Chapter 8 - The Blame
Victor carried his pathetic cardboard box across the staff parking lot, his knuckles turning white from gripping the cardboard so tightly.
The heavy box contained nothing but a few cheap coffee mugs, some extra uniform shirts, and a framed picture of his car.
His blood was absolutely boiling, pumping a toxic mixture of shock, adrenaline, and pure hatred through his veins.
He slammed his heavy boot against the front tire of his used sedan, desperate to release some of the violent energy bubbling inside him.
He refused to accept that this sudden termination was a result of his own cruel and unprofessional behavior.
In his narcissistic mind, he was a victim of unfair corporate politics and terrible luck.
He threw the cardboard box aggressively into the trunk of his car, causing his coffee mugs to shatter into pieces.
He leaned against the dirty bumper of his vehicle, his mind frantically trying to piece together the events of the morning.
How could the terrifying corporate office in Manhattan possibly know about a minor incident at the front gate?
There was absolutely no way a homeless beggar had the connections to contact a billionaire's executive team.
Suddenly, a dark, dangerous realization struck Victor like a bolt of lightning.
It had to be Grace Miller.
She was the only other person at the gate, and she had been clearly upset by his display of authority.
She must have sneaked away after Mrs. Gable punished her and made a tearful, exaggerated phone call to the human resources department.
She must have lied and claimed that Victor physically assaulted her, playing the role of the innocent victim to save her own skin.
"That miserable little rat," Victor hissed through clenched teeth, his eyes narrowing into terrifying slits of pure rage.
"She ruined my career to get back at me."
He slammed the trunk of his car shut with a violent, metallic crash that echoed across the empty parking lot.
According to Chief Harrison, he had exactly three minutes left to vacate the premises before the police were called.
But Victor was not going to leave quietly, and he certainly was not going to leave without getting his revenge.
He turned his back on his car and stared at the heavy iron doors that led directly to the servant's quarters.
He knew the security camera blind spots perfectly, having monitored the estate's perimeter for over three years.
He slipped past the main loading dock, his heavy boots making absolutely no sound on the smooth concrete.
His heart was pounding furiously against his ribs, driven by a toxic, uncontrollable desire to make Grace suffer.
He did not care about the legal consequences, nor did he care about the threats from his former boss.
He was going to find that pathetic, overly compassionate little maid and teach her a lesson she would never forget.
He pushed open the heavy wooden door to the laundry wing, stepping into the warm, humid air of the mansion's massive utility corridors.
The hallway was completely empty, filled only with the loud, rhythmic humming of the industrial washing machines.
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Victor slowly uncurled his fists, a cruel, predatory smile spreading across his face as he heard the faint sound of footsteps approaching.
He stepped back into the dark shadows of an alcove, waiting patiently for his victim to walk perfectly into his trap.
