CHAPTER 67: YOU ARE FIRED

In the Camden mansion, Rachel hovered nearby, wringing her hands until she forced herself to be still. She didn’t want to look as panicked as she felt.

Mr. Camden lay propped against pillows, his once commanding frame now unnervingly frail. The rise and fall of his chest was steadier now, thanks to the the oxygen mask fitted to his face, but it was not enough to ease the knot of fear choking her.

Sandra stood near the opposite side of the bed, her arms crossed, her heels clicking once against the floor in sharp impatience. She hadn’t said a word since brushing past Rachel earlier, but her silence was far from peaceful. It was heavy, simmering, like a storm that was gathering force.

The doctor finally straightened, adjusting his glasses. "He’s stabilized for now. He needs absolute rest and no exertion for the coming days. His condition is delicate." He glanced meaningfully between Rachel and Sandra before packing up his things. "If anything happens again, call me immediately. Don’t delay."

Rachel nodded quickly. "Of course."

Sandra’s reply was colder. "We’ll see that he gets proper care."

The doctor left soon after, murmuring to his assistant in the hallway, and the bedroom fell into a silence that seemed to press against Rachel’s chest.

But the silence didn’t last long as Sandra broke it.

"I don’t know where he found you," she said, her voice sharp as a blade, "but clearly you don’t understand the weight of the responsibility you’ve been given." Her eyes, hard and glinting, fixed on Rachel like they could pin her to the wall.

Rachel stiffened, forcing herself to meet that glare. "I do understand. I take my job very seriously—"

"Very seriously?" Sandra cut her off with a scoff. "If that were true, he wouldn’t have collapsed outside like a neglected old man in his own garden!" Sandra said, her voice barely contained.

Rachel flinched at the cruelty of the words, but anger quickly burned through her fear. She clenched her fists at her sides, keeping her voice steady but laced with heat. "With all due respect, you weren’t here. You don’t know what happened. I told him not to overexert himself. I tried to stop him. But your grandfather is a man who doesn’t yield easily. I’m sure you know that by now."

Sandra stepped closer, her chin lifting just as her brows shot up. "And you call that an excuse? You’re his caretaker. Hired to keep him from making these foolish mistakes. If you can’t even manage that, then what are you doing here?"

Rachel’s temper flared, her patience snapping under the weight of Sandra’s scorn. She’d kept quiet before while Sandra talked to her anyhow but not anymore.

Opening her mouth, Rachel said, her voice rising, "What I’m doing here is the job your grandfather hired me for. I care for him every day, from the moment I arrive until I leave. I watch his diet, his medicine, his rest. I argue with him when he refuses to listen, because I’d rather have him angry at me than have him fall sick. I was there when he fell. I caught him before he hit the ground and I called both you and the doctor here. So don’t you dare imply that I don’t care for him as if he were nothing to me!"

The words tumbled out before she could stop them, raw and unpolished, born of the panic and fear that still gripped her.

Sandra’s eyes flashed with fury, with a gling of unbelief. "How dare you raise your voice to me in this house?" She turned sharply toward the bed, her hand brushing the blanket at her grandfather’s side as if to stake her claim over him. "You’re finished here. Do you understand me? You are fired. Pack your things, that is if you have any, and get out before the day ends."

Rachel froze. The word fired echoed in her ears like a thunderclap. Her chest tightened painfully, but something in her refused to bow. Not this time. Not when she’d poured herself into this job, not when she’d fought tooth and nail against Henry Camden’s stubbornness because she wanted him to live.

"You can’t fire me," she said, her voice trembling but defiant. There was no way Rachel would let this small girl talk to her that way just because she was a caretaker.

Sandra’s head whipped back toward her, eyes narrowing. "I most certainly can. You’re here because I pushed him to get a caretaker in the first place. Don’t think for a second that makes you untouchable. You’re nothing but a servant in this house. If you think your word stands against mine, then clearly, you’re mistaken."

"Enough!"

The single word was faint but commanding, rasped out from the bed. Both women turned sharply.

Henry Camden’s eyes were half open, his gaze weak but sharp as it moved between them. He tugged the oxygen mask aside, ignoring Rachel’s alarmed protest. His voice was hoarse, but it carried weight.

"She stays."

Sandra blinked, taken aback. "Grandfather, you need rest—"

"I need loyalty," Henry interrupted, his breathing labored but his tone unwavering. "And Rachel has given me that. She does her duty, even when I fight her at every turn. She’s not perfect, but neither am I. You will not dismiss her from this house. This isn’t her fault."

Rachel’s heart thudded in her chest, shock and something warmer mingling inside her. He was defending her. Henry Camden — the man who bickered with her every day, who called her bossy and stubborn — was defending her against his granddaughter.

For all she knew, he hated the idea of having a caretaker so why was he defending her and insisting she stayed?

Sandra’s jaw tightened, her lips pressed into a thin line. "Grandfather, she disrespected me. She spoke out of turn—"

"And you disrespected her, too," Henry countered, though his voice was softer now, his strength waning. "She has earned her place here. That is my decision, not yours. You may not like it, but you will respect it."

The silence that followed was thick. Sandra’s hands curled into fists at her sides, her nostrils flaring. For a moment, Rachel thought she might argue again, but then Sandra exhaled sharply, snapping her gaze toward Rachel with a glare that could have cut glass.

"Fine," Sandra said through clenched teeth. "You’re lucky he spoke for you. But hear me now—" She took a deliberate step closer, her voice low, cold, and venomous. "If anything like this happens again, if you let him so much as stumble under your watch, you won’t walk away so easily. You were hired to care for him, so do it properly."

Rachel held her ground, though her pulse raced. She refused to let Sandra see her fear. "I already am."

Sandra’s eyes narrowed further, but she didn’t reply. Instead, she turned on her heel and walked to the door, her heels striking the floor in clipped, angry beats.