Chapter 8
For a long, agonizing moment, the only sound in the corridor was the faint, distant string quartet playing brightly in the ballroom downstairs. It was a grotesque, cheerful soundtrack to the nightmare unfolding above.
Isabella Sterling pressed her manicured hands flat against the mahogany wainscoting, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps. The red mark of William's hand was blooming vividly across her fair cheek. She looked up at her husband, searching for any trace of the man she had manipulated for three years. She found nothing but the cold, uncompromising wrath of a father pushed to the edge of murder.
"William... you have to listen to me," Isabella stammered, her voice shaking, stripped of all its former cultured elegance. "He... Ethan is sick. You know he's been acting out. The doctors said he needed confinement, he needed discipline—"
"Liar!" Emma yelled, the word tearing from her throat before she could stop it. She adjusted Ethan in her arms, feeling the boy flinch at the loud noise. "There's a dog bowl in that wall, Mr. Sterling. She gave him a bone to chew on. She was trying to starve him to death!"
William’s eyes flicked to the dark opening in the wall, truly registering the ceramic bowl and the empty plastic bottle resting in the dust. The rugged, protective strength of his posture seemed to buckle for a fraction of a second under the weight of immense grief, only to reforge itself into pure steel.
He turned his back on Isabella, dismissing her entirely as a threat, and walked toward Emma. The young housekeeper’s heart ached as she saw the tears welling in the man’s eyes.
"Ethan," William choked out, dropping to his knees on the carpeted runner, heedless of the broken glass. He reached out his large, shaking hands.
"Dad!" Ethan sobbed, releasing his death grip on Emma and throwing his small, dusty body into his father’s arms.
William caught him, burying his face in the boy's filthy shirt, pulling him tightly against his chest. He rocked his son, crying openly, the ruggedly handsome man broken by the realization of how close he had come to losing his boy.
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"I've got you, buddy. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry," William repeated, his voice cracking.
Emma took a step back, giving them space, wiping her own tears with the back of her white gloves. As she watched the reunion, movement caught her eye. Isabella was edging along the wall, inching toward the staircase, her terrified eyes locked on the exit. The monster was trying to slip back into the party, trying to escape before the trap fully closed around her.
