Chapter 3 – The Second Envelope

I couldn’t breathe.

Roman stood inches from me, his dark eyes locked onto mine. The air in the room felt thick, heavy with the weight of the secrets I was suddenly carrying.

“It’s just a blister, sir,” I lied, forcing myself to look him in the eye. “My shoes are old. I’ll take care of it in my room.”

Roman stared at me for a long, agonizing moment. He was a man who made a living reading people, uncovering lies that men tried to hide behind million-dollar suits. I was just a maid in a stained uniform. I knew he saw right through me.

But then, Eleanor groaned from the armchair, clutching her chest.

“Roman,” she gasped, her face pale. “My heart.”

Roman instantly turned away from me, rushing to his mother’s side. “Call Dr. Evans,” he barked over his shoulder. “Tell him to get here now.”

I grabbed the bedside phone and dialed the estate’s private physician. As I spoke to the doctor, I watched Roman kneel beside his mother, gently holding her trembling hands. For a fleeting second, the terrifying mafia boss was just a scared son.

Once the doctor was on his way, Roman looked up at me.

“Go,” he said quietly. “I’ll handle this.”

I didn’t need to be told twice. I practically ran down the servants’ staircase to my small room in the basement.

I locked my door, collapsed onto my narrow bed, and ripped off my shoe. The silver bracelet tumbled onto the quilt. To my Madeline.

Why did Isabella have it? And what did Victoria mean when she said she had medical records proving my mother was a criminal? My mother was the kindest person I knew. She had worked twelve-hour shifts at the hospital to provide for us before her heart gave out.

I needed the second letter.

I waited until 2:00 AM. The house was dead quiet. The doctor had come and gone, sedating Eleanor so she could sleep. Roman was presumably in his study. Victoria had been escorted off the property by security.

I crept back up the stairs, moving like a ghost through the massive, dark house.

I slipped into Eleanor’s suite. The old woman was asleep, her breathing shallow but steady. I moved silently into the bathroom, reaching behind the cold marble base of the bathtub.

My fingers brushed paper.

I pulled out the sealed envelope. It was identical to the one Roman had opened downstairs, but this one had a name written on the front in elegant, looping cursive.

Madeline Bennett.

My mother.

I tore the envelope open under the dim glow of my phone’s flashlight. There were two sheets of paper inside. The first was a handwritten letter from Isabella.

Dear Madeline,If you are reading this, I am already dead. I am so sorry. I know what they forced you to do. I know Victoria threatened your little girl if you didn’t switch my medication. Please don’t blame yourself. I know you only did it to save Claire.

The flashlight slipped from my hand, clattering against the tile floor.

I clamped a hand over my mouth to stifle a scream.

My mother. My sweet, self-sacrificing mother hadn’t just worked at the hospital where Isabella died.

She was the nurse who administered the poison.

I picked up the second piece of paper in the envelope. It wasn’t a letter. It was a photograph.

It showed my mother, twenty years younger, standing in a park. She was holding a little girl’s hand. Me.

But we weren’t alone in the photo.

Standing next to my mother, with his arm wrapped lovingly around her waist, was a young, handsome man.

Roman DeLuca.

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