Chapter 2 - The Shadows in the West Wing
By 1:30 in the morning, the snow outside the estate had turned into a heavy blizzard.
The last of the towncars and limousines had pulled away down the long, winding drive, their taillights disappearing into the white fog. Inside the mansion, the heavy crystal chandeliers were dimmed, leaving the vast marble halls illuminated only by low wall sconces and the orange glow of dying fires in the stone hearths.
Ethan stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows of his private library on the ground floor. He had discarded his tuxedo jacket, unbuttoned the collar of his dress shirt, and rolled his sleeves up to his forearms. In his right hand, he held a glass of dark amber scotch, untouched.
The heavy oak door of the library creaked open.
Hannah walked in quietly. She had changed out of her serving apron, but she still wore the dark grey trousers and white work shirt of the estate’s residential domestic team. Her wet winter coat hung over her arm, and Avery was wrapped in a large wool blanket, sound asleep against her mother’s shoulder.
Ethan turned around slowly.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound in the room was the howling wind beating against the glass panes and the steady crackle of the fireplace.
“Put her on the sofa,” Ethan said gently, pointing toward the deep leather couch near the fire.
Hannah hesitated, her eyes darting around the room as if expecting a trap. Slowly, she walked over and laid Avery down on the soft cushions. She carefully tucked the blanket around her daughter’s shoulders, brushed a dark curl from her forehead, and stepped back.
She remained standing, three paces away from Ethan, her hands crossed tightly over her chest in a protective posture.
“Why are you here, Hannah?” Ethan asked softly. “Out of all the residential properties in New York, why my house?”
Hannah gave a hollow, bitter laugh that had no joy in it. “Do you think I applied for this job because it was your house, Ethan? I applied through an agency called Apex Domestic Staffing. They assign cleaners to estate holdings across the county. I didn't know this was your main residence until my second week when I saw your portrait in the gallery.”
“You could have asked for a reassignment,” Ethan said, stepping closer.
“And lose my hourly wage?” Hannah looked him straight in the eyes, her gaze burning with an old, unhealed anger. “I have rent to pay. I have a four-year-old daughter to feed. I don't have the luxury of quitting a job because the owner of the house happens to be my ex-fiancé.”
Ethan felt a sharp knot twist in his stomach. “Ex-fiancé. Is that what I am? You walked out of our apartment five years ago while I was in Chicago securing our first commercial loan. You took your clothes, you turned off your phone, and you left your key on the counter. No note. No explanation. Nothing.”
Hannah’s face paled, then flushed with sudden, hot fury. “Don't lie to me, Ethan. Not after five years.”
“Lie to you?” Ethan raised his voice slightly, his eyes flashing with sudden rage. “I spent six months looking for you! I hired private investigators! I called every hospital in New York! I thought you had been kidnapped, or killed, or—”
“Stop it!” Hannah snapped, her voice trembling as she glanced nervously toward her sleeping daughter. She took a breath and dropped her voice into an intense, angry whisper. “Your mother came to the apartment the morning after you left for Chicago.”
Ethan went dead still. “What?”
“Victoria came with two attorneys and a signed non-disclosure agreement,” Hannah said, tears of old betrayal glistening in her eyes. “She handed me a cashier’s check for two hundred thousand dollars. She told me that you had authorized her to settle our relationship before the Mercer Urban Systems merger went public.”
“That’s impossible,” Ethan whispered, his breath catching in his throat. “I never spoke to my mother about our relationship back then. She didn't even know where we lived!”
“She knew everything!” Hannah spat. “She told me that I was a distraction—an uneducated, dirt-poor draftsman holding you back from your family’s legacy. She said if I didn't take the money and leave New York, your family would make sure I was blacklisted from every architectural firm in North America!”
“And you believed her?!” Ethan stepped right up to her, his large hands gripping her shoulders. “You believed I would pay you to go away? After three years?! After everything we built?!”
“Why wouldn't I?!” Hannah cried out softly, pulling back from his grip. “The check was signed by the Mercer Family Trust! The attorneys were your company’s legal council! And two days later, when I called your phone from a payphone in Pennsylvania, your assistant answered and told me that Mr. Mercer had moved on and not to call again!”
Ethan felt as if the floor beneath his feet had suddenly opened up, dropping him into an icy abyss.
His mind raced back five years.
The sudden, frantic urgency with which his mother had urged him to take the Chicago meeting. The way his former personal assistant, Richard—who had been hired directly by Victoria—had mysteriously managed his calls during that entire week. The way his mother had comforted him when he returned to an empty apartment, whispering that Hannah was just a gold-digger who couldn't handle the pressure of his growing wealth.
It had all been a play. A cold, calculated, surgical strike executed by Victoria Mercer to excise an 'unsuitable' woman from her son’s life.
“Ethan?” Hannah watched his face, her anger slowly giving way to confusion as she saw the genuine horror breaking across his features.
“I didn't know,” Ethan whispered. His voice broke—a sound he hadn't made in ten years. “Hannah... swear to me on Avery’s life. I didn't know any of this.”
Hannah stared at him, her lips trembling as the foundational truth she had lived with for five years began to shatter. “You... you didn't send her?”
“I loved you,” Ethan said, his eyes burning with unshed tears. “I bought an engagement ring the week before I went to Chicago. I had it in my coat pocket when I walked into our empty apartment.”
Hannah covered her mouth with her trembling hand, a choked sob escaping her throat.
Before either of them could utter another word, the heavy brass handle of the library door turned with a sharp, metallic click.
The door swung open.
Victoria Mercer stood in the doorway, dressed in an elegant green silk dressing gown, her silver hair perfectly styled, holding a glass of warm water. She stopped, her cold blue eyes taking in the scene—Ethan standing inches from Hannah, and the little girl sleeping on her silk sofa.
May you like
Victoria’s posture immediately hardened into ice.
“Ethan,” Victoria said, her voice dropping into a razor-thin tone of aristocratic disdain. “What is this domestic servant doing in your private library at two in the morning?”
