Chapter 2 - The Mask Slips
The heavy oak door splintered against the wall, echoing through the cavernous kitchen of the Thorne estate. Patricia spun around, the cruel sneer instantly vanishing from her face, replaced by a theatrical mask of terror.
"Julian! Oh, thank God you're home," she gasped, her voice trembling with practiced fragility. She dropped the carton of milk, letting it shatter against the imported marble tiles. "Ava and Lucas were acting out. They refused to eat what I prepared, and they locked themselves in. I was only trying to discipline them gently—"
"Shut your mouth," I whispered. The words weren't loud, but they carried the weight of an avalanche.
My eyes bypassed her entirely and locked onto my children. Little Ava was curled in the corner, shielding baby Lucas with her tiny body. Their faces were hollow, their cheeks stained with dried tears. The sight tore through my chest like a jagged blade. I had trusted this woman. I had handed my home and my children to a monster while I hid behind boardrooms and profit margins.
"Daddy!" Ava shrieked, breaking past her paralysis. She scrambled across the floor, hurling herself into my arms. Lucas began to wail, clinging to my jacket as if afraid I would dissolve into smoke.
I dropped to my knees, crushing them against my chest. "I'm here," I choked out, my voice thick with a mixture of rage and overwhelming guilt. "Daddy is here. You're safe."
Behind us, Patricia’s voice took on a sharper, defensive edge. "Julian, you can't possibly believe their nonsense. Children exaggerate. They're throwing a tantrum because—"
I stood up slowly, keeping Ava clutched tightly in one arm while my free hand supported Lucas. I turned to face the woman I had married. The gentle saint was gone. In her place stood a stranger with narrowed eyes and a tight, bitter mouth.
"You whispered something," I said, my voice dangerously low. "Just before I kicked the door down. You talked about Sarah. Repeat it."
Patricia’s face paled for a fraction of a second, but she recovered quickly, smoothing the front of her silk blouse. "You're imagining things, Julian. The shock of seeing the mess has addled your brain. Let's sit down and talk like adults—"
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"You said Sarah didn't have a stroke," I roared, stepping forward until she was forced to back up against the kitchen counter. "You said you gave her what she deserved, just like you were going to give it to my children!"
Silence descended upon the kitchen, heavy and suffocating. Patricia looked at me, her eyes darting toward the hallway exit. Realizing she was trapped, the faux-innocence evaporated entirely, replaced by a chilling, venomous smirk.
