"That's what I thought." I stood, my patience evaporating. "You came here to bluff. To threaten. To squeeze more money out of me before the divorce is finalized."
"I deserve more than what's in that prenup?—"
"You deserve exactly what you signed for."
"I've been yourwife!"
"You've been a predator wearing a wedding ring." The words came out cold. "You've terrorized my daughter. Harassed a woman who showed her kindness. Done nothing but poison this house ever since you realized my fortune wasn't a communal trust."
Her face went pale. "Thatwomanis trying to take my place?—"
"Your place?" I stepped around the desk. "What place is that, Victoria? The one where you tell a seven-year-old that herfather doesn't love her? The one where you make her feel like an intruder in her own home?"
"I was trying to prepare her for reality?—"
"You were trying to break her. Because that's what you do." I was close enough now to see the rage trembling beneath her composure. "You break things you can't control."
"You have no idea what I'm capable of."
"Actually, I do. And so do the security cameras covering every inch of this property." I watched the flicker in her eyes; she'd forgotten about the cameras. "Every action of yours within this house will be on footage. So think very carefully about your next move."
For a long moment, we stared each other down. Two generals on a battlefield of mutual loathing.
"This is not over," she finally hissed.
"Yes, it is. Take the settlement. Take the alimony the court awards. Rebuild your family's faded glory somewhere else. But you will not use Claire as a bargaining chip. You will not use my daughter as a weapon. And you will not get another cent from me through fear or manipulation."
Her composure shattered. "You'll regret this. I'll drag your name through the mud?—"
"Do it. My lawyers are waiting."
She snatched her Birkin bag from the chair, her movements jerky with rage. "You think you've won? You haven't won anything."
She stormed out, slamming the doors so hard the glass panels rattled.
I sank into my chair, the adrenaline crash leaving me hollow. Through the window, I could see Millie in the garden with Claire, chasing a red ball across the grass. Safe. Happy. Oblivious to the war being waged on their behalf.
It's over, I told myself.She's leaving. It's?—
The screech of tires split the air.
Not the normal sound of a car pulling out. This was violent. Desperate. The sound of panic and sudden, hard braking.
Then two screams.
One was high and short, a child's scream… cut off abruptly.
The other was Claire's voice, heavy with terror.
I was moving before my mind processed what I'd heard. Out of the chair. Through the doors. Down the hall. The world narrowed to a tunnel, my feet pounding against marble, my heart slamming against my ribs.
The front door was standing open.
I saw Claire first. She was on her knees on the driveway, her face white as paper, her hands hovering over a small, still form in a yellow sundress.
Millie.
My daughter lay on the gray concrete, one arm bent wrong, her eyes closed, a terrible stillness about her. Blood trickled from her hairline toward her ear.
