He shakes his head. “No. I was in the kitchen when it happened. If there was noise, I didn’t hear it from there.”
I try to read his tone, his body language. Anything that might tell me he’s hiding something.
But Luka’s not the type to play games. Not with me. He was honest even when it wasn’t in his best interest to be.
Besides, he’s the one who found Sima in labor and brought her here. If he meant her any harm, he could have easily done it then.
“Alright,” I say. “When we get back to the house, I want you to pull the security footage. Everything from that night.”
He straightens a little. “You want the full sweep?”
“Every angle,” I confirm. “Outside, inside, driveway, garden—everything. If there’s anything out of the ordinary, no matter how small, I want to know about it.”
Luka gives a short nod. “You got it.”
I don’t add that I don’t expect him to find anything. Most of the cameras are outside. There’s nothing covering the second floor, or near the stairs where she fell. I’ve never allowed cameras in private spaces. Too many secrets live in that house already.
Still, I can’t leave it alone. Someone hurt her. If there’s even the smallest clue, I’ll find it.
“Start when we get back,” I order. “I want eyes on every screen.”
He meets my gaze. “You think it was someone on the inside?”
“I don’t know. But until I do, no one’s in or out without my say-so.”
Luka nods once more and leaves the room. The door shuts behind him. I’m left with the steady beep of the monitors and the soft sound of my daughter’s breathing.
The anger doesn’t fade, though. It just settles deeper, colder.
Whoever did this thought they could touch what’s mine. They’re about to learn how wrong they were.
I drive us back in silence. The only sound is the engine and the even breathing from the back where Sima and the baby sleep.
Part of me wants to file it away as a bad dream. After everything, that would be the easier explanation. Fewer loose threads. Less work.
But Sima isn’t someone who makes up danger for the sake of drama. She’s practical, stubborn, and honest in a way that always cuts through bullshit. If she says someone pushed her, then I listen.
I’ve already made the mistake of ignoring her warnings too many times.
I study her sleeping face in the rearview mirror. She looks fragile and fierce all at once. The baby is wrapped tight and small on top of her chest.
Who would risk stepping into my house and touching her? Who would think they could get away with it? The list is short, and the answers are uglier than I want them to be.
When we pull into the driveway, the gates close behind us with the familiar thud. Guards are posted where they always are.
I watch Sima and the baby as we move through the foyer. For the first time since this started, I feel the house as a place that can be violated.
I tell myself there’ll be more checks. Cameras in places that have no right to see anyone. Men watching screens for hours. Newlocks. I’ll make the house a fortress until my paranoia stops being useful.
But the truth is nastier.
If someone managed to get in and do that, then they were patient. They played the long game. Waited for the perfect opportunity.
God help them once I find them.
I can think of a dozen ways to teach them regret. I don’t need to be violent on a whim. I can wait, too. Because this is personal now. Whoever this was won’t know pain until I make sure it’s the only language left for them.
For now, I’ll watch Sima and Lilia like a hawk. I’ll sit up all night and listen to every sound in the house. Stand by the nursery door with a gun at my feet if that’s what it takes.
