Chapter 7
The murmurs of the gala guests swelled into a cacophony of judgment. Elegant men and women were openly glaring at Victoria, some already pulling out their phones to text their lawyers, PR agents, or the press. The reigning queen of the city’s high society had just been exposed as a monster of the lowest order.
Alexander ignored the crowd. He lowered himself onto one knee, resting Sophia on his thigh so he could look her directly in the eyes.
"How long, Sophia?" he asked, his voice steady but utterly devoid of warmth. "How long has she been hurting you?"
Victoria scrambled to her knees, desperate to stem the bleeding of her reputation. "Alexander, don't listen to her! The child is a pathological liar! She has a sickness of the mind, just like her mother did! I had to confine her for her own safety!"
"If you speak of my late wife again, I will kill you right here on this floor," Alexander stated. He didn't yell. The cold, factual delivery of the threat was far more terrifying than his earlier roar. Victoria snapped her mouth shut, choking on her own panic.
Alexander turned his attention back to his daughter. "Look at me, sweetheart. You don't ever have to lie to protect her again. How long?"
Sophia sniffled, wiping her nose with the back of her dirty hand. "Since my birthday," she whispered. "After you sent the big dollhouse. She sold it. She sold all my toys. Then she moved me down to the room where the furnace is."
Alexander calculated the timeline. Her birthday was eight months ago. For eight months, he had been receiving forged updates, glowing emails about her progress in horseback riding and French lessons, all while his daughter slept on a concrete floor next to a boiler.
"And the food?" he asked, dreading the answer.
"She said food was for children who deserved it," Sophia recited mechanically, the twisted logic of her abuser clearly drilled into her young mind. "I had to earn it by scrubbing the floors. But I was too weak, Daddy. I dropped the bucket, so she said I didn't get to eat for three days."
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A woman in the front row of the crowd burst into tears, turning into her husband's shoulder. The sheer cruelty was unfathomable. Alexander stood up slowly, bringing Sophia with him. He didn't look at his mother again. She was no longer a person to him; she was a corpse waiting to be buried by the lawyers.
He turned his gaze to the hotel manager, who was sweating profusely near the exit. "You," Alexander barked. "Call the police. Now."
