Chapter 3 - SECRETS OF THE ESTATE
By the time morning broke over the Vale estate, the heavy rain had stopped, leaving behind a thick blanket of gray fog that hovered over the sprawling lawns. Inside the grand mansion, news of Clara Bennett’s sudden promotion from low-level maid to the head nanny of the Vale heir had spread like wildfire among the staff.
In the kitchen, whispered rumors circulated rapidly.
"She used dark magic, I tell you," muttered Mrs. Gable, the head housekeeper who had served the Vale family for over two decades. "The baby wouldn't touch a drop for three days, and suddenly this quiet little orphan girl whispers in his ear and he drinks? There's something wrong about her."
Clara stood near the doorway of the kitchen, holding a fresh silver tray meant for Noah's room. She heard every word, but she kept her head up, refusing to let them see her tremble. She knew the rules of survival: keep your head down, do your job, and never let anyone see your weaknesses.
"Mrs. Gable," Clara said calmly, stepping into the warm kitchen. "I need the sterilized water and the specialized formula prepared for the morning feeding."
Mrs. Gable turned slowly, her sharp eyes narrowing as she looked at Clara’s clean, high-collared blue dress—a gift from Adrian’s personal tailor meant to replace her old maid’s uniform.
"You think you're special now, don't you, Clara?" Mrs. Gable sneered, setting down a heavy copper kettle. "Just because the master allowed you into the nursery doesn't mean you belong in this family. People like us don't belong in the light of men like Adrian Vale. You'd do well to remember that."
"I am only here to make sure Noah stays alive, Mrs. Gable," Clara replied evenly, taking the prepared tray. "Nothing more."
She turned and left the kitchen, walking quickly down the grand marble hallways toward the West Wing, where Noah’s nursery was located. As she walked, she couldn't shake the strange feeling that she was being watched.
When she reached the nursery suite, she found Adrian sitting in a leather armchair near the fireplace. He had traded his rain-soaked suit for a tailored black shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing the dark, intricate tattoos that crept up his forearms—symbols of his family's long, violent history in the underworld.
He was staring at a tablet screen, his brow furrowed in concentration. When Clara entered, he immediately shut off the screen and looked up.
"How is he?" Adrian asked.
"He slept through the night, sir," Clara said, setting the tray on a side table. "He woke up twenty minutes ago and is eager for his morning meal."
Adrian stood up and walked over as Clara skillfully prepared the bottle, checking the temperature against the inside of her wrist before gently picking up Noah. The baby immediately cooed, recognizing her scent and the warm melody she hummed beneath her breath.
As Noah fed hungrily, Adrian watched Clara with intense scrutiny.
"You speak as though you've lived a hard life, Clara," Adrian said unexpectedly.
Clara kept her eyes on the baby. "Life isn't easy for people who don't have money or powerful names, Mr. Vale."
"Where are your parents?"
"Dead," Clara replied simply. "My father died in an industrial factory accident when I was twelve. My mother took three jobs to support my sister and me, but she worked herself to death five years later. It was just Lily and me until... until six weeks ago."
Adrian remained silent for a long moment. He was a man surrounded by mercenaries, corrupt politicians, and treacherous business partners. He was accustomed to people wanting his money, his power, or his life. But sitting before him was a woman who had lost everything, yet possessed a quiet dignity that intrigued him.
"I had my security team look into your background last night," Adrian revealed calmly.
Clara’s heart skipped a beat. She looked up, trying to hide her alarm. "Did you find what you were looking for?"
"Your story checks out," Adrian said, watching her reaction carefully. "Your sister did pass away at Saint Jude’s. The medical records confirm she died of cardiac failure. But there was one anomaly."
Clara held her breath. "An anomaly?"
"The hospital record states that your sister delivered a baby girl at 2:14 AM," Adrian said, stepping closer. "However, there is no official record of that infant's death or burial in the city registry. Why is that, Clara?"
Clara’s fingers tightened slightly around the bottle. She felt a sudden, ice-cold dread flood her veins. She had known this moment might come, but she hadn't anticipated Adrian’s intelligence network acting so quickly.
"The charity ward... they don't process records quickly for penniless families, Mr. Vale," Clara lied smoothly, forcing her voice to remain steady. "I had to pay a private undertaker out of my own savings to handle the burial. It wasn't recorded officially because I couldn't afford the city registration fees."
Adrian stared down at her, his dark eyes piercing through her defense. He knew when someone was withholding the truth, but before he could push further, his phone vibrated violently on the table.
He picked it up and answered. "Speak."
Marcus's voice came through the speaker, urgent and tense. "Boss, we tracked down Dr. Vance’s safehouse in the harbor district. But someone got to him first. He's dead. Shot twice in the chest."
Adrian’s jaw tightened. "Did you search the premises?"
"Yes," Marcus replied. "We found a hidden safe behind a painting. Inside was a ledger containing payouts from an offshore account. Boss... the payments were authorized by someone inside your own inner circle."
Adrian’s eyes turned cold as ice. He turned his gaze toward the window, looking out over the misty estate. The threat wasn't just coming from rival syndicates outside his walls. There was a traitor inside his own house—someone who wanted his bloodline wiped out completely.
"Lock down the estate," Adrian commanded into the phone. "Nobody enters, and nobody leaves without my personal approval."
He hung up the phone and looked back at Clara, who was now holding a sleeping Noah against her chest.
May you like
"Starting now, Clara," Adrian said, his tone ominously sharp, "you do not trust anyone in this house. Not the guards, not the housekeepers, not even the doctors. If you see anything suspicious, you come directly to me."
Clara looked into the eyes of the city's most dangerous man and realized that she was now caught in the center of a deadly war—and the life of the baby in her arms depended entirely on her ability to keep her own secrets hidden.
