The golden light of late afternoon spilled through the wide windows of Adrien Marlo’s mansion as his car pulled into the driveway. A billionaire businessman admired for his discipline and success, Adrien was known for being meticulous in everything—except, perhaps, in love. That day, he had wrapped up a meeting early, thinking he might surprise his wife, Seline, and spend the evening with his little daughter, Clara.
Clara was six years old, with hair the color of sunlight and a smile that could melt any heart. Born with weak legs, she relied on crutches to walk, but she never complained. Adrien adored her—she was his entire reason for living after losing his first wife to illness. When he remarried Seline two years ago, he believed he had finally restored warmth to their home.
As he stepped through the polished oak doors, Adrien expected to hear Clara’s laughter echoing from the sunroom. Instead, he heard a small, muffled cry. He froze. The sound came again—soft, fearful, and pained. Adrien followed it down the corridor until he reached the kitchen doorway.
What he saw rooted him to the floor. Seline stood over Clara, her face twisted with rage. “You clumsy little thing!” she hissed, lifting her foot and kicking one of Clara’s crutches away. The girl stumbled, her small body shaking as she tried to balance. “You spilled your juice again! Can’t you do anything right?”
“Please, I’m sorry,” Clara whimpered, her voice trembling.
Adrien’s vision blurred with disbelief. The woman he had trusted to care for his daughter was striking her—inside his own home. He heard the crack of Seline’s hand across Clara’s cheek, and something inside him broke.