Chapter 53 A Day With Lily
EMILY
Sleep is a luxury I simply cannot afford right now.
I stand in front of the marble bathroom vanity and stare at the heavy, dark purple bags dragging down the delicate skin under my eyes. The entire night passed in a miserable blur of anxious pacing.
*Silas is not going to stop at your family. You can’t ignore Aunt Cherry and her daughter. You realize that they would be in greater danger now because of what happened. Silas would do anything.*
Through the night, my mind constantly ran through a hundred different scenarios about Silas Hunt and the threat he poses to both Aunt Cherry and her daughter. I cup my hands under the brass faucet, splashing freezing water onto my cheeks until the shock forces my brain to wake up. I grab a thick wool cardigan from the closet, wrap it tightly around my shoulders, and step out onto the bedroom balcony.
The morning air bites at my nose, carrying the damp scent of dew and pine needles. Down below in the sprawling gravel driveway, Alistair is walking toward his armored SUV. Today he’s wearing a fitted navy blue suit that stretches perfectly across his broad shoulders. The dark fabric makes him look imposing, a literal titan stepping out to conquer the corporate world. And the man is already imposing enough. He should be wearing pink or yellow or something shiny to tone down his intimidating aura.
He stops just before his driver can open the car door. Before I can wonder and guess what he’s doing, he tilts his head up. His dark, calculating eyes lock directly onto mine.
For a long moment, neither of us moves. The crisp morning breeze rustles the trees, but the silence between us is absolute. The memory of his harsh warning last night still rings in my ears. Alongside his apology and then another warning.
Now I don’t understand the look in his eyes and the fact that he’s holding my gaze for this long.
He told me not to develop feelings for him. He made it perfectly clear our marriage is nothing more than a strict business transaction designed to secure his heir. But it doesn’t feel like a line is drawn right now.
I swallow the dry, painful lump in my throat. I force the corners of my mouth to pull upward into a bright, convincing smile, and I raise my hand to wave.
As expected, Alistair does not return the gesture. His expression remains a completely blank wall of stone. He simply turns his back, slides into the plush leather backseat, and allows the guard to shut the heavy door. The vehicle pulls away immediately, the thick tires crunching loudly over the stones until the car disappears past the iron gates.
A soft tapping pulls me back inside. I lock the glass balcony doors and walk across the plush carpet to open the bedroom door.
Lily stands in the hallway. She wears a bright yellow sundress and holds her hands hidden behind her back. She looks up at me, rocking back and forth on her small white sneakers.
"Good morning, Emily," Lily says softly. She pulls her hands forward, presenting a small, fuzzy monster doll. It has large, mischievous eyes, soft brown fur, and a tiny plastic crown sitting on its head. "I brought you a present. It is a Labubu doll. My uncle bought it for me, but I want you to have it. You looked very sad yesterday."
I drop to my knees, bringing myself right down to her eye level. The doll is a highly sought-after limited edition piece, the exact kind of toy collectors fight over in expensive boutique stores. Yet, Lily offers it to me with absolute, pure generosity. I take the soft toy from her hands, my chest aching slightly. Thomas and Lydia Vance, the people I called my parents for many years, never bought me a single toy. They locked me in a cold storage room and treated me like an unwanted burden my entire life. I will never let Lily feel that kind of neglect.
"Thank you, Lily," I say, reaching out to brush a stray dark curl from her forehead. "I love it very much. And I am so incredibly sorry I did not bring your bacon pizza back yesterday. My errand in the city took much longer than I expected."
Lily pouts slightly, her small shoulders slumping toward the floor.
"But," I add quickly, tapping her nose with my finger, "how about we make one together? Right now. We can make the dough from scratch, and you can put as much extra cheese and bacon on it as you possibly want."
Her dark eyes double in size instantly. A huge, missing-tooth smile takes over her face. "Really? Can we make the edges really thick?"
"The absolute thickest," I promise.
I take her hand and we basically skip together all the way to the kitchen. The girl is a bundle of joy and excitement.
It’s infectious and I find myself smiling from ear to ear.
The Wolfe family kitchen is the size of a commercial restaurant, outfitted with shining stainless steel appliances and acres of white marble counter space. I roll up the sleeves of my cardigan and bury my hands in a large glass bowl of flour and warm water. The sticky dough clings to my raw thumbs. My muscles still ache fiercely from yesterday’s firearms training with Leo, but the repetitive, physical motion of kneading the bread is incredibly grounding.
