My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. The pain in my scalp was sharp, but the fear of discovery was paralyzing. If he saw the panel, if he dragged me away before I could press it, the six months of meticulous planning would turn to ash.
“It’s wedged,” I sobbed, tears spilling hot and genuine over my cheeks. “The ring. It’s stuck in the floorboard crack. Please, Daniel, you’re hurting me.”
He stared at me for a long, agonizing moment. His eyes scanned the shadows, but the panel was deeply recessed, painted matte black to match the trim. He couldn’t see it from his angle.
With a sneer of utter disgust, he released my hair, letting my head drop back down. “Leave it. Your hand is bleeding on the marble. Wrap it up and get upstairs. If I hear a single sound from you while Martin is on the phone, I swear to God, Clara, I will hold your face to that burner next.”
He turned his back on me, walking toward his mother to refill his own glass.
That was his fatal mistake.
In the fraction of a second his eyes were off me, I pressed the switch.
Deep beneath the kitchen island, a tiny red LED light blinked to life. Then it turned solid green.
The hidden, high-definition security camera—tucked seamlessly into the custom millwork and angled to capture the entire kitchen and living area—was now active. But this wasn’t a standard security system. It wasn’t saving footage to a hard drive for a later police report.
My phone, hidden in my apron pocket, vibrated once.
Livestream active.
It vibrated a second time.
Link delivered.
The broadcast wasn’t going to my friends, or to anonymous social media accounts that Daniel’s expensive lawyers could quickly scrub from the internet. The custom script I had written sent the live feed directly to the twelve board members at Veyron Capital, bypassing their spam filters through a backdoor I had installed months ago.
read more in next page
