Chapter 4 - The Blood on the Marble
The grand foyer of the Hawthorne mansion, which had been the scene of my bitter humiliation forty minutes earlier, now looked like an emergency room triage unit.
I sat on the bottom step of the sweeping marble staircase, holding Liam on my lap. Noah and Ethan sat on either side of me, their small arms wrapped tightly around my waist, refusing to move even an inch away from my navy uniform.
Richard scrambled back and forth between the kitchen and the foyer, his hands full of medical supplies, clean white towels, warm water bowls, and antiseptic sprays from the estate’s master medical kits. The billionaire who usually had three assistants managing his daily itinerary was practically tripping over his own feet in a frantic rush to serve us.
“Here... here, use these,” Richard said breathlessly, dropping down beside me on the marble floor, setting the tray of supplies at my feet.
His hands were shaking so badly he couldn't even open the bottle of antiseptic spray.
“May I?” I asked softly.
Richard looked at me, his eyes filled with a deep, crushing shame. He nodded silently, handing the bottle over to me.
I peeled off my yellow cleaning gloves, tossing them onto the floor. My hands were steady as I dipped a clean white washcloth into warm water.
“All right, Liam, sweet boy,” I murmured softly, lifting his small arm. “This is going to sting a little bit, but I’m going to clean out the dust from the glass, okay? You’re my brave little soldier.”
Liam looked up at me, his lip quivering, but he gave a tiny, courageous nod. “I won't cry, Miss Emily.”
“It’s okay if you cry, sweetheart,” I whispered, gently dabbing the warm cloth over his cut forearm.
As I worked, cleaning the wounds on each of the three boys with quiet, methodical care, Richard sat on the floor opposite us, staring at his sons as if seeing them clearly for the very first time in his life.
He looked at the small, dark bruises forming on Noah’s upper arms—bruises shaped precisely like the grip of an adult woman’s fingers.
He looked at the dirt-streaked faces, the matted hair, and the way all three boys flinched whenever the front door rattled in the wind.
“How long?” Richard asked suddenly. His voice was raw, barely above a whisper.
I paused, holding a piece of sterile gauze against Ethan’s scraped knee. “Sir?”
“How long has she been hurting them, Emily?” Richard asked, his head bowed, his large hands clenching into tight, bloodless fists against his knees. “How long has this been happening under my roof while I was away at work?”
I took a deep breath, looking down at the three little heads leaning against my chest.
“It started three months ago,” I said quietly, refusing to sugarcoat the truth any longer. “When you started extending your business trips to London and Singapore. Miss Victoria would come to the house while you were away. She didn't come to see the boys, Mr. Hawthorne. She came to make sure they knew their place.”
Richard flinched, but he didn't interrupt.
“She would send the private tutors home early,” I continued, my voice steady. “She forbade them from playing in the garden because she said their laughter gave her headaches. She forced them to stay in their bedroom for six hours at a time without their toys. When I tried to step in, when I tried to bring them lunch or take them to the park... she threatened to have me fired.”
“Why didn't you tell me?” Richard choked out, raising his eyes to mine—eyes filled with agonizing guilt. “Why didn't you call my private line, Emily? Why didn't you tell me what she was doing?!”
I looked him straight in the eye, my gaze cold and unwavering.
“I tried to tell you, Mr. Hawthorne,” I said flatly. “Two months ago, when you came back from Tokyo. I asked to speak with you in your study. I told you that Miss Victoria was being overly strict with the children and that they were becoming terrified of her.”
Richard blinked, his mind frantically digging through his memories.
“Do you remember what you told me, sir?” I asked softly.
Richard went completely still. A look of utter horror washed over his features as the memory returned to him.
He had dismissed me in less than thirty seconds. He had told me that Victoria was going to be their mother, that she was setting necessary boundaries, and that I was 'just a housekeeper who shouldn't meddle in family dynamics.' He had threatened to write me up for insubordination if I questioned Victoria’s authority again.
“God forgive me...” Richard whispered, burying his face in his hands, his broad shoulders shaking as silent, heavy sobs racked his chest. “God forgive me...”
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Before anyone could say another word, the flashing red and blue lights of police cruisers and an ambulance illuminated the grand stained-glass windows of the front entrance.
The sirens wailed loudly, signalling the end of the quiet illusion that had protected Blackwood Estates for decades.
