Claire sat beside Andrew on their bed, her gaze fixed on him, eager to know his thoughts about her plan. She had suggested something drastic and desperate—using their maid, Chantel, as a way to have a child. The idea had come from a deep yearning, a place of despair, but she hoped Andrew would find a way to make it work.
"What do you think?" she asked, breaking the silence that had grown heavy between them. Her voice was steady, but there was a nervous anticipation in her eyes.
Andrew hesitated, his expression thoughtful and troubled. "Well," he started slowly, "I was thinking... what if we made Chantel pregnant without her knowing? I mean, we could give her something to make her sleep really deeply at night. Then, I could..." He paused, the words almost sticking in his throat. "I could go to her room, and afterward, we'd put her back as if nothing happened. If she ends up pregnant, we could act surprised and pretend to be supportive, promising to help her with the baby. Once she gives birth, we could legally adopt the child and make sure Chantel signs a paper so she couldn't take the baby back later. After that, we could... let her go."
Claire's eyes widened with a mix of shock and excitement. She jumped up from the bed, her face lighting up. "That's a brilliant idea, Andrew! I knew you could figure out a way!" she exclaimed, smiling as if everything had just fallen perfectly into place.
Andrew's face remained serious. "Claire, for this to work, you'll have to start treating Chantel better. You can't yell at her or lose your temper anymore. We need her to trust us, to feel comfortable around us. If she senses anything strange, it could ruin everything."
Claire nodded eagerly. "I promise, I'll be sweet and calm. I'll do whatever it takes until this works," she said, her smile stretching a bit too wide, too forced.
Meanwhile, Chantel was in the kitchen preparing dinner. She was focused on the meal, trying to finish quickly as Claire had requested earlier. Just as she was about to add the last ingredient, she sensed someone behind her. Startled, she turned to find Claire watching her. In her shock, the spoon slipped from her hand, clattering to the floor.
"I'm sorry, ma'am," Chantel said quickly, bending to pick up the spoon. "I didn't mean to drop it." Her voice was shaky; she wasn't used to having Claire so close without hearing complaints or criticism.
But Claire surprised her. "It's all right, Chantel. I didn't mean to startle you," she said, her tone soft and calm. It was a gentleness that Chantel wasn't familiar with. Claire had always been stern, often harsh. Chantel wondered if she had done something right for once.
"I also want to apologize for the way I spoke to you earlier," Claire continued. "I was upset, but that was no excuse for taking it out on you."
Chantel looked up, unsure if she had heard correctly. An apology from Claire was something she had never experienced before. Since the day she started working for the Thompsons, Claire had made it clear she didn't think Chantel belonged there. It was Andrew who had insisted on hiring her, feeling sympathy for her difficult situation.
"Thank you, ma'am," Chantel said, still stunned. "I'm almost done with your favorite dish. I'm sorry it's a little late. I know you prefer eating earlier."
Claire waved her hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it. Andrew and I aren't very hungry tonight. Why don't you just leave the cooking for now and get some rest?"
Chantel blinked in surprise. "Are you sure, ma'am?" She wasn't sure if she could believe this sudden kindness.
Claire's smile tightened slightly. "Yes, I'm sure," she said, a hint of firmness in her voice, though it lacked the usual sharpness. As Chantel started to turn away, Claire stopped her again.
"Before you go, could you please take this juice to Andrew in the living room?" Claire asked, retrieving a bottle of orange juice from the fridge.
Chantel nodded, reaching for a glass and filling it with the juice. She then carried it to the living room where Andrew sat, his eyes following her as she placed the glass on the table in front of him.
While Chantel was out of the kitchen, Claire quickly slipped a tablet into another glass of juice—the sleeping pill dissolved almost instantly. When she heard Chantel returning, she was already at the counter, appearing to pour herself a drink.
"Ma'am, I can take care of that," Chantel offered, noticing the other glass on the counter.
"No, it's fine, dear. I've already served myself," Claire replied, glancing at the glass Chantel had used earlier. "Is that your drink there? Don't forget to finish it."
Chantel nodded, feeling uneasy but not wanting to seem ungrateful for Claire's change in behavior. She picked up her glass and drank, first hesitantly, then finished the rest. Claire watched closely, satisfied that everything was going as planned.
Soon after, the medication took effect, and Chantel was asleep in her bed. Andrew entered her room quietly, his steps cautious. He approached the bed, looking down at her as she lay unconscious, her breathing deep and steady. Guilt clawed at him, a wave of nausea rising in his stomach. But he steeled himself, reminding himself of the plan. It was what they had agreed to do.
In their own bedroom, Claire lay awake, unable to calm the storm of emotions churning inside her—jealousy, anticipation, even a sick kind of relief that they were moving forward. She clenched the sheets tightly, waiting for Andrew to return.
The next morning, Chantel awoke with a dull headache, her body heavy and her mind foggy. She couldn't shake a strange feeling, like something had happened during the night, but she couldn't remember anything clearly. Brushing it off, she forced herself to go about her day, convincing herself it was just a deep sleep.
Several weeks later, Chantel had a doctor's appointment for a routine check-up. The doctor's words left her stunned: she was three weeks pregnant. Chantel sat there in silence, unable to process the news. How could this be possible? She hadn't been with anyone in months. It didn't make sense.
"This... this can't be true," she whispered. "I don't understand."
The doctor gave her a sympathetic look. "The tests are accurate, Chantel. You're three weeks along. I know it must be a shock, but it's real."
Before Chantel could gather her thoughts, Claire stepped forward, her expression calm. "You heard the doctor, Chantel. Congratulations." Her tone was composed, but there was a slight edge to it. "We'll be here to help you through this, don't worry," she added.
Andrew stood next to her, nodding in agreement. "Yes, we'll support you and the baby. You're not alone," he said, though his words felt oddly detached.
As the months passed, Chantel continued her medical visits and discovered during a scan that she was carrying twins—a boy and a girl. Claire and Andrew reacted with delight, showering her with support and attention, but Chantel couldn't shake the unease building inside her. Their kindness seemed too generous, almost rehearsed. It gnawed at her, a growing suspicion that there was more to their concern than they were letting on.
The pieces slowly started to come together in her mind. The way Claire had suddenly become kinder, the constant reassurances about the baby, and the strange feeling she'd had that night weeks ago. It frightened her to think about it, but she couldn't ignore the possibility: could they have done something to make her pregnant?
One night, with her suspicions pushing her to the edge, Chantel made a decision. She had to leave. She had to get away before the twins were born, before Claire and Andrew could carry out whatever plan they had. She packed a small bag quietly, her heart racing, and slipped out the back door, hoping to escape without being noticed.
But as she hurried across the yard, she saw two guards at the gate, a precaution Claire had taken. Panic surged in her chest. She turned and ran toward the side gate, knowing it wasn't used often. She dashed through, her feet pounding against the ground, breath ragged with fear.
In the darkness, she didn't see the car approaching. She stumbled, the headlights blinding her, and then the impact hit. She fell hard, the world fading around her. The last thing she heard was Claire's voice calling her name, distant and hollow.
"Chantel! Someone get help!"
Darkness took over, leaving her fate—and that of her unborn children—in a perilous state, as Andrew and Claire's scheme began to unravel in the most tragic of ways.