Chapter 4 - The Shadow in the Wardrobe
The next morning, the snow had stopped, leaving the grounds of the estate looking like a pristine, white sheet.
I was in Lily’s room, helping her stack green and yellow blocks into a precarious tower. She was focused, her tiny tongue sticking out slightly as she balanced a triangular piece on the top.
"Careful," I murmured, my hand hovering near her elbow. "Steady..."
The door opened, and Mrs. Gable stepped inside. Her face was pale, her lips pressed into a thin, white line. "Natalie," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "There are guests downstairs. Mr. Cross’s former sister-in-law, Beatrice. She's brought her own security."
"Beatrice?" I asked, looking down at Lily.
At the mention of the name, Lily’s hand shook. The block tower collapsed, the wooden pieces clattering across the floor. Lily didn't look at the blocks. She scrambled backward on her knees until she was pressed against my shins, her little hands grabbing my jeans.
"It's okay, sweetie," I said, lifting her into my arms. "It's just a name."
"She comes every few weeks," Mrs. Gable explained, her eyes darting toward the hallway. "She wants custody of Lily. She says Damon is unfit because of... his lifestyle. She's brought her lawyers this time."
"Where is Damon?"
"He's in the city," Mrs. Gable said. "He won't be back until five. But Beatrice has a court-ordered visitation right. We can't stop her from coming in."
Before I could answer, the sound of clicking heels echoed down the hardwood floor of the hallway.
A woman stepped into the nursery. She was in her late twenties, tall, with platinum blond hair styled in a sharp bob and a cream-colored wool coat that looked like it cost more than my entire year's tuition. Her eyes were blue, cold, and sharp as needles. Behind her stood two men in gray suits, their hands folded in front of them in the universal posture of hired muscle.
"So," Beatrice said, her gaze sliding over me with an expression of intense, quiet disgust. "This is the waitress."
"My name is Natalie," I said, keeping my voice level as I held Lily tight against my chest.
"I don't care what your name is," Beatrice said, stepping into the room. She didn't look at Lily, who was currently hiding her face in my shoulder. "I care that my niece is being kept in a house with a woman who has no credentials, no family background, and no right to be here."
"I have a degree in child development," I said. "And more importantly, I'm the only person in this house she's spoken to in six months."
Beatrice laughed, a sharp, dry sound that had no humor in it. "She spoke? Really? Or did you just convince Damon she did so you could keep living in this mansion and eating his food?"
She stepped closer, her hand reaching out to grab Lily’s arm. "Give her to me. I'm taking her for the weekend. The court order allows it."
"No," Lily whispered.
The word was so quiet I almost thought I had imagined it. But Beatrice had heard it too. She froze, her hand hovering inches from Lily’s sleeve.
"What did she say?" Beatrice asked, her eyes narrowing.
"She said no," I replied, stepping back. "And as her caregiver, I'm going to ask you to leave. She's terrified of you."
"You have no authority here!" Beatrice snarled, her face contorting with a sudden, vicious rage. "I am her aunt! I am Claire’s sister! You are nothing but a servant!"
She turned to her men. "Take the child."
The two men in gray suits stepped forward.
I didn't panic. I had spent enough time in Logan Square to know that when you're cornered, you don't look at the threat; you look at the exit. But before I could move, the double doors of the nursery were pushed open.
Damon Cross stood in the doorway.
He was still wearing his long black overcoat, the shoulders dusted with melting snow. His face was entirely devoid of expression, but his eyes were the color of a winter sky before a blizzard.
"Who told you to touch my daughter?" he asked.
The two men in gray suits stopped instantly, their posture shifting from aggressive to defensive in a fraction of a second. They knew who Damon was. Everyone in Chicago did.
"Damon," Beatrice said, her voice instantly shifting from rage to a sweet, injured tone. "I was just trying to see my niece. This... this woman was being aggressive. She was refusing to let me see her."
Damon walked into the room, ignoring her completely. He walked over to me, his hand resting on the small of my back for a brief second—a gesture that felt less like an embrace and more like a shield.
"Mrs. Gable," Damon said, his voice quiet. "Escort Beatrice and her men to their cars. If they are still on my property in three minutes, call the sheriff. Tell him we have armed trespassers."
"You can't do this, Damon!" Beatrice screamed as Mrs. Gable and two of Damon’s own guards stepped into the room. "I have a court order!"
"Your court order was signed by Judge Miller," Damon said, not looking at her. "As of two hours ago, Miller is under federal investigation for bribery. Your order is as dead as your sister's car."
Beatrice's face went white. She looked at Damon, then at me, and then at Lily, who was still clinging to my neck.
"You won't keep her, Damon," Beatrice hissed as she was led out. "The truth always comes out. You can't hide what Claire did."
As the doors closed behind them, the room became quiet again.
Damon turned to me. He looked at his daughter, then at my face. "Are you hurt?" he asked.
"I'm fine," I said, my voice shaking slightly now that the danger had passed. "But Lily... she spoke again. She said 'no' when Beatrice tried to touch her."
Damon’s eyes darkened. He reached out and ran a hand over Lily’s head, his fingers trembling slightly. "She knows," he murmured. "She knows who they are."
He looked at me, his face grim. "We found the hospital letter, Natalie. The one from the night of the accident. It wasn't in Claire's files. It was buried in the records of a private clinic in Cicero. The clinic that Beatrice’s family owns."
May you like
He pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to me.
"Read it," he said.
