Chapter 4
1463 Words
“I miss Mom… I miss her a lot,” Olivia whispered, her voice barely carrying across the vast, silent dining room. Her small fingers twisted the hem of her dress as she stared at the empty chair that once belonged to Sylvia.
It had been a week since Sylvia’s burial, but the house still smelled faintly of her perfume, clinging to the curtains, the cushions, and even the children’s hair. The silence in the mansion was louder than ever, heavy and suffocating.
Dianne, seated a few chairs away, felt her throat tighten. Her eyes flicked to Fredrick at the head of the table. He didn’t look moved. He never did. He was cutting through a steak as if nothing in the world had shifted, as if his wife hadn’t been buried in the cold earth days ago.
Fredo, on the other hand, sat stiff, his fork untouched on the plate. His shoulders were hunched, his jaw clenched. He didn’t speak, but the way he avoided his father’s eyes said enough. He was swallowing his grief in silence, afraid of what might happen if he showed it.
Dianne’s heart ached. She had been in this house long enough to see how fear ruled it. But now, there was something new — an emptiness, a void left by Sylvia’s absence. A void that Fredrick seemed too eager to exploit.
What no one knew was that Fredrick had watched everything — the argument by the lake, the fall, the blood, the panic in Dianne’s eyes. He had been in his study, monitoring the surveillance feeds like a hunter watching prey. And when Sylvia hit the stone, when her life seeped away with the rushing water, Fredrick had not moved a muscle.
Instead, he’d called Donald.
“Take care of it,” he’d ordered coldly.
And Donald had obeyed. Sylvia’s body had been wrapped, dragged, and thrown into the lake, swallowed by its dark waters. All traces of the accident were erased in minutes. Dianne and Samuel had been ushered out of the scene, their shock silenced by fear.
Fredrick hadn’t just lost a wife that night — he’d gained leverage.
Later that evening, as the children were sent to their rooms, Dianne found herself called into Fredrick’s office. Her steps were slow, cautious, each one echoing on the marble floor as if warning her not to go. She clutched her hands together, nails digging into her palms, her chest tight with dread.
She knocked.
“Come in,” Fredrick’s voice cut through the door, low and commanding.
When she entered, he was sitting behind his mahogany desk, a glass of whiskey in his hand. The dim light cast shadows on his sharp jawline. His eyes — cold, predatory — fixed on her the moment she stepped inside.
“You wanted to see me, sir?” she asked, her voice trembling.
He didn’t answer immediately. He swirled the glass, watching the amber liquid roll against the crystal before taking a slow sip. Then he leaned back, a smirk tugging at his lips.
“Sit.”
Her legs felt heavy, but she obeyed, lowering herself into the chair opposite him. The silence stretched, gnawing at her nerves until she couldn’t stand it.
“Is… is everything okay?” she whispered.
Fredrick chuckled under his breath, a sound that made her stomach twist. “That depends. For me? Perfect. For you…” He opened a drawer and pulled out a sleek black tablet. With a few taps, he turned it toward her.
Dianne’s breath stopped. On the screen was the footage — Sylvia by the lake, Samuel’s bicycle colliding, the struggle, Sylvia falling, the stone, the blood. Dianne’s hands flew to her mouth. Her chest heaved as she whispered, “Oh my God… no…”
Fredrick tilted his head, studying her panic like it amused him. “Quite the accident, wasn’t it?”
Her eyes snapped to his. “You— you saw this? You saw everything?”
“I see everything that happens on my property,” he said calmly, as though discussing the weather. “Nothing escapes me.”
Her body trembled. Her mind screamed at her to run, but her legs were rooted to the floor. “Please, Fredrick, it wasn’t— I didn’t— it was an accident, you know it was! Sylvia— she— she lost her balance. I swear I never meant—”
He raised a hand, silencing her instantly.
“You don’t have to explain,” he said, his smirk widening. “I believe you.”
The relief that flickered in her chest was crushed by the cold finality of his next words.
“But the world won’t. Imagine this footage in the hands of the police… or the media. Imagine your son’s name being dragged through headlines. ‘Boy kills stepmother in wealthy household scandal.’”
Dianne gasped, her hands shaking violently now. “No… please don’t… Samuel is innocent! He’s just a child! He didn’t mean to—”
Fredrick leaned forward, his eyes burning into hers. “And I can make sure no one ever sees this. But you’ll have to give me something in return.”
Her lips parted, but no words came. She could barely breathe.
He spoke slowly, each word deliberate, heavy. “You will marry me. You and Samuel will move into this house permanently. You’ll be the new Mrs. Kingsley. And in return… this video disappears. Forever.”
Her blood ran cold.
Marriage? To him?
Her mind reeled. She had barely worked for him three months. She still bore the sting of his slap, the weight of his cruelty. And now he was asking — no, demanding — that she tie her life to his.
“Marry… you?” she whispered, horrified.
“Yes,” he said smoothly. “Think of it as a contract. A mutually beneficial arrangement. You give me what I want. I give you your son’s freedom. Refuse…” He tapped the tablet, the video replaying on loop. “And Samuel’s life as he knows it is over.”
Tears welled in her eyes. Her chest rose and fell in ragged breaths. She could almost see it — Samuel in handcuffs, his innocent face smeared across tabloids, people pointing, whispering, condemning.
“No…” she sobbed. “Please, anything but this.”
Fredrick stood, moving around the desk. He stopped directly in front of her, towering over her small, shaking frame. He placed a finger under her chin, lifting her face to meet his.
“You have twenty-four hours,” he murmured, his voice low, dangerous. “Tomorrow evening, you’ll give me your answer. Yes… or no. Choose wisely, Dianne. Your son’s life depends on it.”
Then he released her, letting her face fall as he walked back to his desk, sipping his whiskey as though the conversation meant nothing.
That night, Dianne lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling. Her pillow was wet with tears. Samuel slept beside her, his small hand curled in hers. She turned her face toward him, studying his peaceful expression, the innocence in his features.
She couldn’t lose him. She couldn’t.
But how could she marry Fredrick? The thought alone made her stomach twist with dread. She had seen what he was capable of — the slap, the violence, the cold manipulation. He wasn’t a man who loved. He was a man who owned.
Her mind whirled with questions. Is this a trap? A scheme? Why me? Why so soon? She had been his secretary for barely three months. Less than two weeks ago, Sylvia was alive. And now… this.
She closed her eyes, praying silently, begging for a way out. But when she opened them again, Samuel shifted closer in his sleep, and her heart broke. She knew Fredrick was right about one thing — she would do anything for her son. Anything.
The clock was ticking.
The next evening, as the sun dipped and shadows stretched across the mansion, Fredrick slid a folder across his desk. A contract. Marriage, written in cold, black ink.
Dianne’s hand hovered above it, trembling. Her reflection in the polished table looked pale, broken. Samuel’s voice echoed in her head from earlier that morning.
“Mommy… are we leaving soon? I don’t like this house.”
Her throat burned. Her lips quivered. She wanted to scream, to run, to tear the paper apart. But her son’s name was the chain pulling her back.
Fredrick’s eyes glinted, watching her hesitation. He said nothing, only tapped his finger against the folder, a silent reminder of the choice before her.
Dianne’s tears fell onto the page. Her hand shook as she reached for the pen.
And at that moment, her world caged itself around her.
- Writer
