Bad Gam-Gam
Melody strode through the gleaming lobby of Marshall Corp like she owned every inch of it.
Which, of course, she did. The navy blue suit hugged her frame with razor-sharp precision: tailored blazer with subtle gold buttons, crisp white blouse tucked neatly beneath, high-waisted trousers that flared just enough to make her legs look endless, and black pencil heels that clicked with quiet authority against the marble.
Her long, straight black hair fell in a glossy curtain down her back, middle-parted and flawless. Oversized dark sunglasses perched on her nose, hiding her eyes, and a black Chanel purse swung lightly from her elbow.
Heads turned. Whispers followed.
She didn’t acknowledge the stares. Her focus was singular, until it wasn’t.
Near the reception desk, sitting stiffly on one of the low leather benches, was a woman in a plain grey blouse and black slacks, hair pulled into a severe ponytail, no makeup, no jewelry. Humble. Diminished. Waiting for a “janitorial position” interview she’d begged for through back channels.
Ashley Quinn.
Melody stopped dead.
Recognition hit like a slap... sharp, immediate, satisfying.
She tilted her head, then slowly slid the sunglasses up to rest on her head.
Ashley looked up at the sound of heels halting in front of her.
Their eyes met.
Ashley’s face drained of color.
“Melody?” she breathed, voice cracking on the name.
Melody’s lips curved... slow, cold, predatory.
“Ashley Quinn,” she said, voice velvet over steel. “Fancy meeting you here.”
Ashley rose on unsteady legs, clutching her cheap purse like a lifeline.
“I… I didn’t know you were—”
“The CEO?” Melody finished, arching one perfect brow. “Yes, well. Things change.”
She stepped closer, close enough that Ashley had to tilt her head back slightly to meet her gaze.
Ashley’s eyes darted over Melody’s outfit, the expensive suit, the Chanel, the effortless power radiating from every line of her body.
“I’ve… I’ve gone through so much,” Ashley whispered, voice trembling. “Christian, he ruined my family. Took everything. Please… just give me a job. Any job. I’ll do anything.”
Melody let the silence stretch long enough for Ashley’s desperation to thicken the air between them.
Then she laughed.
A low, soft, chilling sound that made the receptionist at the desk freeze mid-keystroke.
“Why would I do that?” Melody asked, tilting her head. “You tormented me, remember? You assaulted me. You drugged my daughter. You sent men to beat me half to death in a diner so I’d ‘pay’ for breaking your engagement. And now you want a job? From me?”
Ashley’s knees buckled slightly. She caught herself on the bench.
“Please,” she whispered. “I have nothing left. I’m… I’m begging you.”
Melody rolled her eyes, the motion so casual it was almost bored.
“Alright, alright,” she said, waving a hand dismissively. “Don’t beg like the pathetic bitch you are. It’s embarrassing.”
Ashley’s breath hitched. Hope and humiliation warring on her face.
“You have the job,” Melody continued, smile widening into something sharp and cruel. “Clean the toilets. And... yeah, just keep cleaning them. Every floor. Every stall. Welcome to Marshall Corp.”
She laughed again, light, delighted, the sound echoing off the marble.
Ashley stared at her, tears welling.
Melody leaned in just enough that only Ashley could hear.
“Every time you’re on your knees scrubbing, remember this: you put me on my knees once. And I got back up. You never will.”
She straightened, slid her sunglasses back down over her eyes, and turned toward the private elevator bank.
“HR will have your uniform and schedule,” she called over her shoulder without turning. “Don’t be late.”
Ashley sank back onto the bench, hands shaking, face crumpling.
Melody didn’t look back.
The elevator doors slid open.
She stepped inside.
The doors closed.
And Melody Marshall rode up to her office with the taste of justice sweet on her tongue.
Ashley Quinn was nothing now.
And Melody made sure she knew it.
×××××××
Victoria sat in the sunlit conservatory at the back of the Holt mansion, legs crossed on the cushioned wicker chair, phone in one hand, scrolling through society posts with a faint, satisfied smirk.
The glass walls let in bright afternoon light, warming the potted ferns and orchids around her, but the air felt colder where she was.
Small footsteps pattered across the tiled floor.
“Gam Gam?”
Symphony stood in the doorway, almost four years old, dark curls bouncing, wearing her favorite yellow sundress with the little white daisies. She clutched her plush lamb in both arms, eyes big and hopeful.
Victoria didn’t look up.
“Not now, Symphony,” she said absently, thumb flicking across the screen.
Symphony shuffled closer, bare feet quiet.
“But Gam Gam… I wanna play. With the blocks? You said yesterday you’d help me make a castle.”
Victoria’s jaw tightened. She still didn’t lift her eyes.
“I’m busy.”
Symphony tilted her head, confused but persistent.
“Please? Just a little? I can bring the blocks here.”
Victoria exhaled sharply through her nose.
She finally looked down. Her gaze was cold, impatient.
“Symphony. I said no.”
The little girl’s lip wobbled, but she took one brave step forward.
“But… but you’re my Gam Gam. You always play with me.”
Something snapped behind Victoria’s eyes.
