Chapter 1 - The Cold Account of the Estate
The corridors of my estate had never felt so quiet, yet so filled with noise.
Holding Nora’s tiny, cold hand in mine, I walked down the long, polished marble hallway toward my private study. The three-year-old girl took double steps to keep up with my stride, her small toes silent against the runner rug, her other hand still clutching the wet, ink-stained white shirt against her chest as if it were a fragile lifeline.
I didn't take the shirt from her. Not yet. She needed to hold it until this was done.
As we approached the heavy mahogany doors of my study, the faint sound of Harland’s voice echoed from within. He was talking on the telephone, his tone light, relaxed, and utterly devoid of the stress that usually accompanied managing a forty-million-dollar property.
"Yes, of course, Lord Sterling," Harland was saying, his laugh soft and rehearsed. "Mr. Luca's schedule is entirely clear for the charity auction on Friday. I have personally managed every detail..."
I didn't knock. I pushed both doors open with enough force that they struck the brass stoppers against the wall with a loud, metallic crack.
Harland spun around in my leather swivel chair, the receiver still pressed to his ear. For a fraction of a second, irritation flickered across his aristocratic, fifty-year-old face—until he realized who was standing in the doorway.
"Mr. Luca!" Harland gasped, hurriedly setting the receiver down into its cradle. He stood up, smoothing his tailored grey vest. "You... you aren't supposed to be back from the city until eight o'clock. Is everything all right with the merger meeting?"
"The meeting was rescheduled," I said, my voice dangerously calm, level, and flat.
Harland’s eyes shifted downward, landing on Nora. A sudden, sharp flash of annoyance crossed his features before he quickly masked it with a polite, practiced smile.
"Ah," Harland sighed, coming around the desk with his hands folded behind his back. "I see you found the little stray. I apologize profusely, sir. I have explicitly instructed Elena—the head housekeeper—that her child is not to wander outside the staff quarters. I will have them both removed from the premises immediately so you can rest."
Nora shrank back, hiding behind my leg. Her grip on my fingers tightened so hard her tiny knuckles turned white.
"Removed?" I repeated softly.
"Of course," Harland said smoothly, taking a step toward Nora. "Elena has been missing her shifts due to a 'fever.' I warned her yesterday that this estate operates on absolute perfection. If she cannot perform her duties, there are dozens of women in the city desperate for the lodging. I was just about to draft her termination paperwork."
"Is that so?" I asked, looking at the man I had paid three hundred thousand dollars a year to manage my home for the past six years. "And whose idea was it to inform a three-year-old girl that if her mother doesn't work, they won't have a roof over their heads?"
Harland paused. A faint, nervous twitch appeared at the corner of his left eye. "Sir? I merely reminded the staff of the estate rules. Property value and decorum must be maintained. We cannot run a charity ward."
I walked over to my desk, picked up the remote control for the master security system, and pressed a single button. The wall-mounted high-definition monitor flared to life, displaying sixteen live and recorded camera feeds from across the estate.
I queued up the footage from the laundry room recorded ten minutes ago.
On the screen, the image was crystal clear: little barefoot Nora, standing on the edge of a wobbly stool, reaching into a sink filled with ice-cold water, desperately scrubbing my shirt while crying silently in the dark room.
Then, I rewrote the timestamp and pulled up yesterday’s footage from the staff corridor outside Elena's room.
The camera showed Harland standing over a pale, shivering woman who was leaning against her doorway for support. On the audio feed, Harland’s voice rang out crisp and cruel: "You have twenty-four hours to clear these laundry baskets, Elena. If Mr. Luca sees a single wrinkled collar, you and your bastard child will be on the street before nightfall. Do you understand me? He doesn't tolerate freeloaders."
Harland watched the screen. The color slowly drained from his face, leaving him as pale as the paper on my desk.
"Mr. Luca..." Harland stammered, his polished composure dissolving into sheer panic. "I... I was only acting in your best interest! You have a reputation for being strict! Everyone knows you dislike disruptions!"
"I dislike cruelty," I corrected him, stepping closer until I towered over him. "I dislike parasites who use my name to inflict misery on helpless people because it makes them feel powerful."
I reached into my pocket, pulled out my phone, and dialed my head of legal affairs.
"Marcus," I said into the speakerphone. "Initiate an immediate forensic audit of Harland’s estate accounts for the last six years. Terminate his contract effective five seconds ago. Send security to escort him off my land, and notify the local police that I am filing charges for extortion, child endangerment, and labor violations."
"Understood, Mr. Luca," Marcus replied without hesitation.
May you like
Harland fell to his knees, his hands trembling. "Mr. Luca, please! I’ve served you for six years! You can't ruin me over a maid and her child!"
I looked down at him with pure disgust. "You didn't ruin yourself over a maid, Harland. You ruined yourself because you forgot that the man who owns this house knows exactly what it feels like to be the boy on the floor."
