Chapter 5
The west wing of the mansion was a stark contrast to the opulent, echoing dining hall. The corridors here were lined with soft, plush carpets and warm, muted lighting, designed specifically to be a sanctuary for a child. Callum walked silently down the hall, his broad shoulders carrying the heavy burden of the evening's revelations. He stopped outside the heavy oak door of Ellis’s nursery.
He pushed the door open gently. The room was bathed in the soft glow of a bedside lamp. Ellis was sitting on the edge of his large bed, dressed in a fresh, oversized cotton pajama shirt. His hair was damp from the bath, and he was clutching a stuffed bear tightly against his chest.
Nessa was kneeling on the floor in front of him, gently rubbing a soothing ointment onto the angry red marks the iron cuff had left on the boy's delicate ankle. She had discarded her white apron, the black maid dress looking softer and less formal in the dim light. She spoke in low, comforting murmurs, her beautiful, heart-shaped face radiating a profound maternal warmth.
“Is it stinging too much, sweetheart?” Nessa asked softly.
“A little bit,” Ellis sniffled. “Will Papa be mad at me for ruining the dinner?”
“Would I ever be angry with you for the sins of another, Ellis?” Callum asked, stepping fully into the room.
Nessa gasped softly, her head snapping up. She stood quickly, smoothing down the front of her black dress, her expressive brows drawing together in a mixture of respect and lingering fear. Ellis looked up, his eyes widening.
“Papa,” Ellis whispered.
Callum crossed the room in three long strides. He knelt on the floor exactly where Nessa had been, ignoring the crease it would put in his tailored trousers. He looked closely at the angry, bruised skin around his son's ankle. The muscles in his sharply defined jaw ticked violently.
“Does it hurt when you walk?” Callum asked, looking up into his son’s tear-stained face.
“No, Papa,” Ellis lied bravely, though his voice wavered.
Callum reached out, wrapping his large, tattooed hands gently around his son’s small frame, pulling the boy into a fierce, protective embrace. He buried his face in Ellis’s damp hair, closing his eyes as a wave of immense, suffocating guilt washed over him.
“Will you ever forgive me for not seeing this sooner?” Callum asked, his deep voice cracking slightly.
Ellis wrapped his arms tightly around his father’s neck. “I forgive you, Papa. I just didn't want her to be my new mom.”
Callum pulled back slightly, his hands resting on the boy's small shoulders. He looked up at Nessa, who was standing near the edge of the bed, her hands clasped tightly together, her own cheeks wet with tears.
“Has she done this before, Nessa?” Callum asked, his observant eyes locking onto hers.
Nessa swallowed hard, terrified of the consequences of speaking ill of the powerful Ward family, but entirely unable to lie to the man kneeling before her.
“Are you asking if she has chained him before, sir?” Nessa clarified softly.
“Has she inflicted any form of cruelty upon him while I was blind to it?” Callum asked, rephrasing the question with agonizing precision.
“She... she would lock him in the closets when he cried for you,” Nessa confessed, her voice trembling. “She told the staff that if anyone reported it to you, she would have us dismissed and ensure we never found work in this city again. I wanted to tell you, Mr. Whitestone. I swear it. But I was afraid she would retaliate against him if she found out I spoke.”
“Did you believe I would allow her to harm a single hair on your head if you came to me with the truth?” Callum asked, rising slowly to his feet, his towering frame casting a long shadow over the nursery.
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Nessa looked up into his cold, watchful eyes, finding a sudden, unexpected warmth burning deep within them. “I didn't know you, sir. I only knew her.”
“Will you trust me now, Nessa?” Callum asked.
