The Governess Pleaded With The Syndicate Boss’s Fiancée To Stop—But When He Saw What She Had Done To His Daughter, He Discovered The Nanny Was Fleeing A Monster Too

The heavy footsteps echoed down the grand hallway, slow and deliberate.

Clara’s heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. She gripped the brass poker, standing her ground. Mia was awake now, sensing the tension, clutching her blanket with wide, frightened eyes.

"Shh, baby. Ra-Ra is right here," Clara whispered, not taking her eyes off the door.

"Clara," Marcus’s voice slithered through the heavy wood, dripping with venom and mock affection. "Open the door, baby. You know I don't like it when you make things difficult."

"Go to hell, Marcus," Clara shouted, her voice remarkably steady.

Marcus laughed—a dry, terrifying sound. "You think this fancy house can protect you? You think a rich boy in a suit scares me?"

CRACK.

The heavy oak door shuddered violently as Marcus kicked it. The dresser Clara had pushed against it groaned. He kicked it again, and the wood began to splinter near the hinges.

Clara raised the poker higher. She wasn't the broken girl who had fled Chicago in the middle of the night. She was a mother protecting her child.

With a final, deafening crash, the door burst open. Marcus stood in the threshold, water dripping from his dark coat, his eyes locked onto Clara with feral intensity. He saw the fire in her eyes and smirked.

"Look at you," Marcus sneered, stepping into the room. "Playing bodyguard. Put the toy down, Clara, before I make you watch me hurt the kid first."

Clara didn't back down. She swung the heavy brass poker with all her might. It connected with Marcus’s shoulder with a sickening crunch. He roared in pain, dropping his pistol, stumbling backward.

But Clara was small, and Marcus was a brute. He recovered instantly, backhanding her across the face. Clara hit the floor hard, tasting copper.