Chapter 2 - The Stuffed Rabbit
Julian’s chest tightened again, not from lack of air this time, but from a cold wave of dread that washed over him. He looked down at the young girl beside him. Lily’s braided hair fell over her shoulders as she clutched the blue inhaler in one hand and hugged the stuffed rabbit closer to her chest with the other.
“Lily,” Julian said softly, his voice dropping to a cautious whisper.
“What did Marcus mean? What’s inside your toy?”
Lily didn’t answer immediately. Her small chest rose and fell with natural, shallow breathing, her big eyes darting between Julian, Clara, and the sharply dressed man standing in the doorway. She tilted her head, a micro-expression of deep fear crossing her pale features.
“It’s just cotton,” Lily whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the distant ventilation system.
“And my music box.”
Marcus laughed, a dry, humorless sound that lacked any warmth. He walked slowly across the polished marble, his polished shoes clicking rhythmically against the stone.
“A music box,” Marcus repeated, stopping just a few feet away.
“Is that what your handlers called it before they locked you in the underground west wing? Let’s be honest, Lily. You aren’t supposed to be wandering the main residence.”
Clara uncrossed her arms, stepping down the last two steps to join the circle of tension. Her face had paled even further.
“An underground west wing? Marcus, what are you implying? This estate has no underground residential facilities on the architectural blueprints.”
“Blueprints can be altered, Clara,” Julian stated coldly, never taking his eyes off Marcus.
“Marcus has managed the estate’s structural expansions for over a decade. If there’s a hidden wing, he’s the one who built it.”
Marcus raised an eyebrow, unfazed by the accusation.
“I only follow protocols, Julian. Protocols established by the board of directors. Protocols designed to keep certain corporate liabilities hidden from the public eye. And from you.”
Julian struggled to his feet, ignoring the faint dizziness in his head. He towered over Marcus, his dark hair disheveled, his black suit jacket ruined.
“Liability?” Julian snarled.
“She’s a child! What kind of corporation keeps a little girl in an underground wing?”
“The kind of corporation you built, Julian,” Marcus whispered sharply, leaning in close.
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“Do you really not recognize her last name?”
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