Chapter 2 - The Device
The violent ring of shattering glass died down into a suffocating, heavy silence, broken only by the ragged sound of Victoria’s gasps. She sat trapped amidst the shimmering mess of broken glass on the marble floor. Her immaculate blonde hair was tangled, and a red cut along her forearm began to bleed, dripping onto the rich silk of her dress.
Arthur paid her no more mind. He turned back toward the gaping hole in the partition wall, where Clara was already on her hands and knees, gently guiding the terrified boy out into the light.
"Careful, Clara... easy," Arthur choked out, his hands shaking violently as he took his son into his arms.
Ethan felt unnaturally light, his tiny frame fragile against Arthur’s broad chest. Dust clung to his sunken cheeks, and his clothing was little more than dirty rags. He locked his small arms around Arthur’s neck, burying his face into his father’s chest as he wept silently.
"I have you, Ethan. I have you," Arthur sobbed, kissing the dusty crown of his head. "You're safe now."
Victoria pushed herself up from the shattered glass, her red heels crunching loudly against the shards. The cool, aristocratic composure she maintained for years had fractured into absolute desperation.
"Arthur, listen to me," Victoria gasped, clutching her bleeding arm. "You don't understand the full picture! That child... he was damaged! He was a threat to everything we built! I did what was necessary to protect this family!"
Arthur turned slowly, shielding Ethan with his body. Clara stepped up beside them, holding a heavy iron candlestick as a defensive weapon.
"Stay back!" Arthur warned, his voice icy and terrifyingly calm. "If you take one more step toward my son, Victoria, I will tear this mansion down with you inside it."
Victoria sneered, attempting to regain control. "You think anyone will believe you? Look at him! He's lived in the walls like a rat for three years! He's feral! I am a Sterling, Arthur. The courts, the police, the media—they answer to my family's money. You have no proof of anything!"
Ethan shifted in Arthur’s arms. He didn't cry out in fear. Instead, he reached into the pocket of his torn trousers and pulled out a small, rectangular black object.
It was a digital audio recorder, scratched and covered in grey plaster dust.
"I recorded her, father," Ethan whispered, his small voice cutting through the tense air of the hall.
Victoria’s eyes widened in horror. Her face went pale as sheet.
Ethan’s small thumb pressed the play button on the side of the device.
A static hiss filled the hallway, followed by a crystal-clear, unmistakable voice:
"Arthur can never know he survived. Keep him in the crawlspaces beneath the east wing. If he makes a sound, cut his rations for forty-eight hours. The estate trust unlocks on his tenth birthday—and by then, he will be officially declared dead in absentia."
The recording clicked off.
May you like
Arthur stared at Victoria, his soul burning with absolute horror. "Three years, Victoria. Three years you let me sleep upstairs while my son starved behind the walls. Three years you let me place flowers on a fake grave."
Victoria took a step back, her confidence crumbling into total panic as she realized her empire of lies had collapsed.
