“SHE’S MY REAL MOM!” The Millionaire’s Son Screamed and Clung to the Maid—Then His Father Discovered What His New Wife Had Been Hiding!

Sloane laughed, one sharp sound that fooled nobody.

"Children make things up when they're upset. Ethan, take Caleb from her."

Ethan did not move. His son was clutching Isabel with the desperation of someone hanging over deep water.

"Caleb," he said, dropping to one knee, "you can tell me anything."

"Not when she's here."

The words hit Ethan harder than shouting would have.

Sloane crossed the room. "He has an appointment with Dr. Fenwick at four. This is exactly the kind of regression she warned us about."

"Why would he be afraid of a room?" Ethan demanded.

"Because that woman taught him to be afraid of me."

"I arrived forty minutes ago," Isabel said. "He knew me before I said a word."

Ethan's eyes dropped to the blue uniform, then to the small stitched name above her pocket: ANA.

"You used another name."

"My mother's middle name. The staffing company ran my real identification. Somebody in this house approved the booking without checking the photograph."

Sloane flinched. Isabel noticed.

"You wanted me kept out," Isabel continued. "I needed to see what was happening to Caleb. There was no safe way left."

"A judge decided you were unsafe," Sloane said.

"A judge saw papers somebody supplied."

Outside, the security gate buzzed. Ethan looked at his wife.

"Cancel the call."

"I won't."

He took her phone and spoke to the guard. "I'm handling it. Nobody enters the house without speaking to me."

"You can't do that!" Sloane protested.

"It's my house too."

It was the first time Isabel had seen him challenge Sloane. She wondered why it had taken thirteen months and one terrified child.

Ethan gestured toward the hallway. "Show me the room."

Caleb shook his head violently.

"I'll carry you," Isabel said. "Nobody gets to shut the door."

Below the sweeping staircase was a narrow door painted the same cream as the wall. Ethan frowned.

"That's the old wine-storage closet."

"It's blue inside," Caleb whispered.

Ethan turned the brass knob. Locked.

"Where's the key?"

Sloane's smile had become stiff. "The contractor has it."

"What contractor?"

No answer.

Ethan went to the kitchen drawer where spare keys were kept. Isabel followed with Caleb, refusing to leave him alone with Sloane. The third key opened the door.

A small blue-painted room waited inside. There was a child-sized chair, a night-light without a bulb, and a strip of fresh tape on the wall where a camera had recently been removed.

"It's a quiet room," Sloane said quickly. "For sensory breaks. Dr. Fenwick recommended it."

Ethan touched the lock. It had been installed on the outside.

"Then why could nobody open it from in here?"

Caleb buried his face against Isabel's neck.

From the corner behind the chair came a faint electronic chirp. Isabel bent and discovered a tiny black recorder wedged beneath the baseboard.