Too Late For Regret, Mr. CEO

Arden pushed open the door to the maid's quarters, dragging her heavy suitcase behind her. A wave of stale, musty air hit the back of her throat. The room was suffocatingly small. It held nothing but a narrow twin bed and a chipped wooden wardrobe. The single window looked out at a solid brick wall, blocking out all natural light. She laid her suitcase flat on the thin mattress. Just as she unzipped it to take out her clothes, Brenda leaned against the doorframe, a nasty smirk on her face. "Since you live back here now, you follow the staff rules," Brenda sneered. "No more playing the grand lady of the house." Arden did not even look at her. She reached into her bag, pulled out a framed photo of her mother, and set it carefully on the wobbly nightstand. Brenda's face flushed with anger at being ignored. She walked into the room and deliberately kicked Arden's open toiletry bag that was sitting on the floor. Bottles of lotion and glass serums spilled out, rolling across the cheap linoleum floor. Arden took a deep breath. She forced the rising heat of anger down into her stomach, crouched down, and started picking up the bottles in silence. Maeve, the older housekeeper who had worked for the family for decades, walked in carrying a stack of clean sheets. Seeing the mess, Maeve immediately used her shoulder to shove Brenda out of the way. "Watch yourself, Brenda," Maeve snapped harshly. "The paperwork isn't finalized yet. She is still Mrs. Monroe." Brenda rolled her eyes dramatically, let out a loud huff, and twisted her hips as she walked out of the room. Maeve knelt down, her wrinkled hands gently helping Arden gather the scattered bottles. She pulled Arden up and led her to sit on the edge of the stiff twin bed. Maeve leaned in close, dropping her voice to a hushed whisper. "You have to understand, ma'am. Mr. Federico and his brother Jude fought a bloody war over the family succession years ago." Maeve explained the rumors that had haunted the staff quarters for years. "The old estate staff all say that during the succession war, Jude used a woman to break Mr. Federico's heart and publicly humiliate him. We don't know the exact boardroom details, but we saw the aftermath." "He is terrified of betrayal. It makes him blind." Arden listened to the old family secrets. It suddenly made sense why Federico lost his mind over the antique necklace, why he was so paranoid about her and Jude. But understanding his trauma did not erase the cruelty of his actions. Arden offered a sad, hollow smile and shook her head. "It doesn't matter anymore, Maeve. It's too late." Maeve sighed heavily. She reached deep into the pocket of her apron and pulled out a torn envelope. She pressed it into Arden's hands. "This came in the morning mail. Registered letter," Maeve whispered. "Brenda was going to throw it in the trash. I hid it." Arden frowned. She looked at the return address. It was from the elite law firm that managed the Monroe family trusts. She quickly pulled the thick letter out and scanned the first paragraph. Her pupils dilated. Her heart started slamming against her ribs in a rapid, heavy rhythm. The letter stated that the specific clause regarding Isolde Mitchell's medical trust in the prenuptial agreement contained ambiguous legal phrasing. The firm concluded that until a judge officially ruled on the validity of that specific clause, neither party had the legal right to unilaterally terminate the trust payments. The money was temporarily safe from his immediate control, though the impending divorce would eventually sever all ties. Knowing she still had this one piece of legal leverage over her mother's life support was everything. She clutched the letter to her chest like a shield. "Thank you, Maeve," Arden said, her voice suddenly firm. She opened her suitcase, bypassed her comfortable sweatpants, and pulled out a sharp, tailored business suit. She stripped off her casual clothes and dressed quickly. She needed to get to the sanatorium and the trust bank immediately to find out who actually stopped the money. Arden walked out of the maid's room. Her steps were heavy and purposeful as she marched down the long hallway, the previous defeat completely wiped from her posture. She walked through the massive living room, completely ignoring Brenda's shocked stare, and headed straight for the private elevator. The metal doors slid shut. Arden looked at her reflection in the polished steel. Her eyes were no longer red and swollen. They were sharp, focused, and entirely cold.