Chapter 3 - The Familiar Face
Greg stood in the entryway, holding a stack of metal folding chairs balanced effortlessly against his hip. His plaid shirt was neatly buttoned, his smile polite and entirely devoid of any visible malice. He looked like the quintessential suburban neighbor, the kind of man who mowed his lawn every Saturday and volunteered at the local animal shelter. But to Mark, standing inches away with white-hot fury burning in his veins, Greg looked like a demon wearing a very convincing human mask.
"Hey, buddy," Greg said smoothly, taking another step inside without waiting for an invitation. His eyes flicked down toward the ruined white and pink cake on the floor, then darted quickly back up to Mark’s rigid face. "Whoa. Looks like you had a bit of a mishap with the dessert. Everything okay here?"
Clara scrambled to her feet, still holding a weeping Ethan against her hip. Her face was pale, drained of all color as she stared at the man who had spent the entire afternoon laughing and drinking lemonade with them in the backyard.
"Get out," Clara said, her voice shaking with a terrifying intensity. "Get out of our house right now, Greg."
Greg blinked, feigning a look of hurt confusion. He shifted the folding chairs in his arms, adjusting his posture with practiced ease.
"Clara, what's wrong? Did I do something to upset you guys? I just came to return the chairs like I promised."
"You know damn well what you did," Mark snarled, lunging forward with blinding speed.
Before Greg could even blink, Mark’s massive hand shot out and grabbed him by the collar of his plaid shirt, lifting him slightly off his feet and slamming him hard against the hallway wall. The metal folding chairs slipped from Greg's grip, clattering loudly against the hardwood floor and scattering in different directions. Ethan screamed, burying her face completely in Clara’s neck as the violent confrontation erupted in the confined space.
Greg didn't fight back. He didn't flinch, nor did he look genuinely afraid. Instead, a slow, chilling smile spread across his lips as he looked straight into Mark’s dilated, bloodshot eyes.
"You think you're protecting her, don't you, Mark?" Greg whispered, his voice eerily calm despite being choked by his own collar. "You think smashing a cake fixes what happened in the kitchen?"
Mark’s fist pulled back, ready to shatter Greg’s jaw, but the words froze him mid-swing. The knuckles of his right hand hovered mere centimeters from Greg's nose.
"What did you say?" Mark growled, his voice trembling.
Greg chuckled softly, a low, grating sound that made Clara’s stomach churn with nausea. He raised his left hand, the heavy silver ring catching the overhead light, and tapped Mark lightly on the chest.
May you like
"Check your phone, Mark," Greg whispered smoothly. "The video was uploaded ten minutes ago."
---
