Chapter 6 - The Sabotage
The aftermath of the Plaza Gala was a media hurricane.
Front-page headlines across every tabloid in the country featured the photo of Julian, me, and the twins under bold text: FROM JANITOR TO MARCHIONESS: BILLIONAIRE VANCE’S SECRET ROMANCE.
Julian’s PR team worked overtime, but Julian gave them strict orders: No denials. No public statements. He let the story burn, protecting me and the girls behind the heavy iron gates of the Greenwich estate.
However, inside the estate, the darkness was reaching a boiling point.
Three weeks after the gala, Julian had to fly to London for an emergency forty-eight-hour board meeting regarding a hostile takeover attempt orchestrated by Sterling Enterprises—Eleanor’s family firm, seeking revenge for her public humiliation.
“I don't want to leave,” Julian said, standing in the grand foyer at five o'clock on a rainy Tuesday morning, his leather garment bag over his shoulder.
I stood across from him, wearing a soft wool sweater, adjusting his tie automatically out of habit—a gesture that had become terrifyingly natural between us over the last month.
“Go,” I smiled softly, looking up into his tired eyes. “Handle your company. We’ll be fine here.”
Julian reached out, sliding his hand behind my neck, pulling me close, and pressing a slow, deep kiss to my lips—a kiss that tasted of espresso and deep, possessive promises.
“Forty-eight hours,” Julian murmured against my lips. “If Mrs. Gable gives you any trouble, fire her on the spot. I’ve given you full administrative authority over the estate.”
“I can handle Mrs. Gable,” I promised.
I was wrong.
That night, my mother’s condition took a sudden, terrifying nose-dive.
At 2:00 AM, the emergency alarm in my mother’s ground-floor suite went off. I sprinted down the grand staircase in my nightgown to find my mother gasping for air, her face pale grey, her heart rate spiking dangerously on her monitor.
The private night nurse was frantically checking her vitals. “Her oxygen levels are dropping fast! It’s a severe allergic reaction! She’s going into anaphylactic shock!”
“What? She doesn't have severe allergies!” I screamed, dropping to my knees beside my mother’s bed, taking her cold, clammy hand. “Ma! Ma, look at me!”
“We need the estate transport vehicle to take her to Greenwich Hospital immediately!” the nurse yelled.
I ran into the hallway, screaming for Mrs. Gable and the house driver.
Mrs. Gable stepped out from the staff quarters, wearing a silk robe, looking remarkably calm.
“Mrs. Gable! Get the driver! Now!” I shouted. “My mother can't breathe!”
Mrs. Gable looked at me with cold, dead eyes. “I’m afraid the estate primary transport is out of service, Miss Hayes. The mechanic took the keys yesterday afternoon for routine brake maintenance.”
My blood ran cold. “What about the secondary car? The SUV?”
“The garage keys are kept in Mr. Vance’s private safe in his study,” Mrs. Gable said smoothly, holding her hands together. “And only Mr. Vance has the combination. I’m afraid you’ll have to call a public ambulance from town.”
“A town ambulance will take twenty minutes to get through the outer security gates!” I screamed, stepping into her face, absolute rage blinding my vision. “You disabled the car!”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Mrs. Gable said coldly.
I didn't waste another second. I sprinted up the stairs to Julian’s study. I didn't know the combination to his safe, but I knew Julian. I knew how his mind worked. I walked up to his mahogany desk, ripped open his top drawer, and pulled out his private satellite emergency phone—the one connected directly to his private security team.
I dialed the emergency protocol line.
“Security Command,” Miller’s voice barked over the line.
“Miller!” I sobbed into the phone. “It’s Victoria! Mrs. Gable has locked the garage doors and disabled the primary car! My mother is dying! I need a medical transport through the main gates in five minutes or I will break the garage doors down myself with a tractor!”
There was a half-second pause on the line.
“Understood, Miss Victoria,” Miller’s voice snapped into lethal military efficiency. “Command Team 1 is breaching the garage doors now. Private helicopter team dispatched from White Plains. Hold tight.”
Two minutes later, the deafening roar of a security tactical vehicle smashed through the side doors of the grand garage. Miller himself burst into the hallway, carrying an emergency medical kit, while the concussive thrum of a medical helicopter roared over the estate, landing directly on the manicured front lawn.
My mother was loaded onto the helicopter within six minutes of my call.
As I stepped onto the helicopter skid, holding my mother’s oxygen mask, I turned back to look at Mrs. Gable, who was standing on the ruined driveway, surrounded by armed security guards holding her in place.
“Miller!” I yelled over the deafening noise of the helicopter blades.
“Yes, Miss Victoria!” Miller shouted back.
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“Lock her in the cellar!” I commanded, my voice carrying the terrifying authority of a woman who had learned how to fight for her family. “If she moves a muscle before Julian lands, treat her as a hostile intruder!”
“With pleasure, ma'am!” Miller barked, grabbing Mrs. Gable by the arm as she began to scream.
