Chapter 67
[Rose's POV]
James shifted in his chair, one hand moving to the crystal tumbler beside him. He took a slow sip of bourbon, his gaze moving from Lauren to me and back again.
Lauren's smile wobbled at the edges. "Well." Her voice came out brighter than necessary, the kind of forced lightness people use when trying to smooth over rejection. "I should check on Madison. Make sure she's not causing too much trouble."
"Alfred will keep an eye on the children," James said, not quite an invitation to stay, not quite a dismissal.
Lauren stood anyway, smoothing her skirt with hands that moved a fraction too quickly. "Of course. Thank you again for your... mercy. Both of you." She glanced at me on those last words, searching for something in my expression.
I let her search. My face remained neutral, polite, empty of the reassurance she wanted.
She left the room with her posture perfect, her heels clicking against the hardwood with metronomic precision. Professional. Controlled. The performance continued all the way to the door.
The moment it closed behind her, James let out a long breath. "You could have given her something."
"I gave her what she deserved. A polite acknowledgment that she spoke."
"Rose—"
"She apologized because Christopher told her to, or because she's worried about her position here. Not because she means it." I moved to the window, looking out at the darkening grounds. "An apology without genuine remorse is just... noise."
James was quiet for a moment. Then: "You're right. Of course you're right." A pause. "But she's still Christopher's—"
"Problem?" I turned back to him. "Yes. She is."
He almost smiled at that, a brief quirk of his lips quickly suppressed. "I was going to say 'girlfriend,' but your version works too."
Through the window, I could see Lauren walking alone near the magnolia pool. Her posture had changed the moment she thought no one was watching. The careful grace became something sharper, more calculating. Her eyes swept the grounds with an assessing quality that had nothing to do with appreciating the landscape.
She pulled out her phone, typed something quickly, then tucked it away as headlights swept up the drive.
"Christopher's home," James muttered, straightening in his chair.
I watched as Lauren transformed again. The sharpness softened. Her expression shifted to something that looked like relief and tenderness. By the time Christopher's car door opened, she was the picture of a woman waiting hopefully for her partner.
"If you didn't know her," I said quietly, watching them meet on the lawn, "you'd think she was exactly what she pretends to be."
James didn't answer. He just exhaled slowly, the sound carrying decades of experience recognizing performances when he saw them.
They walked together across the grass, hands linked, Lauren's head tilted toward Christopher's shoulder. The scene could have been lifted from a romantic movie. Perfect. Practiced. Hollow.
A sudden, piercing cry shattered the evening quiet.
James was on his feet instantly, the bourbon forgotten. "Lily—"
"I'll go." I moved toward the door before he could argue. "You should rest. Let me handle this."
"Rose—"
"You need to take care of yourself, Jimmy." The old nickname slipped out naturally. "I can deal with whatever's happening upstairs."
He hesitated. "If it's serious—"
"Then I'll come get you immediately." I touched his arm briefly. "Rest. Please."
The crying intensified as I reached the stairs. Christopher and Lauren were already rushing inside, their romantic moment forgotten. I could hear their footsteps pounding up the stairs ahead of me.
By the time I reached the second floor, they'd already disappeared around the corner toward Lily's room. The sound led me there like a beacon, Madison's wails echoing off the walls with theatrical precision.
I stopped before turning the corner, something making me pause. In situations like this, understanding what happened before you entered often mattered more than arriving first.
"—and she pushed me!" Madison's voice carried clearly, pitched at exactly the right volume to sound genuinely upset while ensuring everyone nearby could hear. "She called me a bastard child!"
"Lily Sullivan." Christopher's voice held an edge I recognized, the tone of someone already convinced of guilt and working backward to justify it. "Is this true?"
"No! Daddy, I didn't—"
"Don't lie to me."
"I'm not lying!" Lily's voice cracked. "Madison broke my—"
"That's enough." Steel wrapped in ice. "You don't push people. You don't call names. Do you understand?"
A pause. A sniffle. Then: "Yes, Daddy."
"Not good enough. Apologize."
"But I didn't—"
"Now, Lily."
I leaned against the wall, just out of sight, listening to the careful choreography of manipulation. Lauren's voice joined in, softer but no less calculated: "It's all right, Christopher. Madison did break something of Lily's. That's why we're here, actually. To apologize for the accident."
How generous of her. How understanding. The perfect stepmother-in-waiting, modeling forgiveness and grace.
"That doesn't excuse violence," Christopher said.
"Of course not." Lauren's agreement came quickly. "But children get upset. Lily was probably just overwhelmed."
Overwhelmed. What a nice way to frame it. What a perfect way to make Lily seem emotional, unstable, less reliable than Madison's calculated tears.
"Lily." Christopher's voice softened slightly, which somehow made it worse. "Apologize to Madison."
Silence. Long enough that I could picture Lily standing there, four years old, knowing the truth but watching everyone believe the lie.
"I'm sorry, Daddy."
"Not to me. To Madison."
Another pause. Longer this time. I could hear it in the silence, the moment when something inside Lily gave up fighting.
"I'm sorry, Madison." The words came out small and hollow. "I shouldn't have pushed you."
Madison's crying cut off instantly, replaced by a satisfied sniffling that sounded rehearsed.
I pushed off the wall and stepped around the corner.
Four faces turned toward me. Christopher, stern and righteous. Lauren, appropriately concerned. Madison, her eyes still wet but her expression victorious.
And Lily, standing alone near her bed, her small shoulders drawn up tight, her eyes red from crying no one had comforted.
I leaned against the doorframe, letting the silence stretch for three heartbeats. Then I made a soft sound, somewhere between sympathy and observation. "Tsk."
Madison's face froze mid-satisfaction. Her eyes went wide, something like panic flickering there before she schooled her expression back to innocent hurt.
I didn't say anything.