Vivian smirked, swirling her blood-red wine. “She’s practically mute now, Alejandro. Makes a terrible maid, but a wonderful pet.”
Alejandro didn’t yell. He didn’t lunge.
His eyes shifted from his trembling wife’s bruised wrists to the dark, dirty liquid she had been frantically scrubbing on the pristine white marble.
It wasn’t dirty water.
It was highly flammable accelerant.
Elena looked up, her tears suddenly evaporating, replaced by a fierce, razor-sharp clarity. She hadn’t just been trapped. She had been infiltrating. For three years, Vivian had seized the Castillo estate, holding Elena hostage in plain sight, using her as leverage to steal the family empire.
But Alejandro hadn’t spent three months overseas grieving. He had spent them mobilizing.
“You thought hiding her in my own home was a stroke of genius, Vivian,” Alejandro said, his voice dropping to a deadly, echoing whisper. “You thought I was powerless.”
Vivian’s smug smile faltered. “This is *my* estate now. I hold the deeds. I hold her life.”
“You hold nothing.”
Alejandro raised a black-gloved hand, pressing two fingers to the tactical earpiece hidden beneath his dark hair. His gaze locked onto Vivian, his eyes turning to glacial, unhinged fury.
“Destroy everything.”
Instantly, the grand double doors slammed shut, locking with a brutal, mechanical *clack*.
The “servants” lining the hallway didn’t run. Instead, they reached beneath their tailored uniforms, drawing suppressed weapons in perfect, chilling synchronization.
Vivian’s wine glass slipped, shattering on the marble. Her arrogant sneer collapsed into raw, breathless horror.
Elena didn’t cower. She calmly stood up, kicking the metal bucket over. The dark liquid pooled directly beneath Vivian’s designer heels. Reaching into her apron, Elena pulled out a silver lighter.
“Like he said,” Elena whispered, striking the flint. “You’re fired.”