Chapter 4

Chloe's POV

Alexander stepped out of the kitchen with an apron on. Seeing me, his face lit up with a relieved smile, and he hurried over to take my handbag.

"You're back? Perfect timing—lunch is almost ready."

I took a deliberate step back, letting his hand grasp empty air, my gaze locked onto the cream cashmere shawl draped over Vivian's shoulders.

I had treated myself to that piece for my birthday last year. It was always kept neatly folded in a dust bag on the top shelf of my walk-in closet.

"What is she doing here?" I asked, my voice chillingly flat.

Alexander glanced back awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck with a forced chuckle. "The little guy was discharged this morning and threw a fit when Vivian tried to leave. I figured I'd let her stay for a couple of days. We're all family, Chloe. She's just here to help with the kid. Don't overthink it."

"Helping with the kid requires wrapping herself in my personal things?" I met his eyes coldly. "Alexander, bringing another woman into our home is one thing. But who gave you permission to let someone else touch my belongings?"

I hadn't raised my voice, but Alexander looked visibly unsettled. "It's my fault, okay? I didn't make the boundaries clear. I'll have her put everything back right now. Please don't be mad."

Every syllable of his apology was a hollow lie.

I had been gone all night, and even now, he hadn't asked where I had slept.

Before he could finish his excuse, the boy scrambled up from the carpet, marched over, and grabbed the hem of my slacks, yelling up at me: "Mommy is mean! Auntie Vivian is nice! I don't want Mommy, I want Auntie Vivian!"

His little fingers dug in hard, his nails pinching into the flesh of my leg through the fabric.

When this child had high fevers and febrile seizures, I was the one who sprinted through the emergency room doors carrying him. When the IV needles pierced the back of his tiny hand, it was "Mommy" he screamed for through his tears.

Now, he was clinging to my clothes, demanding another woman.

I already knew he wasn't my biological child, but I never expected him to discard me so ruthlessly.

Looking down at the little face I had watched grow day by day, I sucked in a sharp breath. I pulled my leg back, shaking his hands off, and headed straight up the stairs without pausing.

Alexander called after me from the bottom of the staircase, but I ignored him.

The master bedroom door slammed shut. I pressed my back against the heavy wood, slowly sliding down until I hit the floor.

Moments later, hurried knocks sounded from outside. Alexander pleaded through the door, apologizing over and over, claiming the boy was just throwing a tantrum and begging me not to take it personally.

With every excuse he offered, I counted my own shallow heartbeats. I reached a hundred, and his voice still droned on.

Whenever he apologized, the blame was always pushed onto someone else—the boy was young, Vivian was naive. Never once did he hold himself accountable.

Downstairs, faint echoes of the boy's laughter mingled with Vivian's soft, sweet chatter.

The three of them down there—they were the real family under this roof. I was merely the outsider locked away upstairs.

I sat on the floor with my knees tucked in, eventually crawling onto the mattress in a haze of emotional exhaustion, drifting into a heavy sleep.

When I finally opened my eyes, the room was pitch-black, save for a thin sliver of moonlight cutting through the drapes.

As I moved to sit up, my gaze caught a dark silhouette standing right beside the bed.

My heart seized. I reached over and flicked on the bedside lamp.

Vivian stood there, a triumphant smirk playing on her lips, staring down at me.

"Awake, Mrs. Vance?" she whispered mockingly.

I pulled the duvet tight around myself. "Who told you that you could enter my room? Get out."

Vivian didn't budge. Instead, she took a slow step forward, pulled her phone from her pocket, and tapped a voice memo.

A child's terrified wails instantly spilled from the speaker: "Mommy, I'm sorry! Mommy, don't hit me!"

Followed by a woman's vicious cursing, and then the sharp, sickening crack of a hard slap across a face.

The fingers clutching the duvet went completely slack.

"Recognize that?" Vivian smiled viciously, thrusting the phone right against my ear. "Nobody knows where your real son is better than me. Oh, he's having a wonderful time out there. So loved, so cherished... except he just can't stop crying for his mommy."

That was my son.

Shipped away the moment he took his first breath, deprived of a single day of motherly warmth.

The child crying for his mommy in that recording was crying for me.

While I spent endless nights nursing her son through fevers and wiping away his sweat, my flesh and blood was being beaten black and blue, begging for mercy.

Without thinking, my arm swung out, and my palm cracked hard across Vivian's face.

Smack!

The blow was deafening in the quiet room.

Vivian's head whipped to the side, five bright red finger marks rising instantly on her pale cheek.

Stunned for a fraction of a second, she clutched her cheek, and theatrical tears immediately flooded her eyes as she began to sob dramatically.

"What's going on here?!"

Alexander's stern voice cut in from the doorway, and he stormed into the room.

The second Vivian saw him, her sobs grew louder. She scrambled behind his broad back, whimpering, "Alexander, I... I just came up to bring Chloe a glass of water. I didn't mean to upset her..."

Alexander grabbed her arm, pulling her out from behind him, his face darkened with feigned anger. "Who gave you permission to wander into Chloe's bedroom in the middle of the night? What are you standing there for? Apologize to Chloe right now!"

Dabbing at her tears, Vivian bowed slightly toward the bed. "Chloe, I'm so sorry. It's all my fault. I shouldn't have disturbed your sleep."

Only then did Alexander turn to me, his tone dropping into a coaxing, gentle register: "Chloe, she's young and thoughtless. I'll apologize on her behalf. Can we just let this go, please?"

I sat upright on the bed, staring at the two of them.

His scolding had been loud and theatrical, yet his hand remained planted on Vivian's back, gently patting her in comfort.

Vivian was mouthing apologies, but the phone that played the recording had already been tucked safely away in her pocket.

From the second he walked through that door, he hadn't once asked why I slapped her.

It was a rehearsed play put on entirely for my benefit, every line memorized. I was cast as the gullible fool who was supposed to be pacified and nod along.

I used to believe he was fiercely protective of me. Now I saw through the facade: the only thing he was protecting was the performance from falling apart.

A bitter chuckle escaped my lips, followed immediately by hot tears spilling down my cheeks.

"Done with the show?" I raised a shaking hand, pointing toward the open door, my voice cracked and hoarse. "Get out. Both of you, get the hell out of my sight."

Seeing the raw fury in my eyes, Alexander didn't dare push further. He grabbed Vivian by the wrist and hurried her toward the door.

As he pulled her across the threshold, Vivian cast a subtle backward glance at me—tears still tracked down her cheeks, but her eyes danced with pure, unadulterated triumph.

The door clicked shut, leaving me alone in the dark.

That little boy's agonized cries still echoed relentlessly in my ears: "Mommy, I'm sorry..."Over and over.

Tomorrow, I would pick up the official DNA report. Once it was in my hands, I could finally turn to the police.