Chapter 3 - The ReturnThirty minutes later, the front security gate buzzer rang through the intercom of the main estate.
On the security monitors, I watched Chloe sweep down the grand staircase carrying a small leather weekend bag, her expression a mask of manufactured distress. She marched straight to the front door, pulled it open, and stepped out onto the porch just as my private SUV pulled up the cobblestone driveway.
I had instructed Hector to circle the estate and drive back in through the main gates, staging my dramatic "return from Toronto" exactly as planned.
The SUV parked near the fountain. I stepped out, grabbing my leather briefcase, wearing the exact same expression of weary business fatigue I had worn when I left.
Chloe rushed down the stone steps, her face twisted into an immediate, masterclass performance of weeping innocence. She threw herself into my arms, burying her face in my lapel.
"Alexander! Thank God you're back!" she sobbed dramatically, her shoulders shaking with fake tremors.
I wrapped my arms around her mechanically, patting her back while staring past her shoulder toward the second-story window where Valeria’s small face was peeking through the glass.
"Chloe? What’s wrong?" I asked, putting genuine confusion into my tone. "I thought I wasn't supposed back until Friday. What happened to your trip?" She pulled back, dabbing a dry eye with a designer tissue, looking up at me with adoring, desperate eyes. "I couldn't stay in New York, darling. My heart was breaking knowing I left things unsettled here. And... and it's Marisol."
I kept my face completely neutral. "Marisol? What about her?"
"She... she threatened me, Alexander," Chloe choked out, her voice trembling with theatrical trauma. "While you were flying to Canada, she confronted me in the living room. She screamed at the girls, she told me I had no authority in this house, and when I tried to correct her, she physically grabbed my arm and bruised me!"
She rolled up the sleeve of her silk blouse. There was no bruise—only a faint red mark where she had clearly pinched her own skin moments before coming downstairs.
I looked at the fake mark, feeling a disgust so profound it tasted like ash in my mouth.
"Is that right?" I asked softly.
"Yes!" Chloe cried, clutching my hand. "And it’s not just today. The stealing... the missing jewelry... the way she turns Valeria and Sofia against me when you're not looking. It’s unbearable, Alexander. It’s either her, or me. You have to fire her. Today."
I stared down at the woman I had planned to marry in three months. I thought about the thousands of hours I had spent building my fortune, the careful trust I placed in people, and the horrifying realization that I had almost invited a sociopath into my daughters' permanent lives.
"You're right, Chloe," I said smoothly, letting my voice drop into a warm, agreeable register. "We can't have toxic people disrupting our home."
Chloe’s eyes flashed with triumphant delight, though she quickly masked it with a sad, sympathetic smile. "Oh, thank you, darling. I knew you'd see the truth."
"Pack your bags for a few days, Chloe," I instructed gently, taking her arm and guiding her back toward the front steps. "Go stay at your penthouse downtown. Let me handle Marisol, settle the girls down, and deal with the termination paperwork. I’ll call you the moment everything is sorted out."
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Chloe beamed, kissing my cheek eagerly. "You're right. You always handle things like a true CEO. I'll wait for your call."
She grabbed her weekend bag, climbed into her sleek white Mercedes coupe, and sped down the driveway, completely unaware that every single second of her performance had been recorded from four different camera angles.
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