Chapter 3 - The Caretaker’s Real Identity
"Grant," I said smoothly, refusing to flinch as his fingers dug deeper into my arm. "Introduce me to your guests properly. Tell them who I am."
Grant swallowed hard, his throat bobbing visibly. He cast a frantic glance around the room, realizing that dozens of high-net-worth individuals were now staring directly at them, waiting for an explanation. He tried to force a light, dismissive laugh—the kind of laugh men use when brushing off a slightly eccentric relative at a family gathering.
"Ah, everyone, please excuse my wife," Grant announced, raising his voice just enough to address the crowd while trying to maneuver me toward the hallway. "Caroline has always been... well, deeply attached to this estate. She manages the day-to-day upkeep for our family trust, and sometimes she forgets herself when we host private functions."
Sloane blinked, her smile faltering for a fraction of a second. "Your... wife?" She turned her gaze to Grant, her voice dropping an octave. "Grant, you told me she was the property manager. You said she lived in the guest cottage near the cliffs and handled the staff!"
"She does!" Grant stammered, panicking now as the narrative he had carefully constructed began to tear apart at the seams. "She lives on the grounds, Sloane, just like I said. It's a complicated family arrangement—you know how old money trusts work."
I gently, but firmly, twisted my arm out of Grant’s grip. I stepped past him, my movements deliberate and unhurried, and walked right up to Sloane. Up close, the emerald silk dress was even more expensive than it looked from afar—probably designer label, probably purchased with funds Grant had diverted from our joint household accounts.
And resting right against her collarbone were my family's heritage stones.
"Take them off," I said quietly.
Sloane stepped back, her eyes flashing with defensive indignation. "Excuse me? Are you out of your mind? Grant gave me this necklace for my birthday!"
"Grant doesn't own this necklace," I replied, my voice cutting through the ambient noise of the room like crystal glass. "Those diamonds belonged to my grandmother. They were passed down to my mother on her wedding day, and to me on mine. My husband doesn't possess the legal right to give away my family heirlooms, let alone loan them out to his mistress."
The word mistress dropped into the room like a lead weight.
Gasps erupted from several guests near the bar. Whispers broke out instantly, sweeping through the crowd like wildfire. Sloane’s face turned an ugly, mottled shade of crimson. She looked at Grant, her eyes wide with betrayal and disbelief.
"Grant? What is she talking about? What is she to you?" Sloane demanded, her voice rising sharply.
"She's delusional!" Grant shouted, losing his grip entirely as his polished facade completely crumbled. He lunged forward, trying to herd me toward the kitchen door. "Caroline, you are having a psychotic break! You need to go upstairs right now before I have security escort you off the premises!"
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"Security?" I repeated, raising an eyebrow. "In my own house?"
I turned away from him, ignoring his frantic sputtering, and walked straight toward the swinging kitchen doors. I needed to see what Mrs. Bell had discovered, because I knew in my bones that the diamond necklace and the affair were merely the smoke screening a much larger, far more dangerous fire.
