8:30 A.M.
Westminster, London, England
Area: Soho
House No. 27 — The Harrington Family Residence
Near the window on the second floor, shards of a broken mirror lay scattered across the floor.
A strange figure stood there, gripping a sharp piece of the mirror — its edge stained with blood.
He stared into the fractured glass, trying to see his reflection, but the cracks distorted his face beyond recognition.
The unknown man turned away to leave. As he stepped forward, his foot brushed against a hand — a woman’s hand, holding a phone.
He glanced down briefly, then coldly moved it aside with his shoe and walked away.
On the floor below lay the babysitter, Amira Hussain, surrounded by a pool of blood.
A bluish bruise marked the side of her eye, and her blouse was soaked in crimson.
She had collapsed face down on the floor, and beside her lay a bloodied hammer.
Just a few steps away, the baby’s crib rocked gently, echoing with the desperate cries of a child.
The air inside the house was thick — heavy with the smell of blood and the baby’s wailing.
From outside the window, a young man was seen approaching the house.
The front door rattled with repeated knocks — but there was no response.
Outside stood Liam Harrington, age 24 — a DJ who worked nights.
As usual, he had returned home late. When no one answered the door, he called Amira’s phone, but she didn’t pick up.
He then called his mother, Margaret Harrington, who replied,
“Stay where you are, Liam. I’m coming.”
Margaret worked nearby as a manager in a grocery store.
Meanwhile, Liam walked around to the back of the house.
There, he noticed a ladder lying on the ground — stained with blood.
From the marks around it, it was clear someone had forced their way inside.
Without a second thought, Liam picked up the ladder and climbed through the window.
What he saw inside left him frozen in horror.
He ran toward Lydia, the baby girl, who was still crying loudly in the crib.
He lifted her in his arms, gently stroked her head, and tried to calm her down.
Terrified, trembling, he stepped forward — his shoes now smearing through fresh trails of blood.
Then his eyes fell on Amira’s motionless body.
Liam carefully placed Lydia back in the crib and rushed toward Amira.
He tried to lift her with shaking hands.
“Amira! Wake up… what happened to you?”
Then he noticed the deep wound on the left side of her face — blood still seeping out.
He knelt beside her, held her head in his lap, and broke down crying.
“It’s all because of me,” he sobbed. “I brought you here. This is all my fault!”
Amira’s blood had soaked into his shirt.
Liam screamed uncontrollably, clutching her wounded head like a madman.
Amira Hussain, the woman who had just been killed, was not just the babysitter — she was Liam’s girlfriend.
They had studied together, and when the Harringtons needed a babysitter after Lydia’s birth,
Liam himself had suggested that Amira take the job — so they could be close without anyone knowing about their relationship.
Just then, the door downstairs banged open.
Margaret Harrington had arrived.
Liam rushed to open it.
Seeing her son covered in blood, she exclaimed,
“What happened, Liam? Whose blood is this? And where’s Lydia?”
Hearing that, Liam clenched his fists, angry at her coldness.
“So selfish… Amira is lying dead upstairs, and all she cares about is Lydia.”
He thought bitterly.
“Amira was the one taking care of that baby when you and Dad were too busy to bother.”
Margaret Harrington was a traditional woman — she only treated people from her own Christian community with warmth.
She never liked Amira, often scolding her harshly for the smallest mistakes.
Margaret and Liam went upstairs together.
Margaret picked up the frightened baby from the crib, whispering softly,
“Shh… it’s okay, darling. Don’t cry. Everything’s fine.”
Liam, tears running down his face, said,
“Mom, look what they did to Amira… someone killed her — brutally!”
Margaret snapped,
“Stay away from her, Liam! Call the police. That’s their job — not yours!”
Liam ran downstairs and dialed 999, reporting everything in a trembling voice.
Within minutes, police cars, forensic teams, and an ambulance arrived.
A crowd gathered outside, whispering among themselves as officers began questioning the neighbors.
The police photographed the scene, collected evidence, and examined every corner.
The ambulance crew carried Amira’s lifeless body away.
Liam stood in silence, grief-stricken — but he didn’t tell his mother about his secret relationship with Amira.
Inspector Hamid Ansari approached Margaret.
“Please stay calm, Mrs. Harrington,” he said. “Tell me about the victim — who was she?”
Margaret replied,
“She was our babysitter, Amira Hussain. She’d been working here for two or three months.
