Chapter 3 - The Cold Pantry
"She refused her dinner, Julian," Vanessa said, her voice dropping into a smooth, practiced cadence.
She stepped toward them, her leather flats making no noise on the stone.
"She’s six years old. She threw her plate on the rug."
"Stop lying!" Lily cried out from Julian’s shoulder, her voice small but piercing.
She pulled her face back, her wet eyes staring directly at her father.
"She locked me in the pantry last night, Daddy," Lily whispered, her fingers tugging at his navy tie.
"It was dark... the rice bags smelled like spiders."
Julian’s eyes locked onto Vanessa’s face.
A single muscle in his temple twitched rhythmically.
Vanessa took another half-step forward, extending a hand with its French-manicured nails toward Lily’s ankle.
"Don't be dramatic, child," Vanessa snapped, her voice tightening at the edges. "It was five minutes to calm you down."
"Take your hand off my daughter," Julian said.
His voice was lower now, flat and hollow like empty iron.
Vanessa didn't stop her hand.
"Julian, you're letting a toddler manipulate you—"
Julian didn't wait for her to finish the sentence.
May you like
His left hand shot out, his fingers locking like a vise around Vanessa’s slender wrist.
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