Christians Departure
The Holt mansion was still wrapped in pre-dawn quiet, the kind that made every sound feel too loud.
Christian stood in the foyer, black coat already buttoned, briefcase in hand, waiting for the driver to pull the car around.
Victoria descended the staircase slowly, silk robe cinched tight, expression composed but eyes sharp.
“Everything’s arranged,” she said, voice low. “Symphony’s schedule is the same. The nanny will handle her.”
Christian adjusted his cufflinks... small, silver, a gift from Ashton years ago. He didn’t look up.
“And Melody?” he asked. “Let her feed the baby when she’s hungry. No excuses.”
Victoria’s lips curved, thin and unreadable. “I never stop her from doing it, Christian. You know that.”
He lifted his head then. His hazel eyes narrowed slightly, brow arching in quiet disbelief.
“Are you sure?”
Victoria’s gaze flickered away only for a second, but it was enough. She smoothed the front of her robe, suddenly fascinated by the marble floor.
Before she could answer, soft footsteps echoed from the hallway.
“Christian?”
Melody appeared in the arched doorway, barefoot, nightgown hanging loose on her thin frame. Her dark hair was tangled from restless sleep, eyes red-rimmed and shadowed. She clutched the doorframe like it was the only thing keeping her upright.
Victoria exhaled sharply through her nose. “Oh, God, here she comes.”
She turned on her heel and walked away, robe whispering against the stairs as she disappeared upward.
Christian exhaled, shoulders dropping the tiniest fraction. He looked at Melody for the first time in days. The sight of her, pale, fragile, still beautiful in a way that cut him, made something in his chest twist painfully.
“I’m late, Melody,” he said quietly. Voice rough from lack of sleep.
She took a hesitant step forward, arms wrapped around herself.
“Christian, please.” Her voice cracked on his name. “Don’t I even deserve a goodbye?”
He looked away, jaw tight. The driver’s headlights swept across the windows... time slipping away.
“You know why I’m going,” he said. “The deal—”
“I know.” She swallowed. “But… just for a second. Look at me.”
He did. Slowly. And regretted it instantly.
Her eyes were wet, pleading, the same dark eyes that used to light up when a project succeeded.
He clenched his fists at his sides.
“I can’t do this right now,” he said, almost a whisper.
“Then when?” Her voice broke. “When you come back? When you decide I’m still worth hating? When you finally believe I didn’t kill your brother?”
Christian’s throat worked. He took a step toward the door.
Melody reached out instinctively, fingers brushing the sleeve of his coat.
“Please,” she whispered. “I just want to remember what it felt like when you didn’t look at me like I was nothing.”
He froze.
For one long, shattering second, neither moved.
Then he gently, almost tenderly, pulled his arm away.
“I have to go,” he said, voice barely audible.
Tears spilled down Melody’s cheeks. She didn’t wipe them away.
“Will you… will you think of me?” she asked, so soft it almost broke him. “Even a little?”
Christian looked at her one last time.
“I always do,” he said. “Everytime I think of my innocent brother.”
Then he turned, opened the door, and walked out into the cold morning.
The car door closed behind him with a final, quiet thud.
Inside the foyer, Melody stood alone, arms wrapped around herself, watching the taillights disappear down the drive.
She didn’t cry out.
She didn’t chase him.
She just stood there, trembling, until the sound of the engine faded into silence.
And the house swallowed her again.
×××××××
Melody paced the narrow space between the bed and the window, bare feet silent on the cold hardwood.
The clock on the nightstand read 11:17 a.m. Sally should have brought Symphony by now.
.. two hours past the usual morning feeding time.
The baby’s hungry cries had echoed faintly down the hall earlier, then stopped. Silence had followed, thick and wrong.
She hadn’t eaten since Christian left before dawn.
No breakfast tray. No water. Just the hollow ache in her stomach and the heavier one in her breasts.
.. engorged, leaking, burning. Her milk supply was already faltering from yesterday’s skipped feeds.
Every step sent a fresh stab through her still-healing incision.
She stopped at the door. Tried the knob again.
Locked.
Since morning.
Her heart began to pound harder. She lifted her fist and pounded... once, twice, then harder.
“Hello?” Her voice cracked. “Sally? Anyone? Why is the door locked? Where’s Symphony? Please!”
No answer. Only the faint creak of the old house settling.
She pounded again, louder. “Open the door! I need to feed my daughter! Someone!”
The silence mocked her.
Melody stepped back, breathing fast, tears stinging. She pressed her forehead to the wood, whispering, “Please… please just bring her…”
The lock clicked.
The door swung open.
Victoria stood there, silk robe immaculate, hair perfect, a book tucked under one arm. Her expression was thunder.
