Chapter 2

Early the next morning, I took Chloe out of the house.

After dropping her off at daycare, I drove straight to the office.

The moment my CFO walked in with her daily briefing, I issued a direct order:

"Cancel every supplementary credit card under Michael Hayes's name immediately. Also, notify accounting that moving forward, not a single expense report from him is to be approved without my personal signature."

She nodded crisply and left to execute the orders.

Once the door clicked shut, I picked up the framed family photo on my desk and tossed it straight into the trash can.

Some garbage should have been dumped a long time ago.

Around three in the afternoon, my receptionist rushed into my office in a panic.

"Ms. Hayes, Chloe has a high fever! Her daycare couldn't reach your cell, so they called the front desk. I just had someone pick her up and bring her here..."

I shot out of my chair. But before I could take two steps toward the door, Martha strolled into the lobby with Amanda and Noah in tow, looking smug and entitled.

"Where's Michael? Get him out here! Noah wants to go to the theme park, and we need his uncle to drive us!"

Martha’s booming voice instantly silenced the entire open-plan office.

Chloe was slumped in the receptionist’s arms, her cheeks flushed bright red with fever. Seeing me, she weakly stretched out her tiny hands.

"Mommy... where's Daddy?"

My heart broke into a million pieces. Tears sprang to my eyes as I rushed forward to take my baby into my arms.

Right then, Noah charged forward and violently shoved Chloe's shoulder.

"You're not allowed to call Uncle Michael 'Daddy'! He's mine!"

"Grandma said everything Uncle Michael has belongs to me! You're just a useless girl!"

Chloe was already weak from the fever, and the sudden shove sent her crashing hard onto the tiled floor.

Her forehead hit the sharp wooden corner of the reception desk with a sickening thud.

Chloe wailed in agony.

Panic gripped my chest, and I dropped to my knees to scoop her up.

Noah wasn't done. He raised his foot and stomped hard right onto the back of Chloe's little hand.

"Cry all you want! You useless little loser!"

Chloe’s screams pierced the room, a raw, bloody scrape instantly swelling across her tiny knuckles.

"What the hell are you doing?!"

Every ounce of my composure snapped. I shoved Noah away and pulled Chloe tightly against my chest.

Noah stumbled backward, tripped over his own sneakers, and plopped onto his butt, immediately setting off a theatrical tantrum.

Michael, who had just stepped out of the executive wing, saw the fall and sprinted over, frantically scooping Noah into his arms.

"Noah, don't cry! Uncle Michael is right here! Let me see, did you get hurt?"

Amanda rushed over with a pale face, examining Noah with tears pooling in her eyes.

Martha charged at me like a rabid hen defending her chick.

"Abby Hayes! A grown woman putting her hands on a child! Have you completely lost your mind?!"

"Noah is only six years old! What does he know?!"

"Chloe is just spoiled rotten by you! She can't even walk straight! She bumped into Noah, and you had the nerve to shove him?!"

Clutching Chloe to my chest, I trembled with pure rage.

"Are you completely blind?! He pushed Chloe down and stomped on her hand!"

Michael held Noah tightly, glaring at me with deep irritation.

"Abby, Noah was just playing around. Kids roughhouse all the time!"

"You're her mother—how could you react so violently?"

He stepped closer, lowering his voice into a sharp hiss.

"Chloe is way too fragile. How old is Noah? How hard could he possibly push? He is David's only surviving son! Do you really have to humiliate our family in front of the entire company?"

Roughhousing?

My daughter’s hand was actively bleeding, and he dared call that roughhousing?!

Amanda dabbed at her eyes, her voice dripping with calculated sorrow.

"Abby, I'm so sorry. It's my fault for not raising Noah better."

"Still, you didn't have to be so rough with him. Noah grew up without a father; he’s deeply sensitive..."

"Shut up!" I cut her off with a vicious snap.

"Growing up without a father gives him the right to assault people?!"

"Growing up without a father gives you the right to treat everyone else's tolerance as a free pass to act like shameless parasites?!"

Before the last syllable left my mouth—*SLAP!*

A stinging slap cracked across my cheek.