She set the phone down hard enough that it clacked against the glass table.
“You think because you’re here, batting those big eyes, I have to drop everything for you?” Her voice was low, venomous, meant only for the child. “You’re just like her, aren’t you? Always wanting attention. Always thinking the world should stop for you.”
Symphony blinked, confused.
“Like who?”
Victoria stood abruptly, towering over the small girl.
“Like your mother,” she hissed. “The woman who should have stayed gone. The woman who gave birth to you... a girl. A useless little girl who’ll never carry the Holt name forward. You’re nothing but a reminder of her. And I’m tired of looking at you.”
She reached out and grabbed Symphony’s upper arm, fingers digging into soft skin.
Symphony yelped, startled.
“Ow, Gam Gam, that hurts—”
Victoria shook her once, sharp.
“Stop whining. You’re not a baby anymore. Go play by yourself. And don’t come bothering me again unless you’re told to.”
Tears welled in Symphony’s big hazel eyes.
She tried to pull away, but Victoria’s grip tightened for one cruel second before releasing her.
Symphony stumbled back, clutching her arm where red marks were already blooming. Her lower lip trembled violently.
“I… I just wanted to play…” she whispered, voice tiny and broken.
Victoria turned away, already reaching for her phone again.
“Then go play alone,” she said coldly. “That’s what girls like you do.”
Symphony’s face crumpled.
A sob escaped... small, hiccupping, heartbroken.
She hugged her lamb tighter, turned, and ran out of the conservatory, bare feet slapping against the tile, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Victoria didn’t watch her go.
She simply sat back down, reopened her phone, and resumed scrolling as though nothing had happened.
As though she hadn’t just crushed a three-year-old girl’s heart for no reason other than who her mother was.
And because she was a girl.
The only sin that mattered to Victoria Holt.
×××××××
Melody burst through the front doors of the Holt mansion, coat half-unbuttoned, heels clicking frantically against the marble foyer.
Her heart slammed against her ribs the entire drive from the office.
Sally’s call replaying in her head like a siren: “She won’t stop crying, Miss Evans.
She’s been sobbing for over an hour. She even threw up from it.
Mr. Holt isn’t answering. He's probably still in a meeting. I didn’t know who else to call. ”
She ran straight past the grand staircase’s landing, up the curved steps two at a time, breath ragged, long dark hair whipping behind her.
The nursery door was already open.
Inside, the room was soft and dim.
Symphony sat on the floor in Sally’s lap, face buried in the older woman’s shoulder, small body shaking with hiccupping sobs. Her cheeks were blotchy red, eyes swollen, dark curls damp with tears and sweat. The plush lamb lay forgotten beside her.
The moment Melody appeared in the doorway, Symphony’s head jerked up.
“Mommy!”
Her little arms shot out, trembling.
Melody’s heart lurched so hard she almost stumbled.
“My baby,” she breathed.
She crossed the room in three strides and dropped to her knees, arms open.
The child launched herself forward, clinging to Melody’s neck like she was drowning and Melody was the only solid thing left in the world. Melody wrapped her arms around her daughter, tight, fierce, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other rubbing slow circles on her trembling back.
“Shhh, sweetheart,” Melody whispered against her curls. “Mommy’s here. Mommy’s here now.”
Symphony’s sobs broke into fresh wails, small fists clutching Melody’s coat.
“Gam Gam is bad,” she hiccupped between gasps. “She's so bad. She hurt me and I got scared and my tummy hurt and—”
Melody rocked her gently, pressing kisses into her damp hair.
“I know, baby. I know. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here sooner. But I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere.”
Sally stood quietly a few steps away, eyes soft and glistening.
“She kept asking for you and Mr. Holt,” she murmured.
Melody nodded, throat tight. She shifted so she could sit fully on the rug, pulling Symphony into her lap. The little girl curled against her chest, face tucked into the crook of Melody’s neck, still crying but quieter now... exhausted, hiccupping, clinging.
Melody rocked her slowly, humming the same lullaby she used to play on the piano when Symphony was still in her belly. One hand stroked her back in steady rhythm, the other cradled her head.
After several long minutes, Symphony’s sobs eased into shaky breaths.
“Mommy?” she whispered, voice tiny and raw.
“Yes, love?”
“Don’t go away.”
Melody’s eyes filled. She pressed her lips to Symphony’s forehead, lingering there.
“I won’t,” she promised, voice cracking. “I’m right here. I’m staying right here.”
Symphony sniffled, small fingers twisting in Melody’s sweater.
“Promise?”
Melody kissed her temple.
“Promise.”
She held her daughter close... rocking, humming, letting the tears fall silently into her curls until Symphony’s breathing evened out and her small body grew heavy with exhaustion.
Only then did Melody look up at Sally, eyes shining.
“Thank you for calling me.”
Sally nodded, wiping her own cheek.
“She needed you.”
Melody looked back down at the sleeping child in her arms, cheeks still tear-streaked, lashes clumped, tiny hand fisted in her sweater.
She pressed one more kiss to the top of her daughter’s head.
“I’m here now,” she whispered, more to herself than anyone else. “And I’m never leaving again.”
×××××××