Chapter 2

"Dead."

The word sounded so foreign, so absurd to me.

"What do you mean dead?" I demanded, refusing to process it. "I attended to him yesterday. He was fine. He was fine all day, and even when I left, he was still fine!"

I hadn't realized my voice had risen, or that tears were already forming in my eyes, blurring my vision.

Alfred, the butler, stood firm but sympathetic. "I understand, Miss Bennett. This is hard to process. But when I found him this morning… he was gone. He died in his sleep."

I blinked rapidly, trying to clear the tears, but it was useless. My eyes and heart both burned with the sting of loss. "Where is he? I want to see him," I said, already moving toward the main entrance. I couldn't believe it—not the same vibrant, cheerful man I had seen just yesterday. He couldn't be gone.

"I'm afraid his body has already been taken to the morgue, in preparation for burial."

I froze mid-step.

"What!?" I turned sharply to face him. "Why so quickly? It's only seven in the morning. When did you find out Mr. Caldwell was dead?"

"Exactly 5:00 a.m.," Alfred replied, his tone even.

"And what were you doing in his room at that time?" I blurted, the question spilling out before I could stop myself. I knew it was inappropriate—bordering on disrespectful—but disbelief had me grasping at straws. How could the same man I'd spoken with yesterday just… die in his sleep?

Alfred's face darkened, his eyes narrowing. "Miss Bennett," he said evenly, though his voice carried the weight of his offense. "You are well aware of Master Caldwell's heart condition, and I routinely check on him, as you do. I would advise you never to entertain, let alone voice, such an unfounded accusation again. I have served Master Caldwell longer than you have been alive."

His words hit me like a slap, and I swallowed hard.

"I'm sorry," I said quickly, my voice trembling. "I didn't mean to accuse you. I'm just… in shock."

Alfred sighed, some of the tension easing from his posture. "I understand. We all are."

"What about his family? Have they been informed?" I asked, though the question barely left my lips before the sound of engines roaring filled the air.

At least eight luxury Cars pulled into the driveway, their polished surfaces shining in the morning light.

One by one, the Cars rolled into the driveway. Each Car was sleeker than the last. I stood still at the entrance next to Alfred and the other staff.

The doors opened, one by one, the late Mr. Caldwell's family began to emerge, each person dressed in an obscene amount of wealth. Diamonds glittered on necks, gold chains peeked from under designer coats, and every movement seemed to scream Status.

I had foolishly thought they were here to mourn. To pay respects to Mr. Caldwell, who had always been more of a father figure to me than, apparently, to them. But the moment I spotted his lawyer stepping out of one of the cars, briefcase in hand, my stomach twisted.

No. They weren't here to grieve.

They were here for the will.

Mr Caldwell had three Children and three Grandchildren.

Paul his first Son was the first to step out. Tall, stiff, and polished to perfection, he looked every inch the corporate shark Mr. Caldwell had told me about. His wife, Camille, stepped out next, clutching her designer bag like it contained the secrets to the universe. Her gaze flicked over the estate, the staff, and even me, as though we were beneath her notice.

Behind them, their son Tristan emerged, adjusting his cufflinks with precise movements. He had a coldness about him, like he had no interest in anything—or anyone. His dark eyes scanned the estate as if calculating its exact worth.

I swallowed hard as another car door slammed. Maria. Mr Caldwell's first Daughter who was actually Paul's twin walked out.

She didn't need to speak for me to feel her presence; her arrogance filled the air like perfume. Dressed in something that probably cost more than my annual salary, she barked orders at her driver to handle her bags carefully before striding toward the house.

She had twin children of her own. Asher and Ashley.

They followed closely behind her. Asher, the infamous black sheep of the family, walked lazily, sunglasses hiding what I guessed were bloodshot eyes. I'd heard the rumors: gambling, women, and trouble wherever he went. He didn't seem to care what anyone thought.

Meanwhile, Ashley clung to her phone like it was an extension of her hand, her manicured fingers flying across the screen. She didn't even glance up as she muttered something about the "awful decor."

Last to arrive was Rachel. The youngest of Mr. Caldwell's children, she carried none of her siblings' power or confidence. She stepped out of her car slowly, as though unsure of her place. She also seemed very desperate to impress. Her dress was too extravagant, her jewelry too flashy, and her smile too forced. She lingered near the back, casting hopeful glances at the others, who ignored her entirely.

I stood stiffly, hands clasped in front of me, as they all approached. I could practically hear Mr. Caldwell's voice in my head, his blunt nicknames for each of them echoing in my memory.

*"Leeches,"* he had called them. *"Paul is a snake, always scheming. Maria's a viper, sharp and venomous plus cold hearted. Rachel's a moth, fluttering uselessly in search of light. Asher's a jackal, wild and reckless. And Ashley? A peacock—vain and loud. And Tristan..."*

My gaze flicked to him. The hawk. Circling. Waiting.

Maria's sharp voice snapped me back to reality.

"You girl," she said to me, her tone clipped, "be a dear and bring a pot of tea to the study. We'll need it while we sort out some family matters."

I frowned slightly because I wasn't a maid. But I didn't dare voice it.

"Yes, ma'am," I replied, keeping my voice neutral. I knew better than to argue.

The family marched into the estate, their heels clicking against the marble floors. None of them looked solemn. Not one. Instead, there was an almost electric anticipation in the air, each of them eager to hear what treasures their old man had left behind.

As I turned toward the kitchen, I muttered under my breath, "They didn't come to mourn. They came to feast."

And that was just heartbreaking.

---

I returned with the tea a few minutes later, carrying the tray into the study. The room was packed with tension so thick you could choke on it. The lawyer stood at the head of the table, his folder resting on the polished wood.

Paul and Maria had claimed the best seats,

their spouses and children arranging themselves like royalty.

Rachel hovered near the back, settling into a corner chair, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her dress.

"Girl, over there," Maria said, waving vaguely toward a side table without even looking at me.

I placed the tea tray down carefully, then stepped back, lingering near the doorway. I shouldn't have stayed, but curiosity held me there. I thought of Mr. Caldwell, of the times he'd spoken about his family with a mix of love and frustration. *"They're vultures, Astrid,"* he'd said once, shaking his head. *"Circling, waiting for me to drop dead. Let them wait. I've got a surprise or two in store for them."*

I couldn't help but wonder what he meant.

The lawyer cleared his throat, and the room fell silent.

"Thank you all for coming," he began, his voice calm and measured. "As per Mr. Caldwell's instructions, we will now proceed with the reading of his last will and testament."

The air in the room shifted. It was subtle, but I felt it. The anticipation. The greed.

Paul leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms, a smug smile tugging at his lips. Maria sat rigid, her sharp eyes fixed on the lawyer like a predator sizing up its prey. Rachel, meanwhile, clasped her hands together, her knuckles white.

I took a step back, quietly making my way towards the door. Whatever surprises Mr. Caldwell had planned for them, I wasn't sure I wanted to witness the fallout.

"In accordance with Mr. Caldwell's last will and testament, the entirety of his estate—including all financial assets, real estate holdings, business interests, and personal possessions—is hereby bequeathed to Astrid Bennett."

I froze.

The lawyer's words hit me like a punch to the gut. I slowly turned around, wondering if I had heard wrong. But the shocked looks on everyone's faces told me otherwise.

Paul shot up from his chair, his face a mask of shock and rage. "Who the hell is Astrid Bennett?" he demanded, his voice cracking.

"Me," I found myself saying in pure shock. My voice was barely audible but had the entire family's necks snapping in my direction.