I pretended to fly to Canada after suspecting the housekeeper was doing something terrible to my daughters whenever I was away. Instead, I secretly returned home and turned on the hidden cameras.

That was a lie.

There was no meeting.

My private jet was never going to leave the ground.

I hadn’t reserved a hotel.

I wasn’t going anywhere.

Forty-five minutes after my SUV passed through the iron gates of our Bel-Air estate, I quietly returned through a service entrance with Hector, the head of my private security team.

Nobody inside the house knew I was back.

Especially Chloe.

My fiancée.

The woman I was supposed to marry in three months.

The entire plan had started because of something Chloe said over dinner the night before.

“You trust Marisol far too much, Alexander.”

That single sentence kept me awake for hours.

Marisol had worked for me for almost five years.

She had originally been hired as a housekeeper.

But after my wife passed away, Marisol gradually became one of the people my daughters trusted most.

She never tried to replace their mother.

She was simply there.

She knew their routines.

She helped when they were upset.

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