Chapter 2 - THE EIGHTH WOMAN
Adrian’s expression did not change.
“It proves whatever you decide it proves.”
Caroline’s smile tightened.
“That sounds suspiciously like a test.”
“It is.”
The admission unsettled them more than denial would have.
Adrian looked at the antique clock.
“You have forty-five minutes.”
The women scattered.
Not literally at first. Women raised in powerful families had been taught to disguise greed beneath elegance. They drifted away with champagne glasses and practiced smiles, pretending to admire things they had already mentally priced.
Within ten minutes, the performance disappeared.
One demanded access to the garage.
Another requested the combination to a display case.
Vanessa called an art consultant.
Nora nearly smiled when she heard that.
Adrian remained in the gallery.
He watched.
At 9:38, Caroline returned carrying paperwork for a vintage Ferrari valued at nearly two million dollars.
Vanessa selected the eighteenth-century landscape.
Lauren chose an emerald necklace.
Melissa surprised everyone by selecting a deed to twenty acres bordering the estate.
Three others chose jewelry, rare watches, and an antique collection.
Grant quietly recorded every choice.
Then Adrian looked at Nora.
“Your turn.”
Nora almost dropped her tray.
Seven women turned.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
“I’m working.”
“Not anymore.”
A flush crawled up Nora’s neck.
Caroline laughed.
“You’re including the staff?”
Adrian looked at her.
The laughter stopped.
Nora stepped closer and lowered her voice.
“Mr. Vale, may I speak with you privately?”
“No.”
She stared at him.
Something almost amused moved behind his eyes.
“You’ve spent three years watching people take things from this house, Nora. Tonight you get one.”
“I don’t want anything.”
“Everyone wants something.”
There was no mockery in his voice.
That made it worse.
Nora looked around.
Jewels glittered beneath chandelier light. Paintings worth more than entire neighborhoods covered the walls. Somewhere below them sat cars she could sell and never work another day.
For one dangerous second, she thought about money.
Her younger brother had student loans.
Her mother’s little house needed a new roof.
Nora herself had forty-two thousand dollars saved and a retirement account so unimpressive that her bank app practically apologized whenever she opened it.
One item could change everything.
Adrian waited.
Nora finally set down the tray.
“Fine.”
She walked away.
Grant watched her disappear toward the east wing.
“She knows,” he murmured.
Adrian’s jaw tightened.
“Knows what?”
“Which things actually matter to you.”
Adrian said nothing.
Ten minutes passed.
Then fifteen.
Caroline became impatient.
“Is she inventorying the silver?”
At twenty-three minutes, Nora returned.
She carried a wooden picture frame against her chest.
The frame was cheap.
Not antique.
Not handcrafted.
The finish had worn from its corners, and one small crack ran through the bottom edge.
Melissa laughed first.
Vanessa followed.
“What is that?” Lauren asked.
Nora ignored them.
She walked directly toward Adrian.
And the room changed.
His face lost color.
Inside the frame was a photograph.
A boy of perhaps nine stood beneath an apple tree, laughing so hard his eyes were nearly closed.
Beside him knelt a dark-haired woman in a simple summer dress.
She had one arm around him.
The other held a homemade birthday cake tilted disastrously sideways.
Adrian’s mother.
Elena Vale.
Dead twenty-seven years.
Adrian stared.
“Where did you get that?”
“The service corridor.”
Grant stepped forward.
Nora’s grip tightened.
“It was behind the linen cabinet.”
Adrian looked at Grant.
His cousin’s expression had gone strangely blank.
Then Adrian turned toward the room.
“Everybody out.”
Caroline blinked.
“What?”
“Take what you chose. Leave.”
“Adrian—”
“Now.”
Nobody argued twice.
Within minutes, heels clicked across marble, security opened doors, and the gallery emptied.
Nora remained.
She wished she hadn’t.
Adrian approached until only a few feet separated them.
“Why?”
She looked down at the photograph.
“Because you said anything.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
Nora swallowed.
“I’ve seen you visit it.”
His eyes sharpened.
“I never followed you.”
“Then how?”
“I clean that corridor.”
Silence.
“You touch this frame every November,” she said. “But you never take it upstairs.”
Adrian stared at her as though she had discovered a locked room inside him.
Nora continued softly.
“I thought maybe you left it there because it belonged to the version of you who existed before everyone started watching.”
His face changed.
Barely.
But Nora saw it.
Pain.
Raw and startling.
“I chose it,” she added, “because it’s the only thing here nobody could replace.”
Adrian looked away.
For the first time in three years, Nora saw him without control.
Not weak.
Just human.
“Give it back.”
Her stomach dropped.
Of course.
What had she expected?
She extended the frame.
Adrian did not take it.
“I said give it back.”
“I’m trying.”
“Not to me.”
Nora frowned.
“Put it where you found it.”
Understanding came slowly.
The photograph was not really hers.
The test had never been about ownership.
She nodded.
Adrian turned away.
Then the front doors exploded inward.
The sound shattered the quiet.
Two security men entered fast.
Grant followed them.
His face was pale.
“Adrian.”
“What happened?”
“The Ferrari.”
Caroline’s Ferrari.
Grant held up a small black device.
“We found this attached beneath the chassis.”
Adrian took it.
A GPS transmitter.
“Recently placed?” he asked.
“Very.”
Nora’s skin chilled.
Grant looked toward her.
“We checked the other items.”
“And?”
“Nothing.”
Adrian’s eyes narrowed.
Grant lowered his voice.
“Someone knew Caroline would choose that car.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Unless someone knew about your test before tonight.”
Adrian’s gaze moved around the gallery.
Only a handful of people had known.
Grant.
Security.
Two senior staff members.
And Adrian himself.
Then Nora remembered something.
At seven that evening, while preparing champagne in the pantry, she had heard footsteps in the service corridor.
She had assumed it was Adrian.
But Adrian had been downstairs greeting guests.
“There was someone near the photograph.”
Every man looked at her.
“When?” Adrian asked.
“Before dinner.”
“Who?”
“I didn’t see.”
Adrian approached.
“What did you hear?”
Nora closed her eyes.
Footsteps.
A cabinet opening.
Then—
Her eyes snapped open.
“A phone call.”
“What was said?”
“Only one sentence.”
Adrian waited.
Nora felt suddenly cold.
“The person said, ‘If he chooses wrong tonight, we move before the wedding.’”
Grant swore.
Adrian did not.
His expression simply emptied.
That frightened Nora more.
“Mr. Vale?”
He looked at her.
“From now on, you don’t leave this house without security.”
Nora stared.
“I’m a maid.”
“No.”
Adrian’s eyes moved toward the hidden corridor.
“You’re the only witness I have.”
May you like
Then he turned to Grant.
“And apparently someone inside my house is planning my funeral.”
