Chapter 3
Police came through the studio doors twenty minutes later.
By then, Victoria had tried three different stories.
First, she said Lily fell.
Then she said I attacked her first.
Then she said the commercial pressure made everyone emotional.
The officers watched the footage.
All three stories died on the monitor.
A female officer named Ruiz knelt in front of Lily.
She spoke gently.
Not the fake gentle Victoria used.
Real gentle.
“Did your stepmother hurt you today?”
Lily nodded.
“Has she hurt you before?”
Lily looked at me.
I squeezed her hand.
“Yes,” she whispered.
Victoria shouted from across the room.
“She is coached!”
Officer Ruiz stood.
“Ma’am, stop speaking to the child.”
Victoria’s eyes widened.
No one spoke to her like that.
Especially not in front of Dad.
She was used to staff obeying.
Directors flattering.
Lawyers smoothing.
My father excusing.
Officer Ruiz did none of that.
She took notes.
She photographed Lily’s red cheek.
She photographed the broken vase.
She photographed the torn backdrop.
Then she asked to see my arms.
I hesitated.
Dad noticed.
His face collapsed before I even pushed up my sleeves.
There were fading finger marks near my elbow.
Yellowing bruises I had hidden under cardigans.
Victoria’s mouth tightened.
Dad covered his face with one hand.
“Emma,” he whispered.
“Don’t,” I said.
He looked up.
“Don’t apologize unless you’re ready to change everything.”
His eyes filled.
“I am.”
I wanted to believe him.
But I had believed him before.
When Mom died and he promised we would always come first.
When Victoria moved in and he promised nothing would change.
When I told him she hated us and he promised she was just trying.
Promises were cheap in our house.
Proof had finally become expensive.
Victoria was arrested for assault, child endangerment, and intimidation.
She walked past me in handcuffs, but she still managed to smile.
“You think this saves you?” she whispered.
Officer Ruiz pulled her forward.
Dad heard.
So did Marcus.
I watched Victoria disappear through the studio door.
For the first time, she looked smaller.
Not weak.
Never weak.
But exposed.
That night, Dad brought us home.
The mansion was quiet.
Too quiet.
Lily wouldn’t let go of my hand.
Dad stopped in the foyer and looked around like he was seeing the house for the first time.
The perfect white walls.
The framed commercial photos.
The family portraits Victoria arranged where Mom’s pictures used to be.
“I’m taking them down,” he said.
I looked at him.
“Now?”
“Yes.”
He walked to the largest portrait.
Victoria in the center.
Dad beside her.
Me and Lily smiling like hostages.
He lifted it off the wall and set it face-down on the floor.
Lily stared.
“Are we in trouble?”
Dad turned so fast his knees almost buckled.
“No, baby.”
She blinked.
“Victoria said if pictures came down, family was broken.”
Dad knelt.
“Victoria was wrong.”
Lily looked at me.
“Is our family broken?”
I crouched beside her.
“No,” I said softly. “It was hurt.”
Dad’s voice cracked.
“And I’m going to help fix what I can.”
The phone rang.
Dad’s company lawyer.
Then his PR director.
Then Victoria’s mother.
Then reporters.
He silenced everything.
For once, the house was not organized around Victoria’s feelings.
At midnight, Marcus called.
Dad put him on speaker.
“I backed up the footage,” Marcus said. “But Richard, there’s more.”
Dad closed his eyes.
“What?”
“The camera rolled before Victoria came onto set.”
“So?”
Marcus hesitated.
“She was on a phone call.”
My stomach tightened.
“With who?”
Marcus’s voice lowered.
“I don’t know. But she said Claire’s name.”
My mother’s name.
Again.
Dad went pale.
“What did she say?”
May you like
Marcus exhaled.
“She said, ‘Claire was easier to remove because no one was filming.’”
