He remembered how Victoria always spoke about discipline and control. About rules that no one in her house was allowed to challenge.
He also remembered the elegant smiles that hid contempt and the soft commands that carried cruelty behind them.
“Where is my wife?” Ethan asked quietly, without taking his eyes off Maria.
Before she could answer, footsteps echoed in the hallway—slow, confident, almost triumphant.
Victoria appeared in the doorway, perfectly dressed, as if she had just stepped out of a fashion magazine instead of into chaos.
“Oh, Ethan,” she said with a practiced smile. “This isn’t what it looks like.”
For the first time in years, he looked at her like a stranger.
“Then explain it,” he replied coldly. “Because what I see is our nanny tied up while holding our children.”
Victoria sighed, as if the situation bored her, and casually took a sip of wine.
“That girl is unstable,” she said calmly. “I was protecting the babies.”
Maria closed her eyes. She had heard that lie before.
“Unstable?” Ethan repeated, stepping closer. “Is that what you call someone who’s beaten and tied up?”
Victoria lifted her chin slightly, pretending to be offended.