Chapter 4
The pale amber light of dawn crept slowly across the hardwood floors of the estate, bringing with it no sense of peace, only the stark reality of unfinished business. Toby woke up slowly, rubbing his eyes with small fists before sitting up on the Chesterfield sofa. The wool blanket slipped from his shoulders, pooling on the floor. For a fleeting second, confusion crossed his young face as he looked around the unfamiliar room, but memory quickly returned. He looked down at his chest. The white collared shirt had been replaced overnight with a soft grey cotton t-shirt, but the phantom weight of the red stain still lingered in his mind.
Elena was already awake, sitting in the wingback chair by the cold fireplace with a mug of black coffee cooling between her palms. She wore a simple cream-colored silk robe, her dark hair tied back in a loose, effortless knot. Hearing the rustle of fabric, she looked up and offered the boy a soft, reassuring smile.
“Good morning, sweetie,” Elena said softly, keeping her voice low so as not to wake Julian, who was dozing upright in the study chair across the room.
Toby padded softly across the rug and climbed into her lap, burying his face in the crook of her neck. Elena wrapped her arms around him tightly, breathing in the scent of shampoo and childhood. “Are we safe today?” he whispered, his voice trembling slightly.
“We are safe,” Elena promised, kissing the crown of his light brown hair. “No one is going to take you anywhere. Julian and I made sure of that.”
Julian stirred at the sound of their voices, blinking against the harsh morning light. He straightened up, rubbing the back of his neck with a grimace before flashing a tired, genuine smile at the boy. “Morning, champ. Hungry? I think the kitchen still has some of those blueberry pancakes from yesterday’s catering drop.”
Before Toby could answer, a sharp, insistent pounding echoed from the heavy oak front door of the estate. The sound was harsh, demanding, and entirely devoid of polite hesitation. Julian’s expression hardened instantly. He stood up, smoothing the wrinkles out of his black trousers—still wearing the uniform of the aborted reception—and walked toward the hallway.
Elena set Toby down gently on the sofa, her heart beginning to hammer against her ribs. “Stay here with me,” she whispered.
May you like
Julian pulled the heavy door open. Standing on the stone porch was not a process server or a family court investigator, but Detective Miller of the municipal police department, accompanied by two uniformed officers. Miller held a clipboard tightly against his chest, his expression flat and professional.
“Mr. Vance,” Detective Miller said, not bothering with pleasantries. “We received a formal welfare complaint and an allegation of custodial interference involving the minor child inside. I need to speak with Elena Vance and see the boy immediately.”
