He Saved His Baby Sister, Then His Stepmother Pointed at Him — Until the Nanny-Cam Played

Astrid's lawyer arrived before the police car even left the estate

Two hours later, I was sitting in the mansion's grand study with my father, still in my damp clothes, while Sophie napped in the nursery and Maya hovered near the door, clutching her tablet like a shield.

Astrid's lawyer, a slick man in a charcoal suit, had arrived within the hour. He stood in front of my father's mahogany desk, speaking in calm, measured tones.

"Mr. Montgomery, I assure you, this is all a misunderstanding," he said. "My client was merely adjusting the carriage's brake. The nanny-cam footage is misleading—the angle distorts her actions."

I nearly laughed. "Distorts her actions? She literally says she wanted the carriage to roll into the pool."

The lawyer didn't even look at me. "That recording will be challenged in court. And in the meantime, my client demands that the security footage be preserved as evidence."

My father's jaw tightened. "Astrid won't set foot in this house again. You can tell her that."

But the lawyer just smiled. "I'm afraid that's not your decision, Mr. Montgomery. You see, your wife—" he paused, pulling a folded document from his briefcase, "—has a prenuptial agreement that grants her a substantial settlement if you attempt to divorce her within the first three years of marriage. And you've only been married for two and a half."

The study fell silent.

I watched my father's face go pale as he scanned the document. "This is ridiculous. She tried to harm my daughter."

"Allegedly," the lawyer corrected. "And the settlement clause doesn't differentiate between alleged and proven. If you want to pursue a criminal case, you'll have to pay her off first. Five million dollars."

My stomach dropped.

"She planned this," I said, my voice low. "She set up the carriage, she framed me, and she made sure you couldn't get rid of her without paying her a fortune."

Maya stepped forward, her eyes bright with anger. "But we have the video. We can show it to the police."

"The police are already involved," my father said, rubbing his temples. "But the video alone might not be enough to override a prenuptial agreement. This is a civil matter now."

I looked at the lawyer, who was packing his briefcase with a smug smile. "And what does Astrid want?" I asked.

The lawyer paused. "She wants to return to the mansion. She insists she's innocent, and she's prepared to fight for her place in this family."

My father stood up, his voice cold. "She can fight all she wants. She's not coming back."

But as the lawyer left, I couldn't shake the feeling that Astrid had more cards to play. And I was right.

That night, I found a message on my phone from an unknown number. It was a photo—a picture of me, taken from the terrace that morning, just as I dove in front of the carriage. The timestamp was 12:08:35.

Two seconds before Astrid appeared in the nanny-cam footage.

And in the background, barely visible behind a marble column, was a figure in a uniform.

One of the estate security guards.

And he was holding a phone, pointed directly at me.