Chapter 6 - Smiling with Scorpions
I burst into the nursery just as Vivienne reached the side of Miles’s crib.
"I've got him!" I said, my voice breathless but artificially bright.
Vivienne jerked her hand back from the crib bars. In the dim glow of the nightlight, her face settled into that sickening mask of grandmotherly sweetness. "Mara, darling. I thought the tea would have knocked you out. You need your rest."
"The pain in my wrist woke me up," I lied, sweeping Miles into my left arm, cradling his small, warm body against my chest. He stopped crying immediately, nuzzling into my sweater. "I can take care of him, Vivienne. Mothers don't sleep anyway."
Vivienne’s gaze lingered on my eyes, searching for the heavy-lidded daze of the sedative she had slipped into the chamomile. When she saw only sharp alertness, the corners of her mouth tightened.
"Of course," she purred. "A mother’s instinct is so... stubborn. Bennett is meeting with our estate attorney tomorrow afternoon. We want to set up a comprehensive trust for Miles. We’ll need your signature on several medical waivers."
"Whatever Bennett thinks is best," I replied, forcing my shoulders to droop in mock submission. "I just want our family to be safe."
"Good girl," she said, tapping my good cheek with two icy fingers. "Go back to sleep."
The moment the nursery door clicked shut, I bolted it from the inside.
I didn't sleep a wink. I spent the remaining hours until dawn transferring photos of Clara’s files, the trust documents, and my medical records to an encrypted cloud drive on my phone.
At 7:00 AM, Bennett left the estate for his corporate office in Center City. His departure was my only window. I strapped Miles into his carrier, threw our passports, birth certificates, and basic essentials into a diaper bag, and slipped out through the kitchen pantry into the garage.
My car keys were gone from the hook. Bennett had taken them.
Panic flared hot in my throat. I looked around the shadowed garage. In the corner sat Bennett’s vintage 1968 Mustang—a collector car he kept insured and fueled for weekend shows. The spare key hung in a hidden compartment behind the workshop workbench, a secret he had drunkenly bragged about when we were dating.
May you like
I found the key. My broken right wrist screamed in agony as I loaded Miles’s car seat into the back, wrestling with the seatbelt using only my left hand and teeth.
I hit the garage door opener, fired up the roaring V8 engine, and blasted down the long, winding driveway of Aldercrest Lane before Vivienne even realized her prisoners had vanished into the morning fog.
