Chapter 2: Eleven Years
Bianca held the greasy rag over Martha's head.
"Since you love making messes," she said softly, "let me help you look the part."
Martha pressed herself against the pool's edge, arms shaking.
"Please, Mrs.
Sterling.
Please don't."
But Bianca let it drop.
The black sludge spread across Martha's silver hair and down her cheek.
A small sound escaped the older woman — not quite a cry, something quieter and worse than that.
The two children watching from the terrace doorway went completely still.
Then footsteps crossed the marble.
Fast ones.
"Mom.
Stop."
Bianca turned.
Her son Daniel stood ten feet away, his face pale, his jaw tight.
He was seventeen, and he had never spoken to her in that tone before.
"Go inside," Bianca said.
"I saw everything." His voice didn't waver.
"I've been watching from the window.
All of it."
Bianca's smile didn't move.
"This doesn't concern you."
"She's been working for us for eleven years." Daniel stepped closer.
"Eleven years, Mom."
Martha slowly raised her head.
And the look she gave Daniel — it wasn't gratitude.
It was something else.
Something that looked almost like fear.
Like she knew something about this family that Daniel didn't.
What is Martha hiding — and why is she afraid of what Daniel might find out?
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The full truth is darker than anyone expected.
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