The polished marble floor of the Vance family mansion echoed with the quiet hum of wealthy guests chatting in the main parlor. I stood near the heavy oak front doors, my hands gripping the straps of my purse so hard my knuckles turned white. My bronze satin dress rustled against the floor as I took a deep breath, trying to control the anxiety twisting in my stomach. I was only there to pick up my seven-year-old daughter, Hannah, from a mandatory weekend visitation arranged by her father’s high-priced lawyers.
Vanessa: Where is my daughter, Julian?
Julian: She is upstairs learning some manners, Vanessa.
Vanessa: The court order said three o'clock sharp. It is ten past three.
Julian: The clock in my house runs on my schedule, not yours.
I didn't waste another second arguing with him. I pushed past the butler and walked fast down the long, grand hallway toward the west wing. White walls with ornate gold trimming stretched out on both sides, with a large American flag mounted on the wall above the marble archway. That was when I heard the sharp, terrifying sound of a small child sobbing.
Hannah: Mommy! Mommy, please help me!
Evelyn: Shut up, you brat! Keep your head down!
My heart stopped in my chest. I turned the corner and saw Evelyn, Julian’s cruel sister, wearing a tight black dress. She had her hand wrapped tightly around Hannah’s soft brown hair, yanking her head backward while my daughter cried on her knees. Standing just a few feet away, Julian sat casually on an ornate golden velvet armchair, wearing a gold silk pajama set, holding his smartphone and smirking without a care in the world.
Vanessa: Get your hands off my child!
I lunged forward, my bronze dress flying behind me as I grabbed Evelyn by the shoulder and threw her back against the wall. I pulled Hannah into my arms, but the rage inside me was just beginning to boil over, and Julian was still sitting there with that arrogant smirk on his face, holding the future of my daughter’s inheritance in his hands.