“Do you ever stop?” she snapped. “Pounding like an animal. Disturbing my reading time. Have some dignity, girl.”
Melody’s hand dropped. “Victoria… the door was locked. Sally hasn’t brought Symphony. She needs to feed—”
Victoria stepped inside, slamming the door behind her. The sound echoed like a gunshot.
“There will be no more feeding from you,” she said coldly. “Symphony is on formula now. Properly. Cleanly. The way a Holt child should be raised... not poisoned by your milk.”
Melody’s breath hitched. “No, Christian said—”
“Christian is in Japan,” Victoria cut in. “And I decide what happens in this house while he’s gone. You’ve had your little moments. They’re over.”
Melody shook her head, stepping forward. “You can’t do this. She’s my daughter. She needs—”
Victoria’s hand cracked across Melody’s cheek, sharp, open-palmed, ringing.
Melody staggered back, hand flying to her face. The sting bloomed hot and fast.
“Shut your mouth,” Victoria hissed. “You don’t speak to me like that.”
Melody’s vision blurred with tears. “Please… she’ll get hungry. She needs me—”
Victoria lunged forward, grabbing Melody by the front of her nightgown and shoving her hard against the wall. Melody’s back hit the plaster; the impact jolted her incision, fresh pain exploding through her abdomen. She gasped, doubling over.
Victoria didn’t let go. She yanked Melody upright by the collar, face inches away.
“You think you have rights here?” she spat. “You killed my son. You trapped my other son in this farce of a marriage. You’re nothing. You’re less than nothing.”
She shoved again, harder. Melody’s knees buckled. She slid down the wall, clutching her stomach, blood seeping warm beneath the gauze.
Victoria towered over her, breathing hard.
“Stay in this room,” she said. “Stay quiet. Or I’ll make sure you never see that child again. Not even from a distance.”
She turned on her heel, robe swirling, and walked out.
The lock clicked shut.
Melody curled on the floor, arms wrapped around her middle, sobbing into her knees. The pain in her body was nothing compared to the one in her chest... raw, tearing, endless.
Symphony was hungry.
Her baby was hungry.
And she couldn’t reach her.
The house was silent again.
Except for the muffled, distant sound of a baby crying somewhere far down the hall.
And the quiet, broken weeping of the woman who could do nothing but listen.
×××××××
I can’t keep pretending the first time was the worst.
It wasn’t.
The first time was shocking.
The second time… broke something inside me.
It happened two weeks after the initial incident.
Late evening again. I’d stayed to finalize the quarterly forecast, alone as usual. The building was quiet, lights dimmed on most floors. I thought I was safe.
I heard the elevator ding.
Ashton stepped out, jacket off, shirt sleeves rolled up, tie gone. He walked straight to my desk like he owned the night.
“Working late again?” he said, voice smooth, almost playful. But his eyes weren’t playful. They were dark. Hungry.
I stood up quickly. “I was just finishing—”
He moved faster than I expected. One hand caught my wrist, the other pressed against the small of my back, pinning me between my desk and his body.
“Relax,” he murmured, breath hot against my neck. “No one’s here. Just us.”
I tried to pull away. “Ashton, stop. Let go.”
He didn’t. His grip tightened on my wrist until it hurt. His other hand slid lower, fingers digging into my hip.
“You keep saying no,” he whispered, lips brushing my ear, “but your body’s shaking. I think you like the chase.”
I shoved against his chest with my free hand. “I said stop!”
His smile vanished. He pushed me harder against the desk, the edge biting into my lower back.
“You think you’re special?” he hissed. “You think you can keep turning me down and I’ll just walk away? I’m Ashton Holt. Women beg for this.”
He leaned in, mouth crashing toward mine. I turned my head at the last second. His lips grazed my cheek instead. Rage flashed across his face.
He released me so suddenly I stumbled. He stepped back, straightening his shirt like nothing had happened.
“You’ll regret that,” he said quietly. “One day you’ll beg me to touch you. And I might not be so generous.”
He walked out.
I stood there shaking, wrist already bruising, heart slamming so hard I thought I’d be sick.
I didn’t report it. Not yet.
Because at that time I thought, who would believe me?
He was the CEO.
I was just… me.
After that, I stopped taking the elevator alone.
I carried pepper spray in my bag.
I completed my work quickly so I don't stay late at the office.
But he never stopped looking at me like I was something he could take whenever he wanted.
He never proposed marriage.
He never spoke of love.
He wanted power.
Control.
One night to prove I belonged to him.
That’s why I know he didn’t kill himself over me.
A man who thinks he can force what he wants doesn’t end his life when he doesn’t get it.
He finds another way.
Or another victim.
—Melody
×××××××