Chapter 1 - The Kick
Vivienne’s heel slammed into Noah’s side so hard his little body rolled across the oak floor and onto the rug, and his scream cut through the room like glass breaking.
For half a second, I couldn’t move.
Then everything in me snapped into motion.
“Noah!” I lunged forward, dropped to my knees, and scooped him up before he could twist himself deeper into panic. His tiny fingers dug into my tunic. His whole body shook against my chest. He was only twelve months old, barefoot, dressed in pale blue, and crying with the raw, helpless terror only a baby can make.
Grant’s son.
The child I had spent ten months caring for.
The child Vivienne Cross had just kicked as if he were something in her way.
Vivienne stood over us in her wine-red dress, breathing hard, her chin lifted in that polished, ugly arrogance she wore better than jewelry. “Stay right there.”
I backed toward the sofa, shifting Noah behind my shoulder, putting my body between him and her. “Don’t come near him.”
She did anyway.
Her hand shot out for Noah, fingers spread, fast and entitled, like she thought every living thing in that house belonged to her reach. I slapped her hand away so hard the crack echoed under the chandelier.
“DON’T TOUCH HIM!”
Her eyes widened in disbelief. Not fear. Not yet. Just outrage that someone like me had dared.
“You forget who you are,” she hissed.
“No,” I said, adjusting Noah on my hip while he sobbed into my neck. “You do.”
She moved to step past me. I shifted with her, blocking the path beside the sofa. Family photos stared down from the console table in the entryway. Warm afternoon light flooded the room, soft and golden, making the whole scene feel obscene. The beautiful house. The polished floor. The decorative flower vase sitting two steps away. The security camera mounted high above the entry.
Everything neat. Everything elegant.
Everything watching.
Vivienne grabbed my wrist with enough force to grind bone.
Pain shot up my arm. Noah cried louder.
I yanked free on instinct and slapped her.
The sound exploded between us.
Her head snapped to the side. She stumbled into the side table, caught herself on the edge, and pressed one hand to her cheek. A red mark bloomed under her fingers. For one stunned heartbeat, the only sound in the room was Noah’s crying and my own breath punching in and out of my lungs.
Then Vivienne turned back toward me.
The look in her eyes made my stomach tighten.
Her shock was gone. In its place was a colder thing. Something reckless. Humiliating a caregiver was one thing. Being hit back had cracked whatever polished mask she usually wore.
“You’re going to regret this,” she said.
Her gaze flicked toward the vase.
I saw it at the same moment she did.
“No—”
She lunged.
The vase came up high in both hands, faster than I thought she could move in heels. I twisted, trying to keep my body between her and Noah, and the heavy ceramic edge smashed into the side of my head. White pain burst across my vision. I crashed against the sofa, one hand flying to my temple, the other still reaching backward for Noah. The vase slipped from her grasp and dropped to the carpet beside us.
Noah screamed.
The front door behind Vivienne started to open.
She froze.
I blinked through the blur and saw Grant Mercer standing in the doorway in a dark suit, one hand still on the door, his gaze moving from the vase on the floor to Noah crying behind me, then to the blood warming the side of my face.
Then he looked at Vivienne.
He didn’t speak.
He didn’t have to.
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His jaw locked so hard I could see the muscle jump from across the room. And for the first time since I’d known her, Vivienne Cross looked afraid.
📖 Grant’s silence was worse than shouting—but when he finally chose who to believe, the truth in that room became far more dangerous than Vivienne expected. 👇
