Chapter 7: The Midnight Audit
The grandfather clock in the downstairs hallway chimed twice, its deep, resonant gong echoing through the cavernous silence of the penthouse. It was 2:00 AM.
In the guest suite down the hall from Eleanor’s master wing, the room was dark except for the faint amber glow of the city lights bleeding through the heavy velvet drapes. Leo lay awake on top of the oversized king-sized mattress, staring up at the intricate plaster molding on the ceiling. He hadn't bothered to take off his old jacket or his scuffed sneakers. He curled on his side, his knees pulled up to his chest, clutching the small folded paper in his fist so tightly the edges were beginning to fray.
A soft click sounded at the bedroom door. The heavy oak panel swung inward by a fraction of an inch, revealing a sliver of light from the hallway.
Clara slipped into the room, moving with the quiet grace of a ghost. She wore a silk bathrobe, her blonde hair falling loosely around her shoulders without its usual severe pins. She closed the door softly behind her and walked over to the edge of the bed.
"Leo?" she whispered, her voice cracking slightly in the stillness.
The boy didn't move. He kept his hazel eyes fixed on the ceiling, his breathing slow and measured. He had learned that speaking in the middle of the night usually brought Eleanor running, and Eleanor at night was even more terrifying than Eleanor by day.
Clara sat down cautiously on the edge of the mattress, the springs groaning softly under her weight. She reached out a hesitant hand, hovering just inches above Leo’s messy hair, as if afraid to touch him without permission.
"Are you awake?" she asked again, a desperate, pleading note in her tone.
"I'm awake," Leo said quietly, his voice devoid of emotion.
Clara let out a shaky breath, her shoulders slumping as she pulled her hand back and rested it in her lap. "I'm sorry about tonight, sweetheart. Mother... Mother only wants what is best for the family name. She believes that if we polish the edges hard enough, everything will turn out fine."
"She wants me to go away," Leo said, turning his head slowly on the pillow to look at his mother. His big hazel eyes reflected the city light, shining with a heartbreaking clarity. "She told Jax I belong in the hospital."
Clara flinched as if struck. She pressed her fingertips to her lips, blinking rapidly to hold back tears. "She doesn't understand you, Leo. None of them do. But you have to try harder to fit in. When you stare into space like that, when you do those... performances... it terrifies her."
"It's not a performance," Leo whispered, his chest rising and falling as he took a deliberate pause before continuing. "It's just how I see things."
Before Clara could answer, a low knock sounded at the door. It wasn't Eleanor’s sharp, commanding rap. It was heavy, rhythmic, and unmistakable.
May you like
The door pushed open further, revealing Jax standing in the hallway. He had discarded his leather vest, wearing only a dark t-shirt that showed off the heavy ink sprawling across his arms. He took in the scene—Clara sitting on the edge of the bed, the boy curled up like a frightened animal—and his jaw tightened.
"Pack a bag," Jax said quietly, his voice cutting through the heavy air of the room. "We're leaving."
