Chapter 8 - The Pretender
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At 7:30 PM, Ethan walked into the dining room for dinner.
The table was set with fine silver, crystal glassware, and an elaborate roasted chicken that the private chef had prepared.
Claire sat at the head of the table, wearing a simple blue silk dress, cutting a piece of meat for Noah, who sat in his high chair beside her. Maddie sat across from them, quietly eating her peas with her head down, her bandaged arms hidden beneath a long-sleeved cardigan.
"Ethan, darling!" Claire smiled warmly as he took his seat at the opposite end of the table. "You've been locked in your office all afternoon. Is everything okay with the board?"
"Everything is fine," Ethan said smoothly, pouring himself a glass of sparkling water. "Just handling some internal security audits."
Claire’s fork paused for a fraction of a second before continuing to her mouth.
"Security audits?" she asked lightly. "At Caldwell Horizon?"
"No," Ethan replied, looking directly into her eyes. "Household accounts. It seems there have been some unusual discrepancies in our personal trusts over the last few months."
Claire’s smile didn't fade, but her posture stiffened.
"Oh? Well, accounting was never my strong suit," she laughed softly, dabbing her lips with a linen napkin. "You know how expensive the home renovations have been lately."
"Right," Ethan said. "Renovations."
Maddie accidentally tapped her glass with her fork. The quiet clink echoed through the dining room.
Maddie immediately flinched, pulling her hands into her lap, her eyes wide with terror as she darted a quick look at Claire.
"Careful, Maddie," Claire said softly, her voice sweet as honey, but her eyes cold as flint. "We don't drop things at the table, remember?"
Ethan leaned forward, resting his elbows on the dark mahogany table.
"She just tapped her glass, Claire," Ethan said, his voice dropping into a low, metallic tone. "She doesn't need to apologize for existing."
Claire looked up, her expression turning defensive. "Ethan, I am simply trying to teach your daughter basic manners—"
"My daughter," Ethan interrupted, "is four years old. And starting tomorrow, her routine is changing."
Claire narrowed her eyes slightly. "What does that mean?"
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"I've rehired Sarah Jenkins," Ethan announced calmly. "She arrives at eight in the morning."
Claire’s face went completely white.
