Chapter 3
The tension in the brightly lit foyer was suffocating. The cinematic, natural light pouring through the windows illuminated every sharp, cruel detail of Claudia's face. She possessed the kind of fair, rosy beauty that belonged on a magazine cover, but her soul was undeniably rotten. She swirled the red wine in her glass, stepping squarely in front of her husband to block him from moving toward the hallway closets.
"Mark isn't getting anything," Claudia stated firmly, her voice echoing with cold, mocking superiority. She raised her hand and pointed a manicured finger directly toward Lily, her expression twisting with extreme contempt. "She hasn't finished serving her time out there. You will put her back outside, Richard."
Richard stared at his daughter-in-law, his mind struggling to process the sheer, psychopathic audacity of her demand. The snow on Lily’s face and hair was finally beginning to melt in the warmth of the house, dripping down her pale cheeks and soaking into Richard’s silk tie. The little girl was shaking so violently that Richard could feel her teeth chattering against his chest.
"You are out of your mind," Richard growled, his voice dropping an octave into a dangerous, lethal register. He tightened his protective grip on the petite, adorable child. "If you think for one second I am going to let you near this little girl ever again, you are dead wrong."
"I am her mother," Claudia snapped back, her eyes narrowing.
"You are her stepmother," Richard corrected viciously, his commanding presence filling the entire room. "And you have never been a mother to her for a single day of her life. Mark! I am talking to you! Look at your daughter!"
Mark Whitaker shifted uncomfortably on his feet. He was a forty-four-year-old man, yet he looked like a scolded child. He deliberately avoided his father’s piercing, furious eyes. He looked at the floor, at the wall, at the expensive artwork hanging in the foyer—anywhere but at the freezing, barefoot child clinging to his father’s neck.
"Dad, please, just calm down," Mark mumbled, his American accent weak and wavering. "You're overreacting. We were keeping an eye on her through the window."
"Overreacting?" Richard repeated, the word tasting like venom in his mouth. "She is wearing a torn T-shirt and shorts! In a blizzard! Mark, be a man for once in your miserable life and stand up for your child!"
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Claudia scoffed loudly, taking another sip of her wine. She looked at Richard with a smug, arrogant smile that made her rosy cheeks lift perfectly.
"This is my house," Claudia declared, stepping closer to Richard, completely unafraid of the powerful older man. She gestured toward her cowering husband with her wineglass. "And he follows my rules. Put the brat down, Richard, and get out of my foyer before I call the police for trespassing."
