Chapter 5 - THE CONFRONTATION
Inside the carriage house, the color drained completely from Emily’s face.
She froze, baby Leo clutched tightly against her shoulder. Her eyes darted around the kitchen, landing instantly on the heavy brass security bolt above the latch.
Click.
She threw the bolt into place, her hands trembling violently.
"Go away, Brandon!" she shouted through the heavy wood, her voice shaking but carrying a fierce, defensive edge. "I won't open the door! The police are already on their way!"
"No, they aren't," Brandon replied, his voice chillingly calm from the other side. "I disabled the local cell repeater at the end of your driveway three minutes ago. No signals are getting out of this valley, Emily. It's just you, me, and the kids."
A cold terror gripped Emily's chest. She looked at baby Maya sleeping peacefully in the bassinet, then down at Leo, who had started to whimper at the sudden tension in his mother's body.
"Please, Brandon," she begged, tears spilling over her eyelashes. "Just leave us alone. Haven't you done enough damage?"
"I want to see my children, Emily," Brandon said, his tone softening slightly, taking on a desperate, pleading note. "Open the door. I'm not here to fight. I just want to look at my son and daughter."
"You lost the right to be their father the moment you decided to spend your nights with Sloan!" Emily yelled, her voice breaking with the cumulative agony of the past eighteen months. "You didn't care about them when you were living your double life in TriBeCa! You only care about them now because your ego is bruised and your empire is gone!"
Outside, a heavy thud echoed against the front door.
Thud. Thud.
"Don't make me break this door down, Emily," Brandon warned, his voice hardening back into ice. "I am not leaving without seeing my kids."
Emily’s mind raced. Marcus had told her to use the emergency satellite phone locked in the desk drawer if anything went wrong. She sprinted toward the antique writing desk in the corner of the parlor, shifting a stack of papers aside, and wrenched the drawer open.
Her fingers closed around the black satellite handset.
She pressed the emergency dispatch button.
No signal. Searching...
Her heart sank. Brandon wasn't bluffing. He had jammed the local comms.
Suddenly, a loud CRACK echoed through the house.
Brandon had thrown his shoulder against the wooden paneling near the lock. The antique latch groaned under the pressure, splintering wood flying across the hardwood floor.
Crack!
The door burst open.
Brandon stood in the doorway, soaked to the bone, mud caked on his shoes, his wet hair plastered across his forehead. His eyes were wild, bloodshot, burning with a desperate, unhinged energy.
He stepped into the foyer.
Emily backed away slowly until her spine hit the brick fireplace, holding baby Leo against her chest like a shield.
"Stay back, Brandon," she warned, her voice trembling as she grabbed a heavy brass poker from the hearth. "I'm warning you."
Brandon stopped dead in his tracks. He looked at Emily—truly looked at her—for the first time in months. He saw the dark circles under her eyes, the worn-out sweater she had worn through her entire pregnancy, the raw terror on her face.
The fierce rage that had driven him up the mountain suddenly evaporated, replaced by a crushing, overwhelming wave of shame.
May you like
He slowly lowered his hands.
"Emily..." he whispered, his voice cracking violently. "I never wanted to scare you."
