Alexander wanted to believe her. He was closing the biggest deal of his career — an $800 million merger. Stress could distort anything.
But a father’s instinct doesn’t disappear just because you’re wealthy.
By morning, he found Ethan pale, with dark circles under his eyes.
Rebecca insisted he was “just tired.”
But something felt wrong.
At noon, during a celebratory lunch with investors in Downtown Los Angeles, Alexander called home.
The housekeeper, Mrs. Ramirez, hesitated before answering.
“Is Ethan okay?”
A pause.
“Mrs. Carter locked his bedroom door,” she said softly. “From the outside. She said he needed rest.”
Alexander’s blood turned to ice.
He left the restaurant without explanation and drove back at reckless speed.
Rebecca was gone — “at the spa.”
Ethan’s door was locked.
When Alexander forced his way inside, Ethan claimed he had locked it himself.
But bruises peeked from under his pajama sleeve.
That night, Alexander pretended to fall asleep.
At 12:30 a.m., Rebecca slipped from bed and quietly walked down the service hallway.
Toward the basement.
Alexander followed.