PART 5: The Theatrical Outburst

PART 5: The Theatrical Outburst

Manufactured panic shatters peaceful afternoon quiet.

"Oh, thank goodness you're awake, Margaret," Olivia gasped, pressing both hands against her cheeks in a theatrical display of sudden, devastating realization.

Margaret rubbed her eyes, looking up at her future daughter-in-law with mild irritation. "What is it now, Olivia? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"My bracelet! The diamond tennis bracelet Michael gave me for our anniversary!" Olivia shrieked, her pitch rising into a shrill, panic-stricken register designed to echo down the hallways. "I left it right here on the coffee table before I went to my fitting, and now it's gone!"

Before Margaret could respond, the basement door opened, and Sophie walked back into the living room, carrying the heavy silver candelabras in her arms.

"Here are the candelabras, Miss Olivia—" Sophie started, before freezing at the sight of Olivia’s tear-streaked, furious face.

"Don't you 'Miss Olivia' me!" Olivia screamed, pointing a trembling finger straight at the housekeeper's chest. "You little thief! You were the only one down here while I was gone! Where did you hide it?!"

Sophie’s face drained of all color, the silver candelabras shaking slightly in her grip.

"I... I don't know what you're talking about, ma'am! I was in the basement the entire time!"

"Liar!" Olivia sobbed hysterically, lunging forward as if she might physically attack the young woman. "You think because you act all sweet and innocent nobody will suspect you?! Empty your pockets right now! Turn out your apron pockets before I call the police!"

"Olivia, stop this absolute nonsense!" Margaret snapped, slamming her palm against the armrest of her wheelchair with surprising force. "Sophie has been in this house for eight months and has never taken a paperclip that wasn't hers!"

"You don't know these lower-class vultures, Margaret!" Olivia snarled, her mask completely melting away to reveal the vicious, entitled core beneath. "They smile in your face while they rob you blind! Michael!" she suddenly screamed toward the hallway. "Michael, get in here! Your precious maid just stole my anniversary bracelet!"

Heavy, measured footsteps echoed down the corridor.

Michael stepped into the living room.

He didn't run.

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He didn't look panicked.

He walked with the calm, terrifying gravity of an executioner stepping up to the guillotine.