Chapter 3 - The Price of Innocence
Sophie froze, her breath catching in her throat. She had done nothing but pick up a handkerchief. She looked around for her mother, but Grace was blocked by a wall of confused guests.
"I… I didn't do anything," Sophie stammered.
"Don't lie to me," Richard snapped. He looked like a man possessed, his dignity replaced by a savage need to blame someone for his own carelessness. "I saw you lurking near this table. You were waiting for a distraction. You’re small, you’re quick, and you’re hidden in plain sight. Give it here!"
"Give what here?" Sophie asked, her voice trembling.
Grace finally pushed through the crowd, her face pale with indignation. "Mr. Hawthorne, what are you doing? She’s seven years old!"
Richard turned his vitriol toward Grace. "Keep your child under control, Ms. Carter. Your daughter was the only person in my vicinity when my watch went missing. I want to see what’s in that bag."
The room was buzzing now, a low hum of whispers and horrified stares. Grace stood tall, putting herself between her daughter and the billionaire. "You are out of your mind. My daughter is a child. She doesn't even know what your watch looks like!"
"Search her, or I will," Richard threatened.
To avoid a scene, and knowing that Sophie had nothing to hide, Grace gently took Sophie’s small, rabbit-shaped purse. "Open it, Sophie."
Sophie, sobbing now, tipped the bag upside down. A crushed granola bar, a miniature plush bear, and a handful of colorful crayons tumbled onto the polished marble floor. There was no watch. There was no gold. Just the mundane debris of a seven-year-old’s life.
Richard stared at the contents of the bag, but he did not feel shame. He felt cornered, and the feeling made him dangerous. He didn't see a child; he saw an inconvenience. "It’s not here," he sneered. "She probably passed it to you, or hid it in her dress."
He reached out, his hand wrapping around Sophie’s upper arm like a vice. Sophie let out a sharp cry of pain.
"Let her go!" Grace shouted, reaching for him.
Richard, consumed by his own arrogance and the heat of the moment, shoved Sophie aside. It wasn't a light push. He used the full momentum of his body to discard the "thief." Sophie’s feet slipped on the marble, and she went flying, hitting the floor with a sickening thud. The room let out a collective gasp.
Sophie lay on the cold stone, curled into a ball, the sound of her crying shattering the opulent silence of the ballroom. Grace was at her side in a heartbeat, cradling her head, her eyes burning with a rage that transcended her fear of Hawthorne’s power.
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"Look at what you’ve done," Grace said, her voice shaking with righteous fury. "You just hurt a child."
Richard adjusted his suit jacket, his face unreadable. "Consider it a lesson. Perhaps next time, she’ll be more careful."
