.
“Is that the encrypted corporate ledger you downloaded from my safe this morning?” Chadworth asked, his voice lethally quiet. “The one you planned to hand over to Sabina's shell company at midnight?”
Rosamund stared at the flash drive, her lips parting in silent horror.
“You... you knew?” she whispered, the truth finally dawning on her like a physical blow. “All of it? The cameras... the flight... the meetings?”
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Chadworth stopped two feet away from her, towering over her trembling frame.
“I didn't just know, Rosamund,” Chadworth smiled, a cold, humorless expression that didn't reach his eyes. “I orchestrated every single second of it. And midnight is only a few hours away.”
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