He stared at his sons. He stared at the tiny marks on Noah’s arm. He stared at his phone like it had become a mirror.
“Sit,” he said hoarsely. “Put them down. Gently.”
Olivia nodded.
She moved to the couch, sat carefully, loosened straps one at a time, and eased Noah onto a pillow. Then she shifted, supported Eli’s head, and laid him beside his brother.
Both boys stayed asleep.
For a moment, their fingers still clutched at Olivia’s uniform. Then, slowly, like they were letting go of a lifeline, they released.
Jary stood over them like he was afraid to breathe wrong.
He reached out toward Noah’s hand, then stopped midair.
He didn’t know if his sons would pull away from him the way they pulled away from Clare.
And that fear made him feel smaller than any boardroom ever had.
Olivia pulled off her gloves and rubbed her hands together, trying to steady herself. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t want it to be like this.”
Jary lifted his eyes to her. “You did the right thing,” he said, though pain threaded every word. “I should’ve been the one to do it.”
A soft sound came from the hallway.
A door.
A step.
Olivia’s head lifted.
Jary’s eyes snapped toward the doorway.
“Is Clare still in the house?” he asked.
Olivia nodded once. “Upstairs,” she said. “Second door.”
Jary remembered the promise he’d made when his wife died and left him with two newborn sons and a house that suddenly felt too big.
I’ll protect them. I’ll be here. I won’t let anything happen to them.
He had meant it when he said it.
Then life got loud. The company demanded more. Investors demanded more. The world demanded more. And somehow, bedtime became something he outsourced.
Now he stared at his sons and realized he hadn’t outsourced bedtime.
He’d outsourced safety.
Jary saved the clip to his phone. His thumb moved with purpose now.
He looked at Olivia. “Stay here with them,” he said. “Don’t leave this room. Not even if she calls you.”
Olivia nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Jary took two steps, then stopped and looked back.
“If she lies about you,” he said, “if she says you hurt them… what will you do?”
Olivia held his gaze without blinking. “I’ll tell the truth,” she said. “And I’ll hope you choose to hear it.”
Jary swallowed hard, shame stinging.
“This time,” he said quietly, “I will.”
Then he walked out of the kitchen, fast and quiet.
Upstairs, the second door was half-open.
Clare’s laugh floated out, soft and careless, like she’d been living in a different house than the one where two babies had cried themselves hoarse.
Jary knocked once.
The laughter stopped.
The door opened.
Clare stood there with her phone in hand, smile snapping onto her face.
“Mr. Wilson,” she said sweetly. “You’re home early.”
Jary kept his voice low. “Come with me,” he said. “Now.”
Clare blinked. “What is this about?”
Jary stepped into the room and closed the door behind them.
Clare crossed her arms, acting relaxed. “If this is about the kids crying,” she said, “they do that. They’re spoiled. They’ve learned it gets them attention.”
Jary stared at her like she’d spoken in a foreign language. “Don’t call my son spoiled,” he said.
Clare lifted both hands like she was calming a wild animal. “I’m telling you the truth,” she said. “Those twins are difficult. And your maid is making it worse.”
“Olivia,” Jary said, voice tightening.
“Yes,” Clare replied quickly. “She’s always near them. Always picking them up. She’s crossing boundaries. She’s trying to get them attached to her.”
Jary pulled out his phone and held it up.
“You want to talk about boundaries?” he said. “Let’s talk about what you did today.”
Clare’s smile didn’t crack. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Jary hit play and turned the screen toward her.
He didn’t speak.
He let the footage talk.
Clare watched herself yank Noah’s arm. Push Eli’s hand away. Close the door. Leave.
Her face drained of color.
Then she forced a laugh that sounded like a glass about to shatter.
“That is nothing,” she said quickly. “He was about to fall.”
“You hurt him,” Jary said.
“I did not hurt him,” Clare snapped. “And even if I pulled too hard, it’s because he was screaming. I was teaching him.”
“They are babies,” Jary said, voice low and dangerous. “You don’t teach babies with pain.”
Clare’s eyes flicked to the wall, to the corner where a camera sat.
“So you record us,” she said, suddenly sharp. “You spy on your own house, and now you want to act like a good father?”
The words hit Jary in the ribs because they were half true.
He’d installed cameras after his wife died because the idea of losing control terrified him. Cameras made him feel like he could still protect things from a distance.
But protection from a distance wasn’t protection.
It was an excuse.
“This isn’t about me looking,” Jary said, jaw tight. “This is about you doing.”
Clare’s tone changed, softer now, manipulative. “Mr. Wilson,” she murmured, “you’re tired. You have grief. You don’t think clearly. The maid is confusing you.”
“Don’t talk about her,” Jary said.
Clare leaned closer. “You believe her over me?” she asked, incredulous. “A maid?”
“I believe what I saw,” Jary said.
Clare’s face turned hard. “Fine,” she snapped. “Fire me. See how fast you regret it. They will scream and you’ll run back to your office like you always do.”
That cut him because it exposed the ugly truth he’d been dodging.
He swallowed.
“I’m not running anymore,” he said.
Clare’s smile returned, thin and poisonous. “If you fire me,” she said, “I’ll tell the board you keep secret cameras. I’ll tell the press you let your maid carry your babies. You know how people will talk.”
Jary stared at her. “You’re threatening me.”
“I’m warning you,” Clare said, shrugging.
Jary lifted his phone and pressed a button. “Security,” he said calmly. “Upstairs. Now.”
Clare’s face shifted for real this time.
“Mr. Wilson,” she started.
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