"Push it down hard," I instruct Lily.
She stands on a sturdy wooden stool beside me, her small hands dusted completely white with flour. She punches the dough with total enthusiasm, sending small, powdery clouds floating into the air.
Once the dough forms a smooth, elastic ball, I hand the bowl to a waiting maid. She covers it with a damp cloth and carries it out to the warm sunroom to ferment. I spend the next twenty minutes chopping fresh basil leaves, pureeing bright red tomatoes, and frying crisp strips of thick-cut bacon on the industrial stove.
"The dough needs at least an hour or two to rise," I tell Lily, wiping my greasy hands on a cotton towel. "What should we do while we wait?"
Lily grabs my hand, her grip surprisingly strong. "We are going to the cinema! I know the way."
I let her lead me out of the kitchen and into the labyrinth of the estate’s lower levels. We walk down a long, dimly lit corridor lined with antique oil portraits and heavy, woven tapestries. The air grows noticeably cooler the deeper we go into the basement wing.
"Turn left here," Lily says, pulling me around a sharp corner.
I stop dead in my tracks. A massive, heavy iron door sits at the very end of the hallway. There are no handles on the outside. A thick steel deadbolt secures the metal frame to the concrete wall. The sheer weight and absolute finality of the structure sends a sharp, biting chill straight down my spine. It is the Meditation Room.
Beatrice Wolfe is locked inside that pitch-black box right now. She will spend the next week entirely alone, cut off from the world, paying the price for her absolute cruelty. I stare at the metal door, feeling no pity at all.
Lily tugs hard on my sleeve. She looks at the iron door, her small face turning very serious. "You have to be very good, Emily. Do not make a mistake, or Uncle Alistair will lock you in there too."
The innocent warning hits me like a physical blow. This is the dark reality of the Wolfe estate. It is a fortress ruled by absolute, unforgiving discipline. I must secure the licensing contract with Dr. Aris. I desperately need my cardiology formula to succeed so I can build my own financial safety net. I cannot survive forever walking on the terrifying tightrope of Alistair’s good graces.
"I will be very careful," I whisper, guiding her quickly away from the door.
We reach the end of a carpeted hallway, and Lily pushes open a set of padded leather double doors.
I step inside and completely lose my breath. It is a private family theater that rivals any commercial cinema in the city. Row after row of plush, reclining leather seats stretch back toward a massive projection booth. The room can easily accommodate over a hundred people. The walls are lined with expensive acoustic paneling, and the massive silver screen at the front is already glowing brightly with a menu screen.
A team of quiet, uniformed servants stands near a sleek marble counter in the back. They have already arranged crystal bowls of hot buttered popcorn, silver trays of fresh fruit tarts, and tall glass pitchers of chilled juice.
I shake my head, letting out a soft, disbelieving sigh. The sheer, overwhelming scale of this wealth is staggering. The Wolfe family truly understands how to insulate themselves in absolute luxury. It is a completely different universe from the cramped, drafty storage room where I spent my teenage years studying chemical textbooks by the light of a single, bare bulb.
We settle into the front row seats. The leather is incredibly soft and warm against my skin. The overhead lights dim to a soft glow, and the bright, colorful world of the animated movie *Zootopia* fills the massive screen. For the next hour and a half, I force myself to stop thinking about Silas Hunt and his violent threats. I focus entirely on Lily’s laughter. I watch her munch on handfuls of popcorn and point excitedly at the animated animals on the screen. I feel a deep, fierce need to protect her innocence from the dark, manipulative corners of this family.
When the credits finally roll, we walk back to the kitchen. The dough has doubled in size, sitting soft and puffy in the glass bowl. We roll it out flat on the marble counter, spread the rich tomato sauce, and layer on absolute mountains of mozzarella cheese and crispy bacon.
The delicious smell of baking bread and roasting meat fills the entire wing of the house within minutes. We sit side by side at the large granite island, watching the cheese bubble through the glass door of the industrial oven.
Footsteps echo quickly down the hall. The head housekeeper, Mrs. Gable, walks into the kitchen. Her pristine uniform is perfectly ironed, but her face looks uncharacteristically strained. Her hands are clasped tightly together.
"Excuse me, Mrs. Wolfe," she says, stopping a few feet from the counter. She keeps her voice completely formal. "I am sorry to interrupt your afternoon. We just received a call on the main estate line. There is someone on the phone asking to speak with you directly."