Chapter 3 - The Maid's Terror
The heavy, suffocating silence that followed the voicemail was absolutely deafening.
Vincent stared at the flashing red light on the black desk phone. His heart was hammering violently against his ribs. The police had told him for three years that Clara had drowned in a tragic, solitary boating accident. They had searched the lake for weeks. They had found her jacket.
But dead women didn't leave voicemails on a Tuesday afternoon.
Vincent slowly lowered his tattooed hand from his mouth. The profound, paralyzing grief that had haunted him for three years instantly vaporized, violently replaced by a cold, absolute, and entirely demonic fury.
He didn't look at his daughter. He slowly turned his head to look at his beautiful fiancée in the blue floral dress, and then at the trembling maid in the black and white uniform.
If Clara had just miraculously survived and was calling for help, Isabella and Grace should have been shocked or confused.
But they weren't confused. They were terrified. They looked like two criminals who had just been caught standing over a dead body.
"It's a prank," Isabella stammered frantically, her chest heaving as she backed away toward the crystal chandelier's shadow. "Vince, it's a cruel AI deepfake! The media is just trying to torture you! Don't listen to it!"
"Grace," Vincent said, completely ignoring his fiancée. His voice dropped to a freezing, lethal frequency that promised nothing but blood. "Why are you shaking?"
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The maid let out a pathetic, high-pitched sob. Her knees buckled, and she physically collapsed against the heavy wooden door frame.
👉 Grace opened her mouth to speak, but Isabella was about to commit a catastrophic, violent mistake.
