Chapter 2
Julian's hands hovered over Clara's arms, his fingers trembling as he tried to find a place that wasn't bruised or cut. The scent of damp earth and stale sweat hung in the air, a stark contrast to the usual crisp lavender and polished mahogany that defined their luxurious home. He looked up into her pale, haunted face, searching for the vibrant daughter he had kissed goodbye only three days prior. “What's happening here? Are you in a lot of pain?” he asked, his voice cracking with a raw, desperate vulnerability that he rarely showed to the outside world. Clara stared into his eyes, her lower lip trembling slightly as she fought against the conditioning of weeks of psychological torment. She swallowed hard, her throat painfully dry, and glanced back toward the imposing double doors of the mansion. “She made me do it... she threatened to starve me,” Clara whispered, the words escaping in a fragile, broken rush. Julian's brow furrowed deeply, lines of fierce, protective rage etching themselves across his forehead. His mind raced through the impossible timeline. Helena was supposed to be in Florida managing their southern real estate holdings for the entire week. There was no logistical reason for her to be here, let alone terrorizing Clara to the point of physical exhaustion and injury. Yet the undeniable evidence lay right in front of him—the bandages, the filth, the sheer terror radiating from his only daughter. Julian pulled her gently toward his chest, careful not to jostle her injured knees, and looked up at the towering facade of the mansion with cold, calculating fury. “Where is that woman?” he demanded, his voice dropping an octave, ringing with a dangerous chill that promised an immediate and uncompromising reckoning.
