Chapter 1: The Extraction
Chapter 1: The Extraction
"...left handprints around her throat?" I finished, my voice dropping to a gravelly whisper that seemed to freeze the air in the room. The ambient chatter of the Easter party outside the study door faded into a dull, meaningless hum.
Richard’s bored, arrogant smile faltered, just for a fraction of a second. He adjusted the cuffs of his bespoke suit, trying to project authority. "Arthur, you're trespassing. I suggest you leave before I have my security escort you out. We are hosting the mayor, for God's sake."
I didn't blink. I didn't argue. I simply reached down and scooped Lily into my arms. She was terrifyingly light, her frame shivering uncontrollably like a frightened bird. She buried her bruised face into my chest, her tears soaking through my worn cotton shirt. The smell of her expensive perfume was masked by the metallic tang of dried blood on her lip.
"Put her down," Richard demanded, stepping forward, the amber whiskey sloshing over the rim of his crystal glass and staining his expensive Persian rug. "She is my wife. She stays here. This is a private marital matter."
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"If you take one more step," I said, my voice entirely devoid of emotion, hollow and cold like an empty grave, "I will snap your neck in front of your mother and your guests, and I will sleep perfectly fine tonight."
The sheer, dead certainty in my eyes stopped him cold. He recognized something then—not a concerned father’s anger, which he could manipulate, but a predator’s absolute promise. I turned my back to him, carrying my daughter past the silent, staring guests holding their champagne flutes, out the heavy oak door, and down the sprawling marble steps. His flawless little world had cracked. Now, I was going to shatter it into a million unrecognizable pieces.
