Leandro’s voice cut through like a whip. He stepped into the room, his gaze cold, dismissive. “Stop fighting over nonsense. Emerald, clean this mess. I’m hosting a party tomorrow, and I want everything to be spotless.”
I stared at him, blood rushing to my head. “Clean? After what she’s done? After everything you’ve—”
“I’m not asking,” he said sharply. “I’m ordering you. Do it.”
Something inside me snapped. My fever, my wounds, the humiliation—I could no longer stay quiet. “No. I won’t. I’m not your maid, Leandro. Not anymore. If you want this house spotless, clean it yourself.”
Before he could reply, the butler entered, pale and shaken, carrying a small package wrapped in plain paper.
“It… it just arrived, sir.”
Leandro snatched it, tore it open—and froze.
A small bloodied bundle fell to the floor. My breath caught. A child’s arms. Look exactly as Gwen.
My scream ripped through the air. “Gwen!” My knees buckled as tears blinded me. Deep down, I knew it wasn’t her—it couldn’t be. She was safe. But I pretended anyway, let the hysteria consume me. Maybe, just maybe, if I showed him how broken I was, Leandro would finally feel guilty. Maybe he would realize this wasn’t a game.