Marcus carried his daughter upstairs, his heavy footsteps echoing against the wide oak risers.
Lily’s small arms remained locked tightly around his neck, her forehead buried into the crook of his shoulder.
Every few seconds, a ragged, hitching sob shook her frail frame.
Marcus reached the second-floor landing and walked straight into Lily’s bedroom, using his foot to kick the heavy wooden door shut behind them.
He turned the brass lock with his thumb, finally letting out a long, shuddering breath.
He carried her to the large four-poster bed and sat down on the edge of the mattress, keeping her bundled in his lap.
"Look at me, sweetheart," Marcus whispered softly, reaching up to cup her damp cheek with his thumb.
Lily slowly lifted her head.
Her eyes were bloodshot and swollen, and dried tear tracks ran down to her trembling chin.
On her delicate upper arms, the red fingerprint marks left by Vanessa’s grip were already beginning to darken into faint purple bruises.
Marcus’s stomach twisted with violent nausea at the sight.
"Did she ever do this before, Lily?" Marcus asked, keeping his voice as gentle and steady as possible.
Lily looked down at the soft pink quilt, her lower lip quivering uncontrollably.
"She... she told me if I told you, you would send me away to boarding school," Lily choked out in a tiny whisper.
Marcus felt his heart tear completely in two.
"I will never send you away, Lily," Marcus said, pulling her face back toward his. "Do you hear me? You are my daughter. You are the most important person in the world to me."
Lily sniffled, wiping her nose with the sleeve of her dress.
"She locked me in the pantry yesterday when you were at the office," Lily whispered, her voice barely audible. "She said good little girls don't ask for snacks."
Marcus closed his eyes, his jaw clenching until the bones in his temple throbbed with pain.
He had trusted Vanessa.
He had brought that woman into his home six months ago, believing she would provide warmth and care after his late wife, Sarah, had passed away from illness.
Instead, he had handed his innocent six-year-old child over to a sadistic predator.
A soft knock came at the bedroom door, followed by a familiar, hesitant voice.
"Mr. Sterling?"
It was Mrs. Gable, the head housekeeper who had served the Sterling family for over twenty years.
Marcus stood up, setting Lily gently against the pillows, and unlocked the door.
Mrs. Gable stood in the hallway holding a warm bowl of chicken soup and a glass of milk on a silver tray.
Her eyes were red with tears, her apron rumpled.
"I didn't know, sir," Mrs. Gable wept quietly, keeping her voice down so Lily wouldn't hear. "Mrs. Vanessa dismissed the entire kitchen staff at four o'clock. She told us to stay in our quarters until morning. If I had known what she was doing down there—"
"It's not your fault, Martha," Marcus said quietly, placing a firm, reassuring hand on the elderly woman's shoulder.
Marcus took the tray from her hands.
"Call Dr. Evans," Marcus ordered in a low, steely tone. "Tell him to bring his medical bag and come through the private garage entrance immediately. I want my daughter examined, and I want every bruise documented on a legal medical chart."
"Right away, sir," Mrs. Gable said, wiping her face with the corner of her apron before hurrying down the corridor.
Marcus carried the tray over to the nightstand, sitting back down beside his daughter.
He picked up the silver spoon and blew gently on the warm broth.
"Come on, my brave girl," Marcus whispered with a tender smile. "Let's have some real dinner together."
