Chapter 3
Emma wrapped her arms protectively around the twenty-year-old, rocking him gently as he wept into her shoulder. Her mind raced, trying to process the absolute cruelty of what she was seeing. The dog bowl. The absolute darkness. Who could have done this to the heir of the Sterling family?
Before Emma could ask, the sharp, authoritative click of expensive heels echoed from the ballroom entrance.
Isabella Sterling stepped into the corridor. She was thirty-four, wearing a breathtaking, emerald-green satin gown that clung perfectly to her figure. Her fair, rosy skin was flawless, her blonde hair swept up in an intricate updo. But the elegant, calm mask she usually wore for the public instantly hardened into something monstrous the moment she saw the open wall panel.
Emma instinctively tightened her grip on Ethan, shifting her body to shield him from his stepmother. Ethan let out a terrified whimper, trying to press himself backward into the brick wall.
"What do you think you are doing, Emma?" Isabella asked. Her eyes were icy, dead, and entirely devoid of human empathy.
"He was locked in the wall," Emma stammered, her voice shaking with adrenaline and disbelief. "Mrs. Sterling, someone locked him in the wall!"
Isabella didn't look surprised. She slowly raised her right hand, revealing a heavy brass key clutched between her manicured fingers. She took a deliberate, predatory step toward the terrified maid and her stepson.
"Put him back," Isabella commanded, her voice hissing with lethal, unadulterated contempt.
Emma froze, the blood running completely cold in her veins. "No. Are you insane? He needs a hospital!"
"You stupid girl," Isabella sneered, stepping closer. "You just signed your own death warrant. Get away from him."
Suddenly, the heavy oak doors at the end of the hall swung open. William Sterling strode into the corridor. At thirty-eight, William was ruggedly handsome, his fair skin flushed from the heat of the ballroom. He wore a perfectly tailored tuxedo, projecting an intense, protective vibe that commanded immediate respect.
William stopped dead in his tracks. He saw Ethan trembling in Emma’s arms, covered in dust. He saw the gaping, dark hole in the wall. And he saw the brass key clutched tightly in his wife's hand.
Without a single word, William stepped forward, his polished shoes silent on the rug. He closed the distance in three massive strides, drew his arm back, and slapped Isabella hard across the face. The impact echoed like a gunshot.
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Isabella stumbled backward, dropping the key, her hand flying to her rapidly bruising cheek.
William bent down close to Isabella, his face draining of all color, his voice dropping to a low, vibrating hum of horrified fury. "Isabella... why was my son sealed behind that wall?"
