"The Piano, the Maid's Daughter, and the Wedding That Never Happened

Ethan carried Clara down the remaining stairs and settled her onto the leather sofa in his study, locking the heavy mahogany doors behind them. He poured a glass of brandy, pressing it into her trembling hands before turning his back to her.

With shaking fingers, he pulled the leather notebook from his coat pocket.

He read the first page. Then the second. By the time he reached the final entry regarding St. Jude’s Asylum and his own impending "accident," the blood had completely drained from his face. The woman he slept next to, the woman who had demanded he send his only child away, was actively plotting to murder him and bury his son in a nightmare.

"She caught me looking under her vanity," Clara whispered from the sofa, the brandy warming her pale cheeks. "She was trying to kill me, Mr. Ethan. Just like she's going to kill you."

"She’s not going to touch either of you ever again," Ethan said, his voice dropping to a lethally calm register. He walked over to his grand oak desk, opened the bottom drawer, and retrieved a heavy, loaded Colt M1911 pistol. He checked the chamber with a sharp, mechanical snap.

Next, he picked up his desk phone and quickly dialed a number. "Marcus," Ethan said when the line connected, speaking to his long-time head of security who lived off the estate. "I need extraction. Level one. Bring the team to the service road behind the manor in exactly twenty minutes. And Marcus? If anyone tries to stop you from reaching the garage, shoot them."