Her parents live in Indonesia — she stayed here with her uncle and aunt.”
The inspector asked, “What kind of girl was she? Any relationships or personal conflicts?”
Margaret frowned. “Officer, she was quite… undisciplined. Didn’t care about her work.
God knows how many boys she was friendly with.”
Liam, standing nearby, snapped,
“Mom! She’s gone forever — at least don’t speak about her like that!”
Inspector Ansari turned to him. “Your son?”
“Yes,” Margaret said. “He’s innocent, doesn’t understand how the world works.”
The inspector continued, “Did Amira have a boyfriend?”
Liam glanced at his mother and said softly, “I don’t know, sir.”
“Who all live in this house?” the inspector asked.
Margaret replied,
“My husband Edward, my younger son Dominic, Liam, and baby Lydia. We all live together.”
Hamid Ansari said “Where are your husband and younger son now?”
Margaret replied “My husband’s on a business trip in Singapore. Dominic’s been staying with his grandparents for a few weeks.
I’ve already called him — he’ll be here soon.”
---
10:30 A.M.
The police, forensic team, and ambulance had all left.
Relatives and neighbors now filled the Harrington home.
Dominic had returned from his grandparents’ house — a 21-year-old with a temper and a taste for trouble.
He loved flirting, drinking, and causing chaos.
Liam glared at him; Dominic returned the look — emotionless, as if Amira’s death meant nothing.
Margaret spoke to their neighbor, Evelyn Carter:
“Amira was that kind of girl, you know… strange boys kept visiting when we weren’t home.”
Dominic added,
“Yes, Mom, I saw it too! Once I came home from college and saw her talking to some guy — upstairs in Dad’s room, door locked! She was always hiding something.”
Liam burst out,
“Liar! You do nothing but slander others!”
Dominic smirked,
“Why so defensive, brother? Am I wrong? Tell me, Mom — isn’t it true? Good thing that whore’s dead!”
Margaret just sighed and told Evelyn,
“Liam’s naive. He doesn’t understand anything.”
Liam stormed out, unable to bear it anymore.
Evelyn Carter, who had actually been friendly with Amira, knew they were lying —
and she also knew the truth: Liam and Amira were in love.
---
To be continued...
Westminster, London, England
Area: Soho
House No. 27 — The Harrington Family Residence
Near the window on the second floor, shards of a broken mirror lay scattered across the floor.
A strange figure stood there, gripping a sharp piece of the mirror — its edge stained with blood.
He stared into the fractured glass, trying to see his reflection, but the cracks distorted his face beyond recognition.
The unknown man turned away to leave. As he stepped forward, his foot brushed against a hand — a woman’s hand, holding a phone.
He glanced down briefly, then coldly moved it aside with his shoe and walked away.
On the floor below lay the babysitter, Amira Hussain, surrounded by a pool of blood.
A bluish bruise marked the side of her eye, and her blouse was soaked in crimson.
She had collapsed face down on the floor, and beside her lay a bloodied hammer.
Just a few steps away, the baby’s crib rocked gently, echoing with the desperate cries of a child.
The air inside the house was thick — heavy with the smell of blood and the baby’s wailing.
From outside the window, a young man was seen approaching the house.
The front door rattled with repeated knocks — but there was no response.
Outside stood Liam Harrington, age 24 — a DJ who worked nights.
As usual, he had returned home late. When no one answered the door, he called Amira’s phone, but she didn’t pick up.
He then called his mother, Margaret Harrington, who replied,
“Stay where you are, Liam. I’m coming.”
Margaret worked nearby as a manager in a grocery store.
Meanwhile, Liam walked around to the back of the house.
There, he noticed a ladder lying on the ground — stained with blood.
From the marks around it, it was clear someone had forced their way inside.
Without a second thought, Liam picked up the ladder and climbed through the window.
What he saw inside left him frozen in horror.
He ran toward Lydia, the baby girl, who was still crying loudly in the crib.
He lifted her in his arms, gently stroked her head, and tried to calm her down.
Terrified, trembling, he stepped forward — his shoes now smearing through fresh trails of blood.
Then his eyes fell on Amira’s motionless body.
Liam carefully placed Lydia back in the crib and rushed toward Amira.
He tried to lift her with shaking hands.
“Amira! Wake up… what happened to you?”
Then he noticed the deep wound on the left side of her face — blood still seeping out.
