CHAPTER FIVE #3
Sophie nodded as though confirming an instruction, then returned to the family room.
The question remained with Alyssa after the girl left.
Vanessa needed Sophie to believe danger waited beyond the gates. Damian needed to believe his protection kept it there.
Alyssa was the only person asking whether the danger had already entered.
At seven, she heard raised voices near Damian’s study.
Vanessa stood inside the doorway, breathing too fast. Both hands gripped Damian’s forearms.
“I saw a car,” she said. “The same black sedan from Naples.”
Damian tried to free one arm. “Security checked the road.”
“It slowed near the gate.”
“You’re safe.”
“He knows I’m here.”
Vanessa moved closer and pressed her face against his chest.
Damian removed her hands.
The action was firm and immediate.
“Sit down,” he said. “I’ll call Mateo.”
Alyssa remained at the end of the corridor.
Vanessa saw her first.
Her fingers returned to Damian’s shirt.
“Alyssa,” she gasped. “Please.”
Damian turned.
Vanessa released him and sank into the chair beside the desk. Her breathing grew louder.
“What happened?” Alyssa asked.
“She thinks Charles’s car passed the estate,” Damian said.
“Did security confirm it?”
“Not yet.”
Vanessa’s hands shook. “I can’t breathe.”
Damian poured water.
Alyssa stayed near the door. “Should I call a doctor?”
“No.” Vanessa pressed a hand to her chest. “Please don’t leave.”
The request was directed at Damian.
He crouched in front of her. “Slow your breathing.”
Vanessa reached for him again.
Damian caught her wrists and lowered her hands to her lap. “Do not grab me.”
Alyssa watched the rejection register.
Vanessa nodded, humiliated. “I’m sorry.”
Damian looked toward his wife. “Could you help?”
“With what?”
“Sit with her while I speak to security.”
“No.”
His expression changed. “Alyssa.”
“She does not need me.”
“She is frightened.”
“She is arranging a scene for me to witness.”
Vanessa gave a wounded sound.
Damian stood. “That is enough.”
“No, it isn’t. Every incident occurs where you can arrive at the useful moment. She takes your shirt before breakfast. She burns herself when you enter the library. My bracelet falls from her bag in front of Sophie. Now she clings to you in your study while I walk past.”
“You believe she planned a panic attack?”
“I believe she saw me in the corridor.”
Vanessa began crying without covering her face.
Damian stepped between them. “Go upstairs.”
Alyssa stared at him. “Excuse me?”
“I will deal with this.”
“In my house.”
“Our house.”
The phrase again.
Vanessa wiped her cheeks. “Please don’t argue because of me.”
Alyssa looked past Damian. “You say that after creating the argument.”
“I saw a car.”
“Security will verify it.”
“She is terrified,” Damian said. “You are refusing basic compassion because you resent my history with her.”
“Your history is useful to Vanessa. It is your refusal to examine the present that concerns me.”
“She asked for help.”
“She arranges these moments for me to witness.”
Damian’s face closed.
“My past with Vanessa does not make every request for help an attempt to steal me.”
“No. Her conduct does.”
He stared at her as though she had become unfamiliar.
Alyssa returned to her office, collected Sophie’s drawing and locked it in the cabinet with the security notes.
Ten minutes later, an anonymous account published her medical history.
The first post contained the dates of both miscarriages.
The second named the fertility clinic.
By the time Alyssa reached the third, strangers knew the number of treatment cycles, the month she had stopped and the name of the therapist she had seen afterward.
Her private grief spread across the screen in screenshots, captions and laughing comments.
Damian entered while she was reading them.
“What is it?”
Alyssa turned the phone toward him.
The color left his face.
“Who knew?” she asked.
He read in silence.
“Damian.”
“You, me, the doctor.”
“And?”
“Your therapist.”
“She did not know the clinic records.”
“Senior foundation staff had access to medical leave paperwork.”
“Names.”
“Julian knew part of it. My mother knew about the miscarriages.”
Alyssa looked toward the west corridor, where Vanessa sat inside Damian’s study.
“She photographed the files.”
“You don’t know that.”
“The records are in the cabinet beside my office.”
“Which is locked.”
“So was the security archive.”
Damian handed back the phone.
“We’ll have legal remove the posts.”
“The information is already copied.”
“We’ll trace the account.”
“You gave Vanessa access to the family room beside my office this morning.”
“The card does not open your door.”
“She had your shirt before she had a card.”
His mouth tightened.
Alyssa waited for him to consider it. To put the shirt, bracelet, deleted footage and leaked records beside one another and finally look at the woman living behind their pool.
Instead, Damian said, “I need direct proof.”
Alyssa glanced at the screen.
Comments multiplied beneath the date of her second miscarriage.
Private grief had become public entertainment.
Her husband still required more.