So Whose Body Was in His Bed?

Eloise's POV

In my first life, blinded by greed, I claimed to be that mysterious woman. Silas glanced at my left shoulder and said coldly, "No butterfly tattoo." His bodyguards dragged me to the backyard and shattered my ribs with a baseball bat.

In my second life, Cleo learned from my mistake. She got the butterfly tattoo at an underground parlor. But Silas lifted her skirt and sneered, "No birthmark on her inner thigh." We were thrown into the frozen lake behind the mountain.

"Find her. She's in the West Wing." Silas Brennan's cold command echoed through the Brennan Estate again. Cleo and I locked eyes, terror gripping us.

We were the only maids in the West Wing.

The butler, Naomi Park, stood blankly at the door like a judge delivering a death sentence. "Madam, Mr. Brennan said you have exactly three days to hand over the woman in the West Wing who crawled into his bed. Otherwise, bear the consequences."

The door clicked shut, leaving a dead silence in its wake.

Genevieve’s head snapped toward us. Her eyes locked onto Cleo and me, dripping with venom.

"The West Wing... my private domain. And there’s a little slut hiding right under my nose?" She stormed toward us. "Spit it out! Was it one of you slum rats? You waited until I went to New York for the charity gala, stripped naked, and climbed into Silas's bed?!"

"No! Madam, it wasn't us!" Cleo shook uncontrollably.

"Shut up!" Genevieve raised her hand and delivered a brutal slap that sent Cleo crashing to the floor.

I violently wrenched myself from her grip and, without a second thought, ripped off my gray maid's uniform, standing only in my underwear.

"Look, Madam! We don't have tattoos, nor do we have birthmarks!" I turned and screamed at Cleo, "Strip! Show her!"

Sobbing, Cleo did the same.

"Put your filthy rags back on! You make me sick!" Genevieve pinched her nose in disgust, "If it isn't you two, it has to be someone else! Go—bring every single person who works in the West Wing to the main hall. Don't leave a single one behind!"

Ten minutes later, thirteen people stood in a rigid line down the West Wing corridor.

Cleo and I huddled in the corner, not daring to breathe.

Genevieve buried her hands in her blonde hair in despair, her perfectly powdered face contorting. "God... does Silas... enjoy this kind of sick thrill? Is the 'woman' he's looking for actually a man?!"

Just as she was on the verge of a breakdown, the heavy oak double doors at the end of the hall were violently shoved open.

Silas Brennan strode in. Wearing a dark bespoke suit, his tall, imposing figure and hawk-like gaze radiated a cold cruelty that made it impossible to meet his eyes.

"Did you find her?" His voice was a low rumble.

Genevieve stuttered as she rushed to meet him, pointing at the row of bewildered, burly men. "Silas, darling... I truly didn't realize your tastes had changed. Everyone in the West Wing is right here. Who... who caught your eye?"

"Genevieve, is your brain completely useless?!" Silas's voice suddenly spiked, his fury threatening to blow the roof off. "I told Naomi—find a woman! A real woman!"

Genevieve shrieked and scrambled backward. In her panic, her diamond-encrusted acrylic nails pointed wildly toward the corner where Cleo and I cowered.

"But... there are only two maids in the West Wing! Besides these two cheap scrubbers, there are no other women!"

Silas's gaze, sharp as an ice pick, followed her finger and landed on us.

A suffocating pressure seized my lungs. I squeezed my eyes shut in despair.

But he only looked for a second before letting out a scoff of utter contempt.

"These two malnourished, shriveled little mutts?" Silas made no effort to hide his absolute disgust. "Even if I were pumped with a ton of heavy psychedelics, my standards would never plunge into the gutter."

He turned back, gripping Genevieve's jaw, forcing her terrified face upward.

"Three days, Genevieve," he whispered, his voice light but laced with absolute murderous intent. "Dig up the woman hiding in the West Wing in three days. Or tell your lawyers to draft the divorce papers. I'll have you thrown out of the Brennan Estate with nothing but the clothes on your back."

With that, he tossed Genevieve aside like a dirty rag and walked away without a backward glance.

After a few seconds of dead silence, Genevieve—now completely unhinged—let out a bloodcurdling scream. She lunged at Cleo, straddled her, and slapped her frantically, her sharp nails leaving deep, bleeding gauges across my sister's face.

"Die! Die! You must be covering for that bitch! Dig her out—tear down the walls, rip up the floorboards if you have to! If you can't find her, you two will pay with your lives first!"

I threw myself forward, desperately hugging Genevieve's arm, only to take a vicious kick to the stomach that left me dry-heaving.

Right then, Cleo stopped struggling.

Letting the blood trail from her nose, her normally impulsive eyes glinted with a chilling, eerie light.

She stared dead into Genevieve's eyes, her lips pulling into a grotesque smile, and spoke in a raspy voice.

"Madam... have you forgotten? There are other women... in the West Wing."