The Billionaire's Hot Nanny
Sara.
My breath caught in my throat as I saw the scene before me. The vibrant color of blood oozing onto the white carpet sent a shiver down my spine, and the metallic scent filled the room, making me dizzy with fear. Her body lay crumpled on the once-luxurious carpet, the rich crimson of her blood seeping into its fibers. Her limbs twisted unnaturally, her face locked in a silent scream. But it was the knife—deep, jagged, and still embedded in her chest—that burned into my mind.
The air left my lungs as I took a step forward. “Sara,” I whispered, the word barely audible. My heart clenched as memories of her kindness, her sacrifices, collided with the brutal reality before me.
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