Not because she had framed a maid.
But because I had brought that woman back inside.
Then it happened.
A thin silver chain slipped from beneath the maid’s collar.
A black-and-gold pendant rested against her chest.
I nearly dropped the child.
I know that symbol.
Only three of those pendants were ever made.
Mine is locked in my safe.
My father’s was buried with him.
The third vanished fifteen years ago — the night of the ambush that slaughtered half my bloodline.
The night a woman saved my life and then disappeared forever.
“Where did you get that?” I asked.
My voice was barely a whisper.
Her shaking fingers covered the pendant instantly.
Her eyes darted to Renata.
Then to the security cameras in the ceiling.
“Please,” she whispered. “Not here.”
That night, I had my most trusted man investigate her.
The report arrived before midnight.
Her name was false.
Her employment records were forged.
She wasn’t a maid at all.
She was the last living witness to the massacre that made me the head of the Duca empire.
That’s when it all became clear.
Renata had recognized her weeks ago.
The stolen clock was never about theft.
They wanted her humiliated, fired, and thrown out onto the street — outside my protection — before the people hunting her could find her.
But they made one mistake.
They underestimated what that pendant meant to me.
