1.The little maid’s daughter saw what the billionaire’s fiancée did at the top of the stairs

When Nathaniel returned to the estate that afternoon, the atmosphere was suffocating. The large rooms felt empty, yet thick with unspoken tension. He found Vivien in the conservatory, carefully clipping the dead leaves off a row of white roses. She looked ethereal in the afternoon light, a picture of domestic grace.

"Nathaniel," she said, turning to him with a soft, relieved smile. She set her shears down and walked into his arms. "How is she? I've been sick to my stomach all morning."

Nathaniel forced his body to relax, allowing her to lean against him. Every instinct told him to pull away, to demand the truth, but he forced himself to play the role. He kissed the top of her head. "She’s stable. The doctors say she'll make a full recovery, though she'll be in the hospital for at least two weeks."

He felt a slight ripple through her muscles—a brief tension that vanished as quickly as it came.

"Oh, thank goodness," Vivien breathed, looking up at him with tear-filled eyes. "I was so worried. Has she... is her mind clear? Did she say anything about what happened?"

"She’s heavily medicated," Nathaniel lied smoothly, watching her eyes intently. "She remembers falling, but the doctors say her memory of the exact moment is foggy due to the shock. She mostly just complains about the hospital food."

Vivien’s relief was palpable. A genuine, radiant smile broke across her face. "That sounds like Margaret. She’s so strong. I'll go visit her tonight, bring her some of that tea she likes."

"No, don't worry about it tonight," Nathaniel said, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "The doctors want her resting with minimal visitors. Let her sleep. Why don't you go into town and relax? You've had a terrible shock yourself."

"Are you sure?" she asked, her voice dripping with sweet devotion. "I want to be here for you."

"I'm sure. I have some local business to attend to anyway."

Once Vivien left the house, her Porsche sports car purring down the long driveway, Nathaniel’s expression hardened. He went straight to the kitchen.

Rosa was there, wiping down the marble countertops with a frantic, obsessive energy. When she saw Nathaniel enter, she jumped, nearly dropping her cleaning rag.

"Mr. Whitmore," she said quickly, lowering her gaze. "I... I can prepare lunch if you are hungry."

"I'm not hungry, Rosa," Nathaniel said, his voice quiet but commanding. He walked over and closed the kitchen doors, ensuring absolute privacy. "We need to talk."

Rosa felt her throat tighten. She squeezed the rag in her hands. "Yes, sir? Is there a problem with the cleaning?"

"No. This isn't about the cleaning," Nathaniel said, stepping closer. He looked at her closely, noting the anxiety rolling off her in waves. "Rosa, you've been with us for two years. You're quiet, you're efficient, and you see everything that happens in this house. Yesterday afternoon, when my mother fell... where exactly were you?"

"I was in the laundry room, sir," Rosa said automatically, her voice barely a whisper. "Down the hall from the kitchen."

"Did you hear anything before the scream?"

"No, sir. Just the washing machine."

Nathaniel sighed, rubbing his temples. He could tell she was terrified, but he couldn't distinguish if it was fear of him or fear of something else. "Rosa, if you saw or heard anything—anything at all—that seemed unusual before my mother fell, you need to tell me. My mother is convinced she didn't slip. If someone helped her down those stairs, I will spend every dime I have to ensure they spend the rest of their life behind bars. But I need to know the truth."

Rosa’s heart hammered against her ribs. The urge to tell him was overwhelming. Nathaniel had always been a fair employer; he had never raised his voice at her, and he paid her generously. But then she thought of Vivien’s cold, beautiful face. She thought of what would happen if Vivien found out she had spoken.

"I didn't see anything, Mr. Whitmore," Rosa lied, her voice cracking slightly. "I am so sorry."

Nathaniel stared at her for a long moment, sensing the deception but unable to force it out of her. He couldn't bully a terrified mother. "Alright, Rosa. If you think of anything, come to me directly. Do not go to Vivien. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

Nathaniel left the kitchen, frustrated but more convinced than ever that a dark secret was hovering just out of reach.

As Rosa let out a shaky breath, the kitchen door swung open again. It wasn't Nathaniel.

It was Vivien.

Rosa gasped, taking a step back. Vivien was supposed to have left for town. Instead, she stood in the doorway, her keys jingling lightly in her hand, a sweet, chilling smile on her lips.

"Hello, Rosa," Vivien said, her voice smooth as silk. She walked into the kitchen, her high heels clicking sharply on the tile. "I forgot my sunglasses. But as I was coming back in, I couldn't help but notice Nathaniel was in here talking to you."

Rosa’s breath hitched. "He... he was just asking about Mrs. Whitmore's accident, ma'am. Asking if I heard anything."

Vivien stopped just inches away from Rosa. The sweet look in her eyes vanished, replaced by an icy, calculating stare that made Rosa’s blood run cold. Vivien reached out and gently adjusted the collar of Rosa’s uniform.

"And what did you tell him, Rosa?" Vivien whispered.

"I told him I didn't see anything," Rosa stammered, terrified to look her in the eye. "I told him I was in the laundry room."

Vivien smiled, a terrifyingly empty expression. "Good girl. Because you know, accidents happen all the time in big houses like this. People trip. People fall. And sometimes, unfortunate things happen to people who talk too much. People lose their jobs. They lose their visas. They lose custody of their lovely little children."

Rosa felt a cold spike of pure terror shoot through her heart. She knows about Lily.