Chapter 5 - The Frame in the Night
The rain continued to pour through the night, rattling against the tall stained-glass windows of the Winnetka mansion.
By midnight, the house was silent again, but it was a tense, expectant silence.
In the small staff apartment located above the east wing garage, Grace sat on the edge of her simple twin bed, holding a warm cup of chamomile tea. She was still shaking from the encounter in the living room.
She wasn't afraid for herself. She had survived poverty, debt, and the agonizing grief of losing her mother. She could survive Sophia Whitman’s insults.
What terrified her was the thought of losing Carter, Thomas, and Finn.
If Sophia managed to re-open the custody case using Grace’s presence as an excuse, if Alexander’s legal team decided she was a liability...
A soft knock at her door made her jump.
Grace set her cup down, walked over to the door, and opened it.
Alexander stood in the narrow hallway. He had changed into a dark sweater and trousers. His hair was slightly messy, and he looked older, weighed down by the threat looming over his family.
"Can I come in?" he asked quietly.
Grace stepped aside. "Of course."
The staff apartment was tiny—a small living area, a kitchenette, a bedroom, and a bathroom. It was simple, clean, and completely devoid of the mansion's opulent luxury.
Alexander walked in, his broad shoulders making the small room feel even smaller. He looked around, his eyes lingering on a small framed photo on her nightstand—a picture of Grace as a teenager, sitting on a porch with an older woman whose smile matched hers.
"Your mother?" Alexander asked softly.
"Yes," Grace said, standing near the kitchen counter. "That was taken two years before she got sick."
Alexander nodded slowly. He stepped closer to her, stopping just two feet away. The scent of rain, cedar, and expensive cologne drifted off him, filling the tiny room.
"I came to apologize, Grace," Alexander said, his deep voice thick with emotion. "I should never have let Sophia speak to you like that in my house."
"You don't need to apologize, Mr. Whitman," Grace murmured, looking down at her hands. "She was angry. She wanted to hurt you, and I was an easy target."
"She’s a monster," Alexander said flatly. "She doesn't care about the boys. She lost fifteen million dollars in a bad real estate scheme in Monaco last month. Her lawyers told her the only way to squeeze more money out of me was to attack my fitness as a father."
He reached out, his large, warm hand gently taking Grace’s chin, lifting her face until her blue eyes met his dark ones. The touch was electric, sending a shiver straight down Grace’s spine.
"She called you disposable," Alexander whispered, his thumb lightly tracing her cheekbone. "She’s wrong. You are the most valuable person who has ever walked through that front door. You saved my sons, Grace. You saved me."
Grace felt her breath catch in her throat. "Alexander..."
It was the first time she had spoken his first name.
Alexander’s eyes darkened with a sudden, intense heat. He leaned down slightly, his lips just inches from hers, his hand shifting from her chin to the back of her neck, his fingers tangling into her soft brown hair.
For a second, time stopped. Grace’s heart pounded against her ribs like a trapped bird. She didn't pull away. She wanted him to kiss her—wanted it with a sudden, fierce desperation that terrified her.
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
The high-pitched security alarm from the main house suddenly began to wail through the night air, echoing across the courtyard.
Alexander snapped his head up, his corporate instincts instantly overriding the moment. He stepped back, pulling out his phone.
"What is that?" Grace asked, her pulse racing.
"The primary safe alarm in the study," Alexander said, his face going pale. "Stay here."
He turned and hurried down the stairs toward the main house.
Grace didn't stay behind. She pulled on her shoes and followed him out into the cold, rain-slicked courtyard, running toward the main entrance.
When they burst into the grand study on the ground floor, the room was already lit up.
Mrs. Holloway stood near the massive mahogany desk, holding a flashlight, her face contorted in dramatic shock. Beside her stood two uniformed police officers from the Winnetka Police Department, who had arrived on the scene via the automated alarm dispatch.
And standing near the floor safe, her arms folded, was Sophia Whitman, accompanied by her lawyer.
"What is the meaning of this?!" Alexander demanded, stepping into the room, his voice lethal.
"Mr. Whitman," the senior police officer said, stepping forward. "We received an automated silent alarm from your home security provider reporting an unauthorized access code breach at twelve forty-two AM."
"I didn't trip any alarm," Alexander said coldly. "And why is my ex-wife in my home at one in the morning?"
"We were staying at the guest house near the estate gate, Alexander," Sophia said smoothly, a triumphant, cruel smile playing on her red lips. "When we heard the perimeter chime, we rushed over to ensure the safety of my children. And it’s a good thing we did."
Mrs. Holloway stepped forward, holding a black velvet pouch in her trembling hands.
"Mr. Whitman... I am so sorry," Mrs. Holloway whimpered, putting on a show of tears. "I saw Miss Bennett sneaking down the east corridor ten minutes ago. I followed her because she seemed suspicious... I found her near your safe. When she ran, she dropped this."
Mrs. Holloway opened the velvet pouch.
Inside lay a fifty-carat heirloom diamond necklace—the Whitman Star—worth over two million dollars.
Grace stepped into the room, her eyes wide with total, unadulterated horror. "What?! That's... that's a lie! I was in my apartment! I never touched that safe!"
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Sophia stepped toward the police officers, pointing a finger at Grace.
"There she is!" Sophia shrieked dramatically. "The little maid! She’s been robbing my ex-husband blind while manipulating my poor, motherless children! Arrest her!"
