“Garrett? What are you—what are you doing? You’re investigating me? After she hit me? After she assaulted your future wife?”

“I’m investigating the missing property,” Garrett said, his tone flat, unyielding, and terrifyingly calm. “If the bracelet is in your room where you left it, Miss Beckett will be dismissed and turned over to local law enforcement for assault. If the bracelet is not in your room, we will have a much longer conversation about why you chose to invent a theft to cover up a disciplinary problem.”

The silence in the hall became absolute. Even the grandfather clock in the foyer seemed to hold its tick.

Celeste opened her mouth to argue, but the look in Garrett’s eyes—the absolute, bottomless absence of warmth—silenced her instantly. She stepped back, her chest heaving beneath the charcoal wool, her fingers digging so hard into her own palms that her knuckles turned white.

“Fine,” she hissed, her voice trembling with venom. “Search the room. You’ll find nothing because she’s a thief who knows how to hide her tracks. But when you find my jewelry box empty, I want her in cuffs before the clock strikes noon.”

Garrett didn't reply. He gestured for the bodyguards to move.

Miller and Vance turned on their heels and marched toward the grand staircase.

I stood my ground, my heart beating a steady, heavy rhythm against my ribs. I knew what was coming. I knew how people like Celeste Vane operated when they were cornered. They didn't just lose; they rigged the board before they knocked it over.

Ten minutes later, Miller returned holding a small velvet-lined leather box.

He walked straight to Garrett, his expression tight, uncomfortable, and entirely unreadable.

“Sir,” Miller said, holding out the box.

Garrett took it. He flipped the brass clasp.

The velvet interior was empty. The little fitted slot where the custom diamond-and-white-gold bracelet should have rested was bare.

Celeste let out a dramatic, trembling gasp of vindication, her hands flying to her cheeks. “See? I told you! I told you all along! She took it! She’s a thief!”

Bess closed her eyes, her shoulders sagging as if a heavy sack of flour had just been dropped onto her back. Addie let out a small, terrified sob from the kitchen doorway.

Garrett looked down at the empty velvet box. Then he closed it with a soft click.

He raised his eyes and looked straight at me.

“Laura,” he said quietly. “Empty your pockets.”

Chapter 2 - The Pocket Lining

The request hung in the air like a falling blade.

Every eye in the reception hall was fixed on me. Celeste Vane wore the smile of an executioner who had just watched the axe fall. Her bruised lip twitched with malicious satisfaction as she tilted her chin upward, savoring the moment she believed would destroy me.

I didn't flinch. I didn't step back.

With slow, deliberate movements, I untied the apron strings at my waist, folded the white linen neatly, and laid it across the side table. Then, one by one, I turned my pockets inside out.

A small wooden token—a lottery ticket my father had bought the day before he died. A half-used pack of mints. A small metal hairgrip. A clean, folded cotton handkerchief with my initials embroidered in blue thread by my mother’s hands.

That was all. No diamonds. No platinum. No custom heirlooms.

I laid each item on the mahogany table beside my apron and held my hands out, palms up, toward Garrett.

“Check the uniform pockets, too,” I said, my voice steady and clear. “Check my shoes. Check the mattress in my room above the carriage house. You won't find the bracelet because I never touched it.”

Garrett stared at my empty hands for three long seconds. Then he looked at Miller.

“Did you search the room thoroughly, Miller?”

“Yes, Mr. Harwick,” Miller replied, his voice low. “Every drawer, every shoe box, behind the headboard, inside the ventilation grate in her dressing room. We even checked the dirty laundry basket. The bracelet isn't in her room.”

Celeste’s triumphant smile faltered for a fraction of a second. A flicker of genuine panic crossed her features before she masked it with outrage.

“She hid it outside!” Celeste shrieked, stepping forward. “She’s had three days to stash it in the garden, or drop it in the incinerator, or give it to that pathetic groundskeeper! Are you really going to listen to her excuses just because she played the victim and punched me?”