He knelt beside her, held her head in his lap, and broke down crying.
“It’s all because of me,” he sobbed. “I brought you here. This is all my fault!”
Amira’s blood had soaked into his shirt.
Liam screamed uncontrollably, clutching her wounded head like a madman.
Amira Hussain, the woman who had just been killed, was not just the babysitter — she was Liam’s girlfriend.
They had studied together, and when the Harringtons needed a babysitter after Lydia’s birth,
Liam himself had suggested that Amira take the job — so they could be close without anyone knowing about their relationship.
Just then, the door downstairs banged open.
Margaret Harrington had arrived.
Liam rushed to open it.
Seeing her son covered in blood, she exclaimed,
“What happened, Liam? Whose blood is this? And where’s Lydia?”
Hearing that, Liam clenched his fists, angry at her coldness.
“So selfish… Amira is lying dead upstairs, and all she cares about is Lydia.”
He thought bitterly.
“Amira was the one taking care of that baby when you and Dad were too busy to bother.”
Margaret Harrington was a traditional woman — she only treated people from her own Christian community with warmth.
She never liked Amira, often scolding her harshly for the smallest mistakes.
Margaret and Liam went upstairs together.
Margaret picked up the frightened baby from the crib, whispering softly,
“Shh… it’s okay, darling. Don’t cry. Everything’s fine.”
Liam, tears running down his face, said,
“Mom, look what they did to Amira… someone killed her — brutally!”
Margaret snapped,
“Stay away from her, Liam! Call the police. That’s their job — not yours!”
Liam ran downstairs and dialed 999, reporting everything in a trembling voice.
Within minutes, police cars, forensic teams, and an ambulance arrived.
A crowd gathered outside, whispering among themselves as officers began questioning the neighbors.
The police photographed the scene, collected evidence, and examined every corner.
The ambulance crew carried Amira’s lifeless body away.
Liam stood in silence, grief-stricken — but he didn’t tell his mother about his secret relationship with Amira.
Inspector Hamid Ansari approached Margaret.
“Please stay calm, Mrs. Harrington,” he said. “Tell me about the victim — who was she?”
Margaret replied,
“She was our babysitter, Amira Hussain. She’d been working here for two or three months.
Her parents live in Indonesia — she stayed here with her uncle and aunt.”
The inspector asked, “What kind of girl was she? Any relationships or personal conflicts?”
Margaret frowned. “Officer, she was quite… undisciplined. Didn’t care about her work.
God knows how many boys she was friendly with.”
Liam, standing nearby, snapped,
“Mom! She’s gone forever — at least don’t speak about her like that!”
Inspector Ansari turned to him. “Your son?”
“Yes,” Margaret said. “He’s innocent, doesn’t understand how the world works.”
The inspector continued, “Did Amira have a boyfriend?”
Liam glanced at his mother and said softly, “I don’t know, sir.”
“Who all live in this house?” the inspector asked.
Margaret replied,
“My husband Edward, my younger son Dominic, Liam, and baby Lydia. We all live together.”
Hamid Ansari said “Where are your husband and younger son now?”
Margaret replied “My husband’s on a business trip in Singapore. Dominic’s been staying with his grandparents for a few weeks.
I’ve already called him — he’ll be here soon.”
---
10:30 A.M.
The police, forensic team, and ambulance had all left.
Relatives and neighbors now filled the Harrington home.
Dominic had returned from his grandparents’ house — a 21-year-old with a temper and a taste for trouble.
He loved flirting, drinking, and causing chaos.
Liam glared at him; Dominic returned the look — emotionless, as if Amira’s death meant nothing.
Margaret spoke to their neighbor, Evelyn Carter:
“Amira was that kind of girl, you know… strange boys kept visiting when we weren’t home.”
Dominic added,
“Yes, Mom, I saw it too! Once I came home from college and saw her talking to some guy — upstairs in Dad’s room, door locked! She was always hiding something.”
Liam burst out,
“Liar! You do nothing but slander others!”
Dominic smirked,
“Why so defensive, brother? Am I wrong? Tell me, Mom — isn’t it true? Good thing that whore’s dead!”
Margaret just sighed and told Evelyn,
“Liam’s naive. He doesn’t understand anything.”
Liam stormed out, unable to bear it anymore.
Evelyn Carter, who had actually been friendly with Amira, knew they were lying —
and she also knew the truth: Liam and Amira were in love.
---
To be continued...
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