Chapter 4 - The Eye in the Ceiling
The moment Martha mentioned the security camera, the color drained entirely from Victoria Vance’s face.
The masterclass actress vanished in an instant, replaced by a cornered, panicked animal. Her breathing turned shallow, her eyes darting wildly toward the front door, then toward the hallway leading to the back kitchens, as if calculating her chances of outrunning a charging bull.
"Camera?" Jonathan frowned, looking up at the sleek black dome mounted near the molding. "What camera? I never authorized a camera in the main foyer."
"I did," a cool, steady voice echoed from the top of the grand staircase.
Everyone turned.
Descending the stairs with calm, measured grace was Elena Vance—Jonathan’s sharp-witted younger sister, who managed the family’s private estate portfolio and lived in the guest wing on the third floor. She was dressed in a sharp black blazer, her arms crossed over her chest, looking down at Victoria with a gaze so frigid it could freeze boiling water.
"Elena?" Jonathan blinked, startled. "What are you talking about? When did we install a security feed in the main hall?"
"Three months ago, Jon," Elena said as she stepped off the bottom stair onto the marble floor, walking directly toward her brother. She pulled a small, sleek tablet out from under her arm and tapped the screen twice. "After I noticed Lily coming down to breakfast with unexplainable bruises on her arms, and after three different housemaids quit within a fortnight without giving notice. I had our private tech team install blind-feed, un-deletable cloud cameras across every common room in this house. Only my biometric key can access the main server."
Victoria let out a strangled, desperate sound, lunging forward with clawed hands toward the tablet in Elena’s grip. "Give me that! You have no right—it’s an invasion of privacy! Give it to me!"
Before Victoria could reach her, Jonathan stepped forward with terrifying speed. He grabbed his wife by both wrists, pinning her arms to her sides with a grip of iron. His face had gone terrifyingly pale, dark veins bulging at his temples as he looked down into the eyes of the woman he had married two years ago.
"Let go of me, Jonathan! It’s rigged! She edited it!" Victoria shrieked, thrashing wildly. "She hates me! Your whole family has always hated me!"
"Shut up," Jonathan whispered. It wasn't a shout. It was a low, lethal hiss that vibrated through the entire room, stopping Victoria’s hysterical screaming dead in its tracks. He turned his head slightly toward his sister. "Play it, Elena. Play the whole thing."
Elena nodded once. She pressed play on the tablet screen and held it up directly in front of Jonathan’s face.
The high-definition screen illuminated the dark foyer with the crisp, clear footage recorded less than ten minutes ago.
There was Lily, sitting innocently on the rug, dropping a small glass.
There was Victoria’s face instantly twisting into a mask of pure rage.
The audio picked up clearly through the sensitive microphone: “You clumsy little rat! Look what you’ve done!”
Then, the horror unfolded on screen in crystal-clear, unedited detail: Victoria grabbing the four-year-old by her ankle, dragging her across the expensive Persian rug, snatching the open bottle of red wine, and pouring it directly over the child’s head while Lily screamed in terror.
Jonathan watched as Martha rushed into the frame, shielding the child with her own body, taking the brutal strike of the heavy crystal decanter across her back.
On the screen, Victoria raised her hand for a third blow—right before the front door opened and Jonathan walked into the frame.
The tablet screen went dark as Elena paused the video.
In the foyer, absolute, tomb-like silence reigned.
Jonathan slowly released his grip on Victoria’s wrists. He didn't look at her. He couldn't. If he looked at her, he knew he would commit murder with his bare hands. Instead, his gaze dropped to his daughter, who was still weeping softly against Martha’s shoulder, her little pink dress soaked in wine and her eyes wide with fear.
"Jonathan..." Victoria whispered, her voice trembling as she backed away slowly, hitting the base of the grand staircase. "I... I was stressed. The pressure of running this household, raising a child that isn't even mine... it got to me. It was a momentary lapse in judgment—"
"Get out," Jonathan said. His voice was terrifyingly calm.
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Victoria blinked, stunned. "What... what did you say?"
"I said," Jonathan turned around slowly, his eyes burning with a dark, bottomless fury, "get out of my house. Now."
