That night, I barely slept. I was constantly haunted by fragmented images of Cairo's study, the crash, the "funny voice," and his chilling words. I wanted to call Iver, but what could I say? "My four-year-old drew a picture that implies your client is a murderer and now he wants to kidnap her?" It sounded insane, even to me. I needed more, something concrete to back up Lorelai's innocent words. I could not bother Iver unless I had more proof; real one.
The next morning, the air felt somehow even more suffocating. Claire had taken Lorelai to a small playgroup she'd found, trying to maintain some normalcy for us. She was so used to going around playing in our lawn, and she had to adjust enough already. I was trying to focus on a weak cup of tea in the kitchen, but my hands shook. I felt so weak, and helpless.
Suddenly, the doorbell chimed. A soft sound that rarely interrupted our quiet, hidden life. Claire couldn't have been back yet, she had only just left a few minutes ago. My heart jumped into my throat. I hesitated, then forced myself to move, pulling my cardigan tighter around me. It had to be a delivery for something maybe Claire ordered, or a neighbour at worst.
But it wasn't.
Standing on Claire's porch, framed by the grey London light, was Cairo.
My breath hitched. He was impeccably dressed, as always, in a dark, tailored suit that looked like it cost more than my entire escape fund. His dark hair was perfectly swept back, his jawline sharp, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips. His eyes, though, were what struck me most. They weren't angry, not exactly. They were too calm, too knowing, like a predator sizing up its prey.
"Open the door, Sylvie," he said, his voice smooth as silk, a stark contrast to the rough words he used to bruise me.
Something in me instinctively followed his instructions, knowing damn well that if he wanted to enter, he would do it either way. I opened the door and closed it behind me.
"Fancy meeting you here. Or perhaps, not so fancy?" He gestured vaguely at the modest suburban house, a sneer across his face. "This is quite the downgrade, isn't it? From the Ashcroft estate to... this."
My spine stiffened. "Get out. You have no right to be here."
He chuckled. "Oh, but I do. We have a court date, don't we? A rather urgent one, in fact. I thought it only proper to extend a personal invitation." He took a slow step forward, and I instinctively stepped back, hitting the doorframe behind me. He noticed, and the smirk widened. "Still so jumpy, Sylvie? One would think you have something to hide."
"I have nothing to hide," I hissed, trying to inject venom into my voice, but it came out thin and shaky. "Unlike you."
His eyes narrowed, and for a small second, I saw the familiar dangerous glint in them. "Temper, temper. Is this how you behave around Lorelai now? Hysterical. Unstable. It's precisely what I told the judge, you know. Grief-induced psychological trauma. You're not fit, Sylvie. Not fit to raise my daughter."
"Lorelai is my daughter," I choked out, a wave of nausea in my throat. "And you know exactly why I left. You did this."
"Did what?" He feigned innocence, his eyebrows raised. "Loved you? Gave you a life of unimaginable luxury? Provided for you and Lorelai? And how did you repay me? By running away like a common thief, filling Lorelai's head with nonsense." He paused, stepping closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper, chilling me to the bone. His tall frame made me feel even more inferior, as it always did. "She's a fragile child, Sylvie. So easily influenced. She hears things. She remembers things. Wouldn't want her to remember the wrong things, would we? Or say them to the wrong people."
My breath caught. It was an almost direct threat, and an obvious confirmation of my darkest fears. He knew. Or at least, he suspected Lorelai had seen or heard something. Right now, I knew exactly how terrifying he could be. He wasn't just angry… he was calculated.
"She doesn't remember anything," I lied, my voice cracking despite myself.
He chuckled again. "Oh, I think she remembers more than you give her credit for. Children are like sponges, aren't they? They absorb everything. And some things… some things should simply remain absorbed. For their own good. For their safety." His eyes flickered to the quiet street, then back to me, a silent, powerful warning. "Give her back, Sylvie. This can all end quietly. No one gets hurt. You walk away with a comfortable settlement, and Lorelai grows up in the home she deserves. The Ashcroft home. Otherwise..."
He let his threat fade, letting me imagine the worst. His lips curved into a slow, chilling smile that didn't reach his cold, calculating eyes. "You know how protective I can be. Especially when it comes to my bloodline. Don't test me, Sylvie. You've already made one foolish mistake running. Don't make another."
He turned, the perfect suit vanishing down the path, leaving me trembling and exposed. My legs felt like jelly, and my chest ached with a familiar and suffocating fear. He hadn't touched me, but his words had more than left me bruised, scarred, and more terrified than ever.
My hand fumbled for my phone, fingers clumsy with shock. I didn't care about decorum, or appointments, or even the time. I needed to hear his voice, to be in his presence, to feel even a semblance of safety. I dialled Iver's personal number, tears blurring my vision. He picked up on the second ring, his usual crisp "Vane" sounding like a lifeline.
"Iver," I choked out, my voice raw, breaking. "He found me. He... he knows."