“Stay there until they calm down,” Carmen said through the door.
“Please! Open it!” Mariana pounded on the wood.
Carmen’s voice drifted away down the hallway.
“Old door. Sometimes it sticks. I’ll check later.”
The footsteps faded.
Hours passed.
Mariana held her burning children and sang to them in a cracked whisper. She turned on the shower to cool their fever.
Outside, somewhere in the mansion, music and laughter filled the air as the reception began.
Inside the locked bathroom, there was only the drip of water and the slow ticking of fear.
At five in the evening, Ethan started coughing violently.
Mariana screamed for help.
And then she heard footsteps.
Not heels.
Heavy, hurried footsteps.
A man’s voice spoke from the hallway.
“I think the architectural plans are in the west wing.”
Mariana’s heart slammed against her ribs.
It was Nicholas Whitmore—the billionaire owner of the mansion.
“HELP!” she shouted with everything she had left.
The footsteps stopped.
A moment later his face appeared in the small door window.
The horror in his eyes was immediate.
“My God… Mariana? What are you doing locked in there with children?”
He tried the handle.
It wouldn’t move.