"Hey!" He tried to jerk free, his camera swinging on its strap. "I wasn't—"
I yanked him away from Casey, my grip tightening until I felt bones shift under my fingers. "You don't get to put your hands near my daughter."
"Easton!" Palisade's voice cut through the red haze, but it was too distant to reach me.
The photographer stumbled backward, and I followed, still gripping his arm. Every angry impulse I'd been controlling for months condensed into this single moment.
"Let go of me!" He twisted, bringing his camera up defensively.
That camera. That fucking camera that had been pointed at Casey's frightened face.
I grabbed it with my free hand and ripped it from his neck. The strap snapped. The photographer shouted something, but the sound was drowned out by blood pounding in my ears.
The camera was solid in my grip. Expensive. Professional-grade.
I thought about every photo they'd taken without permission. Every headline that called her a "secret." Every moment of her childhood, they'd tried to steal and sell.
The camera hit the floor with a satisfying crunch. Plastic splintered. Glass shattered.
"You son of a—" The photographer surged forward.
I shoved him back hard. He crashed into the reception desk, sending paperwork flying. Another photographer raised his camera, flash going off in rapid succession, capturing every second.
"Get the fuck out!" I roared, advancing on them. "All of you! Now!"
They scrambled for the door, equipment knocking against furniture in their haste. One more tried to get a parting shot. I grabbed his camera too, ripping it from his hands and hurling it against the wall.
"Dad!" Casey's voice finally penetrated the rage.
I froze, chest heaving, fists still clenched. The clinic was suddenly silent except for my ragged breathing and Toby's distressed chittering from his cage.
Casey wasn't scared of the reporters anymore.
She was scared of me.
Palisade moved first, pulling Casey into her arms, her eyes locked on mine with an expression I couldn't name. Not quite fear. Not quite anger. Something worse.
Disappointment mixed with understanding.
"They filmed it," she said softly. "All of it."
My hands were shaking now. Not from rage anymore, but from the crash that always followed. I looked down at my knuckles, already swelling where I'd gripped the cameras too hard.
"I know."
"Easton…"
"He reached for her." My voice came out raw. "He was going to touch her, and I just…" I couldn't finish. I couldn't explain how completely the control I'd been building for months had dissolved in one second.
Palisade was quiet for a long moment. When she spoke, her voice was measured. "We need to call the police. Report the trespassing. And then…" She took a shaky breath. "Then you need to call your lawyer. Because that video is going to be everywhere by tonight."
She was right.
But when I closed my eyes, all I could see was that camera pointed at Casey's terrified face, and I couldn't bring myself to regret destroying it.
"Monique," Palisade called toward the back, her voice remarkably steady. "Can you take Casey for ice cream in the break room? The chocolate one with the cookie pieces."
Monique appeared in the doorway, taking in the scene with wide eyes but nodding quickly. "Come on, sweetie. Let's see if Rusty wants company, too."
