THE MOTHER'S WRATH
FIONA'S POV
Eyes locked.
I stood frozen in his arms.
"You look so familiar," he said again.
"So sorry, sir. Maybe you've seen me in the hallways," I replied, quickly packing up my cleaning equipment.
"Are you sure I don't know you?" he asked, staring at me more intensely, studying me from head to toe.
"Yes, Lady Vivienne!" I shouted as I ran swiftly away from him.
I hid in the toilet for a minute, locking the door behind me with shaky hands.
I stared at my reflection in the mirror—pupils wide, my face drenched in sweat like I'd just run from a ghost.
What just happened?
Why did I feel like he saw me? Why did it seem as though he had remembered something?
No, he couldn't remember. An influential billionaire like him could never remember an ordinary one-night stand. I'm sure he's had a lot of one-night stands after me, I said to myself.
"Fiona, breathe. Put yourself together," I whispered.
I rinsed my face, adjusted my scrubs, wore my rubber slippers properly, and headed back to the east wing.
By midday, the entire ColeTech Estate moved faster than usual. And on a normal day, things already moved swiftly around here.
"She's here!" one of the senior maids yelled. "Everyone in position, please!"
Who?
I thought to myself, piecing it together.
Dorothy Kensington.
Her shiny red dress. Her figure-eight body. That sharp, cold, expensive perfume. The red lipstick that glistened like blood.
She was so beautiful.
She entered like she owned the place. She looked like a queen and walked like she knew it.
Michael met her at the door, forcing a smile onto his face. But she leaned in and kissed him for a long time—like she was marking her territory.
Then she turned.
Her eyes scanned the east wing and paused.
"Who is this?" she asked, pointing at me.
"The new maid, ma'am," the head maid responded.
"Hmm. Pretty maid. Very dangerous," she said, giving me a death stare.
Back at home, my mother was digging through her dusty old cupboards—the ones she hadn't touched in years.
The last time I remembered those cupboards ever opening was when I was a little girl. I wondered why Mama suddenly took interest in them now.
"What are you looking for?" I asked.
She didn't answer. She moved like she was running out of time.
Finally, she pulled out a dusty wooden box from the back of the cabinet and forced it open.
Inside… files, photos, old letters, sealed envelopes, and a flash drive.
Tears began to fall from her eyes.
She sat slowly on the rug, removing every item from the box, one after the other.
"I stole this from the Kensington Palace," she said softly, "before I ran."
"What? Why?"
"David Kensington once promised me the world. But he became more dangerous by the day. I had to run."
I just stared at Mama. I was lost for words.
"There's a lot I want to explain to you, my daughter… but with time," she said. "I just had to take this because I knew one day, they'd try to hurt us."
She reached for a black envelope—dusty, heavy, and velvet-lined.
She scribbled Michael's name on it with gold ink.
She sealed it with red wax, pressed her rebellion ring into it, and kissed the envelope.
"I hope he reads this alone," she whispered.
"Mama, no! You don't have to do this," I yelled. "You can't possibly blackmail a billionaire!"
Her eyes widened with an evil smile.
"He's not a billionaire when his empire crashes."
The next morning, I was on duty in the west wing, dusting and scrubbing the cupboards near the study, when a delivery arrived.
A man in a navy cap walked in and handed a black envelope to the butler.
"It's urgent," he said firmly.
The butler took it immediately into the study and closed the door behind him.
Michael walked past me and went straight into the study, shutting the door behind him.
I moved quietly and started cleaning the glass window beside the study, trying not to act suspicious. I was just curious—did my mother actually go through with it?
Silently, I walked closer to the glass doors, just in time to get a glance.
Michael sat behind his desk.
Then came the sound of the envelope tearing.
My heart raced.
Paper unfolding.
I moved closer, gently, still pretending to clean the windows, hoping to catch a glimpse of what was written.
There it was—in bold capital letters:
YOU BROKE MY DAUGHTER. NOW I'LL BREAK YOUR EMPIRE.
My heart thudded so hard against my chest, I thought I might fall to the ground—if not for the fear of being caught.
Michael moved swiftly, ripping out each paper from the envelope.
His jaw clenched tight.
He looked uneasy. He unbuttoned his shirt, his breathing fast.
He whispered, "Fiona?"
I stumbled back from the glass, my hand over my mouth.
He remembered.