CHAPTER THREE
Caroline's POV
"Will"
The moment his name left my lips, I felt the smile breaking wide across my face. My steps quickened, almost a run, ignoring the woman hanging limply in his grip. Katrina. She didn't matter. All that mattered was him, my fiancé, my future husband, the man who had always belonged to me.
"Will!" My voice trembled with excitement, desperate to reach him.
But the second his eyes cut toward me, my whole body turned to stone.
Those eyes—furious, storming with fire, nothing like the gentle man who once swore I was his world. They froze me mid-step, slicing through every ounce of confidence I had carried. His arms tightened around Katrina, protective, careful, as he lowered her onto the sofa as if she were made of glass. He had never cared for me that way.
Before I could speak, his roar shattered the air. "Everyone! Report here immediately!"
The walls vibrated with the power of his voice. Footsteps thundered from every corner of the mansion until the hall swarmed with servants, guards, and staff. I could see Connor—the head chef— pushed to the front, bowing his head.
"Anyone responsible for Katrina's state—step out," Will commanded, his voice deep enough to make the chandeliers tremble.
My breath caught as four of the men I had ordered earlier hesitated, then shuffled forward, their faces pale.
And without warning—without even the mercy of hesitation—Will drew his gun as he pulled the trigger. The crack of each shot echoed like thunder.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
One after the other, their skulls shattered, their bodies collapsing into lifeless heaps at his feet.
Blood pooled across the polished floor. The smell of iron hit my nose, sharp and suffocating. My stomach churned. My legs staggered backward.
"Will…" My whisper was strangled, fear clawing at my throat.
He didn't even look at me. His jaw was clenched so tight a vein pulsed in his temple. His voice cut through the silence, each word laced with venom. "Step out. Tell me what happened."
The hall fell into uneasy silence until finally, a trembling chef stumbled forward, sweat glistening on his forehead.
"M-Miss Caroline…" his voice cracked, but he forced the words out. "She… she gave us all orders. She supervised every detail. Then one maid mentioned that the Chairman had a mistress in her chambers. Miss Caroline went there and dragged her out. She commanded the men to flog her—fifty strokes. The mistress could barely breathe, but Miss Caroline still demanded she prepare tea and sandwiches. When the tea wasn't to her liking… Miss Caroline poured it over her hand. That's when you arrived, Chairman."
Every word was a dagger. Each syllable cut deeper into my chest, my lungs shrinking until breathing felt impossible.
Will turned slowly, his gaze pinning me like a predator cornering prey. Fury radiated off him in waves, suffocating, heavy, inescapable.
He walked toward me. The metallic sound of his gun cocking echoed through the silence. My heart slammed against my ribs. The barrel rose until it pressed against my forehead.
I froze. My breath hitched, tears burning in my eyes. "Y-You're pointing a gun at me?" I choked. "You're going to kill me… for her? For a mistress?"
His hand didn't waver. His finger curled tighter around the trigger.
Panic surged like fire through my veins. My hand shot up, pressing the cold barrel harder against my skin, as though daring him. "Do it then! Pull the trigger, Will! Do you dare?"
The room held its breath. Even the shadows seemed to freeze.
His eyes narrowed, and his voice dropped to a chilling whisper. "Are you… threatening me, Caroline?"
The tone of his words sliced straight through me. This wasn't the man I knew. This wasn't the man who once promised me forever. In twenty-four hours, everything had turned upside down.
And for the first time in my life, I was terrified of him.
The pressure of the gun suddenly eased. Relief washed over me for half a second—until his next words fell like a death sentence.
"Fine. A bullet is too merciful for you." His lips curled, cruel and cold. "You'll die slow."
My stomach dropped. My knees almost gave way.
"Henceforth, Caroline is no longer my fiancée. She is nothing but a commoner." His voice boomed through the hall, final and merciless. "From this moment, she has no right to step into this house. If she dares trespass—shoot her dead."
My chest constricted. My lips trembled. No. No, he couldn't.
"But first…" His eyes, sharp as blades, bored into mine. "Caroline will scrub every corner of this house. Every single room. After that, she will prepare food for five hundred people. Tonight I am holding a ceremony."
The room spun. My vision blurred. I couldn't even cook for myself.
"If the food is not perfect…" His lips twisted into something darker than a smile. "…I'll chop off your hands and feed them to the dogs. And anyone who dares help her will be courting death."
Gasps rippled through the room. My own mouth fell open, but no words came out.
Then, as though I were already forgotten, he slid his gun back into his pocket and turned his back on me. He bent, sweeping Katrina into his arms as though she weighed nothing, carrying her upstairs with the tenderness of a man in love.
I watched him disappear, each step tearing me apart. My heart thrashed wildly, my chest hollowing out.
The walls seemed to close in. My legs shook, barely able to hold me. My throat burned, but no tears would fall.
