Ruth kept her gaze lowered. The air was thick with the smell of bleach and leftover pasta. Ethan felt a metallic taste rising—anger he couldn’t afford to show. He asked what they were having for dinner. Clare said she’d ordered sushi. Ruth quietly moved to get the plates.
Later, when the city outside faded into hushed murmurs, Ethan wandered through the penthouse taking inventory of small wrongs. A guest robe was left damp in the laundry. A chipped mug had been tossed into the trash. A cushion on the terrace was soaked through.
When he returned to the kitchen, he found Ruth still rinsing teacups at midnight.
“Go rest,” he told her.
“I’m all right,” she murmured—but her breath caught.
She touched his arm gently. “Big meeting tomorrow. Get sleep.”
He nodded, pretending to accept her words. Then he opened a drawer and pulled out a small hidden camera. He placed it high on a shelf with a clear view of the kitchen. Another one he angled toward the hallway. His jaw clenched as he adjusted the lens. This wasn’t like him—but it was necessary.
Downstairs, the concierge was telling a couple who’d come home late…
“The penthouse is hosting again,” the concierge remarked.
“She keeps everything running like a strict captain,” the man added.
“Poor woman,” the woman whispered.
Ethan stood in the shadows, listening to conversations about a home that no longer felt like his—and told himself he only needed one day. One day to uncover the truth.
Morning spilled over the glass towers, washing the penthouse in soft gold.
Ethan poured himself a cup of coffee and waited. He’d barely slept. A tiny camera light blinked behind the vase in the kitchen. Ruth moved quietly, folding linens with slow, cautious motions—as if afraid to disturb the air.
Clare appeared, her perfume drifting thickly across the room.
“You’re up early,” she said with a stretch. “I told Ruth to polish the silver before noon.”
Ethan kept his face neutral. Ruth’s hands trembled as she lifted the tray. The bruise on her arm had darkened overnight. He noticed her wince when Clare brushed past her, far too roughly.
“Mom,” he said gently, “come eat something.”
Ruth forced a smile.
“After I finish the chores,” she whispered, as though awaiting approval.
The smell of coffee mingled with cleaning polish. The tension was so tight it almost vibrated. Clare scrolled through her phone, pretending not to see any of it.
By noon, Ethan left for his meeting. But just before the elevator doors shut, he glanced back. Ruth stood beside the window, dusting shelves she had already cleaned hours ago.
That night, he reviewed the footage. What he saw made his stomach drop.
Clare lounged on the couch with two friends, laughing while Ruth scrubbed the floor. One friend casually tossed crumbs onto the tiles. Another smirked. Clare raised her wine glass.
“If Ethan insists on keeping her here, she might as well earn her keep.”
Ruth didn’t protest. She just bent lower, voice quivering.
