Chapter 2 - The House Without a Master's Voice
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Julian stood in the foyer that morning, adjusting the collar of his worn denim shirt, his gray eyes soft with an expression that always made my heart melt. He held a small tray with water and prenatal vitamins, setting it gently on the side table before pulling me into a tender embrace.
"I have one quick errand," Julian whispered, kissing my forehead as our baby kicked a tiny hello against his palm. "Twenty minutes tops. When I get back, we’ll pack the hospital bag and finally get ready to meet our little guy. Rest, love. Avoid the stairs if you can."
He turned his gaze toward the far end of the long hallway, where Evelyn sat like a statue in her cream-colored designer suit, reading the financial section of the morning paper. Julian’s voice dropped an octave, carrying an edge of sharp warning that he rarely used with her. "Leave Clara alone."
Evelyn offered a tight, glacial smile without looking up from her print. "Of course, darling. Run along to your little errands."
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The moment the heavy oak front door clicked shut behind Julian, the temperature in the sprawling foyer seemed to drop ten degrees. Evelyn folded her newspaper with deliberate slowness and set it down. She rose from her chair with the terrifying grace of a predator that had finally cornered its prey. The silence of Armitage House closed around us like a tightening fist.
I tried to turn away, shifting my heavy frame toward the corridor that led to the quiet safety of the nursery. But Evelyn’s footsteps clicked sharply against the marble floor, drawing closer with every second. I could smell her signature perfume—powdery, expensive, and suffocating. It was a scent that would haunt my nightmares for months to come. She didn't want me in her house, and today, she had decided I had overstayed my welcome by a lifetime.
