Geraldine never used to pay attention to the staff. That was Bekett's rule—"They're ghosts, Geraldine. Let them stay that way."
But this morning, as she stirred her coffee in silence, her eyes followed the housekeeper. Nina. Young, quiet, always walking on air like her feet never truly touched the ground. She moved like someone who'd seen too much and learned to swallow it.
Geraldine cleared her throat.
Nina froze. "Yes, ma'am?"
"Sit."
Nina blinked, confused. "Pardon?"
"I said sit, Nina."
The girl hesitated, then obeyed. Geraldine passed her a cup of coffee. No sugar. No small talk.
"I know you've been with us for years," Geraldine said, voice level. "Since before I even moved in."
Nina nodded slowly.
"So let's stop pretending. You've seen things. Heard things. Tell me the truth—how long have you known Bekett was dirty?"
Silence.
Then, in a voice that barely rose above a whisper, Nina replied, "Since I cleaned his office the first time. There were boxes marked clearance alpha. Stained. Heavy. Locked up, but I knew."
Geraldine's stomach twisted. "Why stay?"
"Because I have a brother. And Bekett paid for his surgery. Because if I left, I'd disappear. Like Mara did."
"Mara?"
"She was the last maid before me. Found going through his drawer one night. Next morning, she was gone. No trace. Nothing."
Geraldine leaned in. "Nina, I want to destroy him. And I think you do too."
Nina's lips trembled. "I have copies."
That stopped her. "Copies of what?"
"Security footage. Ledgers. Documents. I've been saving them. Quietly. Hidden in parts of the house I know no one else cleans. Just in case."
Geraldine reached out and gently placed her hand over Nina's. "You're not just a maid, Nina. You're a goddamn warrior."
The girl laughed quietly. "You just say the word."
Geraldine's eyes turned to steel. "Then this is war."
⸻
Later that day, Geraldine took the girls out to lunch—publicly. Cameras followed. Paparazzi snapped photos of their table at Il Trattorio. She didn't flinch.
She wanted Bekett to see her smiling.
Wanted the world to see her reclaiming space.
Reena talked about her science project. Lovia colored napkins with crayons. And Geraldine, for the first time in years, let herself feel something close to hope.
Until she looked up and saw Lachlan watching them from across the room.
He was alone. No guards. No briefcase. Just him, in a slate-gray suit, sipping espresso like a man immune to fear.
He raised his cup slightly.
Geraldine didn't smile back.
⸻
An hour later, back at the mansion, she found an envelope on her bed. No stamp. No seal. Just her name in thick, angry handwriting.
Inside was a single photo.
Her.
In the restaurant.
Smiling.
With a red "X" slashed over her face.
She didn't scream.
She didn't run to Bekett.
Instead, she picked up the photo, folded it neatly, and burned it in her jewelry tray.
Let them watch.
Let them threaten.
She wasn't afraid anymore.
⸻
That evening, she met Nina in the laundry room—the one place no cameras reached.
Nina handed her a flash drive. "This is just part one."
"What's on it?"
"Bank records. Off-shore payments. But there's more—names. Clients. Politicians. Redwood parents."
Geraldine's pulse raced. "This could bury him."
Nina shook her head. "This could bury you. Bekett's not just a criminal. He's an institution. You can't just expose him. You have to dismantle him."
"And how do I do that?"
Nina's eyes met hers. "By becoming something worse."
⸻
Hours later, Geraldine sat in her private closet, back pressed to the mirror, staring at her reflection.
She barely recognized herself anymore.
Not the scared woman who flinched at raised voices.
Not the wife who smiled through dinner parties she never wanted to host.
Not the mother who stayed silent to keep her children safe.
This version of her was sharper.
Colder.
Dangerous.
And she liked it.
Her phone buzzed.
Lachlan.
She answered.
"Did you get my message?" he asked.
Geraldine smirked. "The one with the red X? Cute."
"You're moving too fast. He's watching you."
"Good. Let him."
Lachlan chuckled. "You're not the same woman I met three years ago."
"No," she said, staring into her own eyes. "She died the day he killed my father."
Silence stretched.
"I have a proposition," he said finally. "Let's meet. Privately."
"Why?"
"Because if you're serious about taking Bekett down, you'll need more than stolen ledgers and a brave maid."
Geraldine's jaw clenched. "And what do you get out of this?"
"Exactly what he stole from me. Everything."