Chapter 4 - The Unmasking
By Monday, the headlines were absolute carnage. “Socialite Beatrice Vance Arrested in Brunch Meltdown,” the papers read.
I sat with Clara in my kitchen. She was drinking tea, her bruises hidden under long sleeves, but her posture had changed. She was no longer shrinking. She was observing.
"Are you okay?" I asked.
Clara looked at her phone, watching the videos of Beatrice being led away in cuffs, weeping and incoherent.
"I feel... light," Clara said. "I spent so long trying to please them. Trying to show them I was worthy of their son. I didn't realize they were the ones who were empty."
We heard a heavy knock at the door. It was Victor. He looked exhausted, but his eyes were clear.
"They're in custody," he said, stepping inside. "The DA is pushing for the maximum. With the medical report and the testimonies from their past 'acquisitions,' they aren't getting out."
He looked at Clara. "The townhouse is yours. It was never theirs, and it never will be."
Clara stood up and walked over to her father. She didn't look like the girl who had knocked on my door in blood and terror. She looked like a woman who had survived the fire and walked out holding the ashes.
May you like
"Thank you, Dad," she whispered.
For the first time in eight years, the distance between them vanished. The shared trauma of what she had endured, and the fierce, protective love he had shown in response, bridged the gap that silence and pride had created.