Scrub the mansion. Cook for five hundred. Alone. Or die.
I wasn't going to be Caroline Adams, the envied bride-to-be, the woman of high society anymore. No. In a single breath, he had stripped me of everything. My pride. My status. My place beside him. And worse, he had done it in front of everyone.
I couldn't swallow. My throat burned. Rage bubbled inside of me, and for a moment, I wanted to scream at the servants still standing there, watching me with thinly veiled smirks. But the moment I caught the way some of them were whispering to each other, I realized it: they were waiting for me to break.
I refused to give them that satisfaction.
I will die before I let this humiliation become my fate.
Before I could pull myself together, the harsh sound of something slamming against the floor made me jolt backward. The sharp echo vibrated up my spine, and I turned sharply.
A bucket.
And standing right behind it, arms crossed and eyes cold with authority, was the woman everyone in this mansion feared—well except William and I—head maid; Susan
"Get to work."
Her voice cut through me like a whip.
I blinked, disoriented, staring at her face. She had been here longer than I had been alive. Rumors said Will's grandfather had handpicked her to maintain order in the Adams mansion, and since then she had ruled the servants like a queen. Ruthless. Sharp-tongued. Unafraid of anyone. Not even me—especially not me now.
She bent down, picked up a mop from the bucket, and shoved it toward me. Her movements were so harsh that the handle smacked against my ribs. I hissed from the sting, glaring at her, my pride rising like fire.
"How dare you…"
Her hands immediately strikes my cheek without warning. My cheek stung as my head whipped to the side.
She slapped me.
I stood frozen, eyes wide, my hair sticking to my damp cheek where her palm had landed. For a moment, I couldn't believe it. No one had ever dared raise their hand at me before. No one.
"How dare you, Miss Former Fiancée," Susan sneered, her tone sharp with mockery. "Lift your chin at me again, and I'll shove your pretty mouth into that soapy water and make you drink until your pride drowns in it."
I recoiled instinctively. My chest tightened. I hated myself for it. For the way my body betrayed me, taking a step back when all I wanted to do was claw her wrinkled face open.
Her eyes narrowed, reading the slight falter in me, and she smirked. She knew she'd won that small battle. "I thought so," she muttered with disgust. Then she turned sharply, her stiff back and grey-streaked bun disappearing down the corridor.
I stood there, breathing hard, heat flushing my face. My nails dug into my palms as I gripped the mop. My pride screamed to hurl it across the hall, to scream at all of them, to make them bow to me again.
But then Will's voice cut through the back of my skull like a ghost:
"If the food does not taste good, I'll chop off your hands and feed them to the dogs."
My stomach twisted.
My pride was a luxury I couldn't afford. Not now.
I shoved the mop into the bucket, the water sloshing up and soaking my wrist. The soapy stench filled my nose. Disgust churned inside me, but I bent down, wringing out the mop. My fingers trembled at the feel of the wet fibers, my knuckles aching as I twisted.
Each time I dipped the mop back into the bucket, irritation shuddered through me. I cursed under my breath, every word I whispered meant for Will. For Katrina. For Susan. For everyone who dared put me here.
The once-golden fiancée of William Adams, mopping the floor like a servant.
I wanted to scream.
Instead, I pushed the mop across the marble tiles, my shoulders jerking with the effort. Each drag of the mop felt like it was scraping against my dignity, wiping it away stroke by stroke. The irritation on my face must have been comical to anyone who saw me—my nose scrunched, my lips twisting, my body jerking like a puppet forced into obedience.
When I finally dropped the mop back into the bucket, I leaned heavily against the wall, panting, sweat sliding down the side of my face.
I glanced at the clock.
Three p.m.
My blood turned to ice.
The guests. The ceremony.
If Will found the preparations undone, he'd kill me before sundown.
I staggered forward, my body screaming in protest as I forced myself toward the kitchen. My legs wobbled with every step, each one weaker than the last. My pride was a corpse being dragged behind me, but survival pushed me on.
I rushed to the sink, washing my trembling hands. The cold water burned against the fresh rawness of my skin, but I ignored it, reaching for a napkin from the cupboard.
Suddenly, my vision began to blur as dizziness washed over me. My breath grew shallow, my chest rising and falling too quickly.
"No…" I muttered, gripping the cupboard edge. My fingers slipped on the polished wood. My knees buckled.
I tried to steady myself, but the dizziness intensified. My head swam, my stomach twisted, and the floor seemed to rise to meet me.
Suddenly, I lost my grip and my temple struck the sharp corner of the ceramic table with a sickening crack. Pain exploded across my skull.
A gasp tore from my throat, but before I could call for help, the strength drained from my body.
The last thing I saw before darkness swallowed me was the napkin still dangling from the cupboard door and then I dropped.