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I’m breathing hard when I reach the security annex. The technician on duty straightens the second he sees me.

“Mr. Vexley⁠—”

“Out.”

“Sir?”

I step close enough that he has to tilt his head back to meet my eyes. “I need this room,” I say.

He looks toward the monitors, eyeing the whole system. “I…uh…”

I grab him by the front of his shirt and slam him back against the wall. His eyes go wide.

“If you don’t give me this room right now,” I say through clenched teeth, “I’ll tell my father you became a problem.”

The color drains from his face.

The technician nods once, too fast. “Yes, sir.”

I release him. He stumbles aside, one hand pressed to his chest where I wrinkled his shirt.

“Stay gone,” I say.

He doesn’t answer. He’s already gone.

I push into the security annex and lock the door behind me.

Monitors glow in neat rows, showing the estate split into pieces. Front drive. West lawn. Kitchen corridor. East service entrance. Wine cellar. Old guest wing hallway. All the eyes of Vexley House open at once.

I cross to the main console and wake the archive system.

Old guest wing.

Bedroom three.

The live feed appears first. The bed is rumpled. The sheet is half on the floor. My belt lies near the footboard.

Damn it.

I’ll get it later.

Right now I have to see what was recorded and get rid of it. I type in commands and find the archived feed.

I should delete it immediately.

That’s why I’m here.

That’s the only reason I’m here.

Erase the footage. Protect Ella. Remove the evidence before Father or anyone else can use it.

Instead, I watch.

I watch myself close the door.

Watch Ella turn toward me.

My hand hovers over the controls.