Chapter 5 - The Intruder in the Garden
Three days passed in a strange, fragile rhythm.
By day four, Noah wasn't hiding behind his door anymore. He sat on the rug in his room while I built towering fortresses out of wooden blocks, occasionally speaking in full sentences about his favorite books, his missing mother, and the terrifying noises the wind made against the iron window grilles during nightstorms.
I learned that he didn't hate people; he hated unpredictability. Every time a new nanny or therapist had appeared, they had rushed into his space with fake cheerfulness and sudden movements, triggering his deep, protective survival instincts.
I was just there—steady, calm, and utterly unbothered by his outbursts.
On Thursday afternoon, Dominic called me down to his private study on the ground floor.
The room was lined with floor-to-ceiling mahogany bookshelves, a roaring stone fireplace, and heavy leather armchairs. Dominic sat behind an enormous oak desk covered in architectural blueprints, shipping manifests, and encrypted ledger books.
"Margaret tells me Noah ate breakfast with you this morning," Dominic said, looking up from a shipping manifest. His tone was neutral, but his eyes searched my face for any sign of trouble.
"He ate a full bowl of oatmeal and two pieces of toast," I reported, standing on the other side of the desk. "And he didn't throw anything at me once. Progress."
Dominic leaned back in his leather chair, lacing his fingers together over his flat stomach. "You've lasted four days longer than anyone else. The staff is placing bets on whether you'll make it through the weekend."
"Tell them to save their money," I replied calmly. "I'm not going anywhere. But Mr. Vale... we need to talk about his environment. Locking him in the north wing with iron window grilles isn't protecting him. It's reinforcing his fear. It's making him feel like a prisoner in his own home."
Dominic’s expression darkened instantly. "That security is non-negotiable, Miss Reed. You don't know who my enemies are. You don't know what happened to my wife."
"I know she died in a car crash two years ago," I said firmly. "And I know Noah was in the backseat when it happened. He remembers the glass shattering, Mr. Vale. He remembers the men with guns. Every time you lock those iron grilles, you're telling him that the bad guys are still right outside waiting to get in."
Dominic stood up so fast his leather chair rolled back and hit the bookshelf with a sharp thud. He walked around the desk, stopping just inches from me, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle jumped in his cheek.
"You think this is easy?" Dominic hissed, his voice dropping into a lethal, rumbling baritone. "You think I like locking my son behind steel doors? Every time I look at him, I see Sarah. And every time I look at those gates outside, I know there are cartel bosses in Chicago and corrupt politicians in Springfield who would love nothing more than to use my son to get to me. Security isn't a choice, Miss Reed. It's survival."
I didn't flinch. I stood my ground, looking right past his anger into the exhausted, grieving father underneath.
"You can protect him without turning his bedroom into a cage," I said softly.
Before Dominic could answer, the security intercom on his desk crackled to life with a loud, piercing shriek of static.
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“Command to Main Office! Sector Three breach! Perimeter gate four has been compromised! We have motion on the north lawn—multiple armed un-identifieds—!”
The intercom cut off abruptly with the deafening crack of a gunshot echoing across the estate grounds.
