CHAPTER 10: THE ROTTEN ROOTS
Three days of absolute isolation felt like three decades.
Clara was a prisoner wrapped in silk, locked inside a bedroom larger than her childhood apartment.
Leo stayed with her constantly, completely oblivious to the golden cage surrounding them.
To the little boy, Clara was just playing an extended game of hide-and-seek away from the noisy, broken living room.
Why is Daddy angry? Leo signed one afternoon, sitting on the edge of the massive king-sized bed.
Clara hesitated, staring at the little boy’s innocent, questioning eyes.
He is trying to keep us safe from bad men, Clara signed back, her fingers moving slowly.
She didn’t tell him that the bad man was currently the one locking their door from the outside.
A sharp knock echoed through the room, breaking the heavy silence.
The door clicked open, revealing Marcus, Julian’s fiercely loyal right-hand man.
He was a massive, scarred enforcer who had always treated Clara with a surprising amount of quiet respect.
“Mr. Vance requested you in the library, Miss Clara,” Marcus said, keeping his eyes respectfully fixed on the floor.
“Is he finally going to let me leave?” Clara asked bitterly, standing up and smoothing down her clothes.
“I am only paid to deliver messages, miss,” Marcus replied, holding the door open for her.
Clara told Leo to wait, locking the bedroom door securely behind her before following the giant man down the long, dim hallway.
The estate was unsettlingly quiet today.
Most of the guards who normally patrolled the upper floors were completely missing.
“Where is everyone, Marcus?” Clara asked, a cold knot of dread suddenly tightening in her stomach.
“Repositioned to the perimeter,” Marcus answered smoothly, not breaking his long stride. “Security breach protocol.”
But Clara noticed his right hand resting hovering nervously over the gun holstered at his hip.
If the threat was outside, why was his weapon prepped for an inside attack?
They reached the heavy mahogany doors of the library, but Marcus didn’t open them.
Instead, he stopped, turning to face Clara with a look of deep, profound regret.
“I really am sorry, Clara,” Marcus whispered, his voice cracking with unexpected emotion. “You were good to the boy.”
Before Clara could react, Marcus drew his gun and aimed it directly at her stomach.
