"I made breakfast. Shall we eat together downstairs?"

As Maeve spoke, Layne affectionately pinched her cheek.

"Not today. I have a crucial board meeting at the firm. Go ahead and eat without me."

Maeve opened her mouth to protest, but Layne was already pulling the bedroom door open and striding toward the stairs. He was impeccably dressed, having styled his own suit and knotted his own tie without borrowing her hands.

She followed him out, her face draining of color as she chewed her lower lip so hard it nearly bled.

Once his car disappeared from the driveway, Maeve stood alone in the kitchen. Spread across the marble island was an elaborate breakfast—a perfect mix of pancakes, bacon, and delicate pastries, all tailored meticulously to Layne's tastes. Staring at the feast, she violently swept the plates off the counter, sending porcelain and food crashing to the hardwood floor.

She was practically hyperventilating with rage. Something felt incredibly off. Where had she miscalculated? Had he finally caught onto her lies?

She quickly dismissed the thought. She had played her part flawlessly for two years. He hadn't shown a shred of doubt until now. Perhaps Layne was simply acting distant because he was still grieving the horrific deaths of Mr. and Mrs. Everhart.

Staring at the shattered plates, she realized she needed to scrub the scene clean before this new housekeeper arrived. Having another presence in the penthouse meant her reign of absolute freedom was over.

She cast a subtle glance at the concealed pinhole camera tucked in the corner, then dialed a premium cleaning service. Maeve never took risks. Over the years, whenever she sensed the slightest shift in the wind, she backed up her surveillance footage and permanently wiped any digital traces that could spark suspicion. After gathering the broken shards herself, the hired cleaners scrubbed the penthouse until it gleamed.

Once the kitchen looked untouched, she paid the crew handsomely, sharply ordering them to keep their mouths shut and never mention they had been there. The cleaners found her demeanor deeply unsettling, but they took the cash without a word and left.

Maeve sat at the dining table for two agonizing hours, waiting for Layne to return from work. There was still no signal from Wren Sterling; ever since her sister had ventured into The

Great Basin Wilderness their

communications had gone dark. She had no idea if Wren was even alive.

The sprawling, three-thousand-square-foot penthouse was dead silent.

Suddenly, her phone buzzed, making her jump in her seat. It was Layne. She stared at the caller ID for several heavy seconds before cautiously swiping to answer. Her entire body was rigged with tension, yet her voice came out breathy and delicate.

"Layne..."

"Are you being good at home? The temperature dropped, so put on a sweater. Leave the thermostat on auto and wait for me. Also, the new housekeeper is heading up now. Let her in and get her settled. I'll be back for lunch."

He had slipped seamlessly back into his doting, protective persona. The total lack of suspicion in his tone allowed Maeve to finally exhale. She mocked her own paranoia, reasoning that tayne had probably just hired help because he genuinely felt guilty about her fake bankle injury yesterday.

She had overplayed her hand by falling off that stool. Now, she needed a bulletproof scheme to run this new maid out of town. Her world with Layne simply didn't have room for a third wheel.