Chapter 2 - The Knock at the Door
The blood tasted metallic and heavy, pooling beneath her tongue as Rebecca tried to steady her breathing. Every heartbeat sent a throb of agony through her jaw, but the fear pulsing in her chest was far worse.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The sound echoed through the entryway, crisp and firm.
Trevor froze. His raised hand dropped to his side, his face instantly draining of color. The arrogance that had inflated him seconds ago vanished, replaced by a darting, panicked look. He glanced from the front door back to Rebecca, kneeling on the floor, bleeding onto her shirt, holding their sobbing eighteen-month-old daughter.
“Don’t say a damn word,” Trevor whispered fiercely, leaning down so close she could smell the sour stench of beer on his breath. “You fell. You tripped over Emma’s toys. Do you hear me?”
Rebecca didn’t answer. She couldn’t.
Knock. Knock.
“Rebecca?” A voice called out from the other side of the heavy mahogany door. Deep, authoritative, and instantly recognizable.
It was Arthur Sterling. Her father.
A man who commanded boardrooms, whose empire spanned international shipping and real estate, and who had spent the last three years alienated from his only daughter because of the man standing over her.
“Trevor, I know you’re in there,” Arthur’s voice boomed again. “Open the door.”
Trevor wiped his sweaty forehead with the back of his sleeve. He took a step toward the entryway, then turned back to glare at Rebecca. “Go to the bathroom. Now. Clean yourself up.”
Slowly, using the coffee table for support, Rebecca pushed herself up. The baby in her womb kicked violently, a sharp reminder of the life she was carrying. Her eighteen-month-old, Emma, clung tightly to her neck, her tear-streaked face buried in Rebecca’s shoulder. Blood dripped from Rebecca’s chin, staining the duckling pattern on Emma’s yellow onesie.
She took three steps toward the hallway—toward the bathroom, toward hiding, toward safety from Trevor’s wrath.
1… 2… 3…
The three seconds were up.
Instead of turning left into the dark hallway, Rebecca turned right.
“What the hell are you doing?” Trevor hissed, lunging forward to grab her arm.
He was too late. Rebecca reached the front door, unlocked the heavy deadbolt with trembling fingers, and pulled it wide open.
Arthur Sterling stood on the porch, flanked by two burly men in suits—his personal security detail. The outdoor lantern illuminated Arthur’s sharp grey eyes, his tailored dark coat, and the immediate, horrifying realization that swept across his face as he looked at his daughter.
Silence stretched across the doorway, thick and suffocation-heavy.
Arthur didn’t look at Trevor. His eyes locked onto Rebecca’s face—the swollen cheek, the bright red blood covering her mouth and neck, the gap where her front tooth had been, and the terrified toddler crying in her arms.
Arthur’s face turned into a mask of pure, glacial fury.
“Daddy,” Rebecca managed to whisper, her voice slurred and broken.
“Get the car,” Arthur said, his voice deadly quiet, speaking to the guard on his right. Then he stepped past Rebecca, grabbing her gently by the uninjured shoulder to pull her behind his broad frame.
“Hold on a minute, Mr. Sterling!” Trevor blustered, taking a step back, his hands raised defensively. “You can’t just barge into my house! She fell! It was an accident, she tripped over—”
Arthur didn't let him finish. He didn't scream, nor did he lose control. Instead, he stepped into the living room, motioned to his second security guard, and looked Trevor up and down with absolute contempt.
“If you touch her again, or even look in her direction, you will realize that losing your career will be the least of your concerns,” Arthur said, every word dropping like an anvil. “My daughter and my grandchildren are leaving. And you are going to let them.”
Trevor opened his mouth to protest, but the sight of the giant security officer moving to block his path made his courage evaporate. He shrank back against the sofa.
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Arthur turned back to Rebecca. His expression softened into a look of profound, agonizing heartache. He reached out with a gloved hand and gently wiped a tear from her bloody cheek.
“Come home, sweetheart,” Arthur said softly. “It’s over now.”
