Chapter 1: The Word That Shattered Everything
The solid wooden hockey stick str*ck Grace across the shoulder before she could move four-year-old Lily out of the way.
The sound echoed through the vaulted ceilings of my polished marble kitchen—a sharp, sickening crack that sent Grace collapsing to her knees against the chilly tile.
She didn't scream.
She didn't offer a single word of defense for herself.
Instead, she wrapped her body completely around the frightened child, using her own back as a human shield while her little hands trembled against the black-and-white fabric of her uniform.
“Please,” Grace gasped, her voice barely a whisper as she fought for oxygen.
“Don't h*rt my child.
Take whatever you want.
Just don't h*rt her.”
Victoria stood over them, framed by the floor-to-ceiling windows of my suburban estate.
She was wearing her pristine ivory designer dress, the fabric spotless, her knuckles white as her manicured fingers tightened around the shaft of the stick.
Her face wasn't twisted with rage; it was set in a terrible, icy calm.
A faint, cruel smile touched the edges of her lips as she looked down at the woman on the floor.
“De@d people keep secrets, Grace,” Victoria whispered, her voice dangerously soft, carrying across the silent kitchen.
“And living ones become very inconvenient when there's fifty million dollars on the line.”
She raised the heavy stick high above her head a second time, taking a deliberate step back to anchor her footing for a full, forceful swing.
I stood frozen in the doorway, my leather briefcase slipping from my fingers and hitting the hardwood entry floor with a muted thud.
My keycard was still clutched in my right hand.
I was supposed to be in a board meeting across town for another three hours, but a rescheduled merger call had brought me home early to my quiet, gated neighborhood.
“Victoria!” The shout tore from my throat before my brain could fully process what my eyes were seeing.
Victoria turned at once.
Her face drained of all color, the cruel composure evaporating into sheer panic in less than a second.
Her hands jerked back, and the hockey stick slipped from her fingers, clattering loudly across the marble tile before coming to rest against the stainless steel refrigerator.
“Nathan…” she stammered, stepping back, her hands rising defensively to her chest.
“Nathan, baby—it’s not what it looks like.
She was stealing.
She was going through your safe upstairs, I caught her, and she att@cked me—”
Before she could finish the lie, the small child tucked beneath Grace’s arms slowly lifted her head.
Lily locked her wide, tear-filled brown eyes directly onto mine.
She didn't look at Victoria.
She didn't look at her mother.
She looked straight at me, her tiny bottom lip trembling, and spoke a single word that shattered my life into a thousand jagged pieces.
“Daddy…”
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Why did Lily call Nathan “Daddy”—and how will Victoria react?
Comment “NEXT” for Part 2.
