I disguised myself as a housekeeper to see what my son’s fiancée was really like before their wedding. The second she saw my worn-out uniform, she looked me up and down and sneered, “You look disgusting. Someone should wash all that filth off you.” Then she dumped a bucket of dirty water over my head and laughed.

By seven o'clock that evening, the grand estate at Oakridge was locked down tight.

Teresa had returned from the staged "training seminar"—which had actually been a paid afternoon off for the entire staff at a local spa—and immediately rushed to my quarters with hot tea, clean clothes, and a pair of dry slippers.

"I told you, Mrs. Harrington," Teresa whispered, brushing my silver hair as I sat at my vanity. "She has two faces. One for the master, and one for the rest of the world."

"She has more than two faces, Teresa," I replied, watching my reflection in the mirror. "A woman who can fake that level of cruelty in an hour has had plenty of practice."

Downstairs in the library, Robin sat behind his father’s oak desk. The room was illuminated only by the green shade of the banker's lamp. The audio recorder sat in the center of the leather blotter, playing back the afternoon's events in horrifying detail.

“Carry these six boxes upstairs, old woman. And don't drag your feet, or I’ll have Mr. Harrington fire you before sunset.”

“Where is my diamond bracelet? You took it, didn't you? People like you can't help yourselves when you see real wealth.”

“Get down and scrub that mark. Not with a mop. With your hands. People like you should be grateful that people like me even allow you inside this house.”

The crisp audio ended with the sickening thud of the plastic bucket hitting the floor and Tabitha’s cruel, melodic laughter.

Robin slumped forward, pressing his forehead against the cool wood of the desk.

The door opened softly, and I walked in, carrying a tray with two mugs of chamomile tea. I set a mug beside him and sat down in the leather wingback chair across from the desk.

"You don't have to protect her anymore, Robin," I said quietly.

Robin looked up, his eyes bloodshot. "I feel like a fool, Mom. I was going to marry her in three months. I signed the contract for the venue yesterday. I gave her my grandmother’s ring."

"She’s a professional, Robin," I said, leaning forward. "After you went to your room earlier, I sent the audio file to Marcus Vance."

Marcus Vance was Arthur’s former corporate attorney—a man who handled the family's private intelligence matters with terrifying efficiency.

"What did Marcus find?" Robin asked, his voice hollow.

"Tabitha Vance isn't her real name," I revealed, setting a manila folder on the desk. "Her birth name is Tabitha Vane. Her family didn't lose their fortune in a software startup like she told you. Her father is currently serving eight years in a federal penitentiary for wire fraud in Florida."

Robin stared at the folder, afraid to open it.

"She targetted you, Robin," I continued gently. "She researched your father’s estate. She knew about the trust fund, the real estate holdings in Chicago, and your tender heart. She spent eight months carefully constructing a persona that matched every single quality you were looking for in a wife."

Robin closed his eyes, a long, ragged breath escaping his lips. "She didn't love me at all."

"She loved what you represented," I corrected. "She loved security, status, and power over people she considered beneath her."

"What do we do now?" Robin asked, looking at me with the same desperate search for guidance he had shown as a sixteen-year-old boy standing beside his father’s casket.