Chapter 3 - THE WOMAN WHO SERVED MY WIFE HER LAST DRINK
I wanted to wake Camille.
Drag her from the guest suite.
Put the photograph in front of her.
Demand answers until sunrise.
Instead, I sat in the kitchen and made coffee.
Naomi stared at me.
“That’s surprisingly normal.”
“I’m deciding whether caffeine improves restraint.”
“Does it?”
“No.”
She almost smiled.
Then footsteps sounded upstairs.
I moved into shadow.
Camille appeared at the top of the stairs in a silk robe.
She looked down.
“Roman?”
I said nothing.
Naomi switched off the kitchen light.
Camille descended slowly.
She carried her phone.
“I heard something.”
Naomi stepped out first.
“Rosie had a nightmare.”
Camille relaxed.
“Of course she did.”
The contempt in those four words nearly broke me.
She continued.
“She feeds on attention.”
Naomi lowered her eyes.
“I settled her.”
“Good.”
Camille started back upstairs.
Then stopped.
“Where’s Roman?”
“Still out.”
Camille smiled.
“Probably killing somebody.”
Then she went upstairs.
I had spent years believing indifference protected my children.
They did not see the violence directly.
I never raised my voice at them.
I paid for schools.
Security.
Therapists after Isabella died.
But children do not measure love in tuition invoices.
They measure who notices when they stop laughing.
I had not noticed.
Naomi had.
That shame stayed with me while we built the plan.
No confrontation.
No sudden cancellation of the engagement.
No hint that I knew.
First, evidence.
Second, children safe.
Third, expose Arthur and Patrick.
Naomi had already copied eleven weeks of recordings.
We needed financial proof and the guardianship chain.
Arthur would expect me at his office the next morning.
He wanted my signature.
Good.
At breakfast, I acted normal.
Camille kissed my cheek.
I did not flinch.
Jack looked at me.
That was difficult.
His eyes dropped instantly.
He had learned not to be seen.
Rosie spilled milk.
Her entire body froze.
I watched that reaction.
Camille inhaled.
I said:
“It’s milk.”
Rosie looked at me.
“What?”
“We clean it.”
I took a towel.
Camille stared.
Jack stared harder.
I wiped the table.
No yelling.
No punishment.
Just milk.
Rosie began crying.
Quietly.
I stopped.
“Did I scare you?”
She shook her head.
Then whispered:
“You didn’t.”
That answer nearly destroyed me.
Camille smiled tightly.
“She’s emotional lately.”
I looked at her.
“So am I.”
For the first time, she seemed uncertain.
Later, Arthur arrived carrying a leather folder.
“Routine signatures.”
I sat behind my desk.
Camille joined us.
The amended guardianship documents lay inside.
Arthur pointed to yellow tabs.
“Nothing complicated.”
That phrase almost made me laugh.
I signed nothing.
Instead, I asked:
“What happens if I die?”
Arthur looked at me.
A fraction too long.
Then smiled.
“Your children are protected.”
I leaned back.
“By who?”
Camille answered before he could.
“By me.”
I looked at her.
She smiled.
Then Arthur’s phone lit up on the desk.
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Patrick: Did Roman take the bait?
