Chapter 3 - What the Lens Recorded
The high-definition video loaded instantly on Damian’s screen.
The camera, positioned high on the corner oak cabinet, provided a crystal-clear, wide-angle view of the entire living room. The audio was crisp, capturing every whisper, every breath, and every rustle of fabric.
Damian stood frozen, staring at the screen. Celeste remained paralyzed three feet away, her breath coming in ragged, terrified hitches, her hands trembling so violently she had to hold onto the edge of the side table for support.
On the video, the timestamp read 4:12 PM—exactly twenty minutes before Damian had walked through the front door.
On the screen, little Oliver was sitting peacefully on the plush rug near the sofa, playing with a soft stuffed T-Rex. Elena was standing at the kitchen island just ten feet away, her back turned as she prepared a bottle of warm milk for the baby.
The front door on the video opened, and Celeste walked in. She wasn't carrying a bag of new clothes for Oliver. She was holding a leather handbag and looking around the foyer with an air of arrogant ownership.
On the screen, Celeste walked over to Oliver. She didn't smile. She didn't kneel down to greet him.
Instead, she stood over the twelve-month-old child, her shadows engulfing him, and used the toe of her designer shoe to push his arm away.
“Where’s your father?” Celeste’s voice echoed sharply from the phone’s speaker.
Oliver looked up, startled by the harsh tone. He clutched his stuffed bear tighter to his chest, whimpering slightly.
“Answer me, you useless little brat,” Celeste sneered on the video. She bent down, grabbed the stuffed bear directly from Oliver’s small hands, and yanked it away with vicious force. “Damian isn't here, is he? You’re just sitting here consuming his money, taking up his time. If it weren't for you, he would have married me months ago.”
On the rug, little Oliver burst into loud, frantic tears, his tiny hands reaching up into the empty air for his toy.
On the screen, Celeste laughed—a cold, bitter, nasty sound. She tossed the stuffed bear across the room, where it landed beneath the dining table. Then, she reached down, pinched Oliver’s tiny forearm hard through his onesie, and hissed, “Shut up! Stop crying!”
Damian’s jaw clamped shut so hard a muscle in his cheek twitched violently. A dark, dangerous heat surged through his veins.
On the video, Elena spun around from the kitchen island, hearing the baby’s sudden distress.
“Celeste! What are you doing?!” Elena yelled on the recording, rushing across the room. She immediately scooped Oliver up into her arms, holding him against her neck, stroking his hair. “Don't touch him!”
“Get your hands off him, you glorified maid!” Celeste snarled on the video, stepping into Elena’s space. “I am the mistress of this house! Damian’s late wife was my best friend! You are nothing!”
“You just pinched a twelve-month-old baby!” Elena shouted back, her voice shaking with rage. “Get out of this house before I call the police!”
“You’re telling ME to get out?!” Celeste shrieked.
On the video, Celeste lunged forward, grabbing Elena by her wrist, twisting it painfully to force her away from the baby. Elena struggled, holding Oliver tightly with her left arm while using her right arm to break free from Celeste’s grip.
Elena pushed Celeste away—a natural, self-defense reaction. Celeste stumbled backward, her hip hitting the corner of the side table.
Enraged, Celeste’s face contorted into something demonic. She grabbed the heavy crystal vase off the table, raised it high above her head, and brought it down with full force toward Elena’s head.
Elena didn't run. She didn't duck to save herself.
On the video, clear as day, Elena turned her entire body, placing herself directly between the heavy crystal vase and baby Oliver.
CRASH!
The vase struck Elena’s head, shattering into pieces. Glass sprayed everywhere. Water dumped over the floor. Elena stumbled toward the sofa, blood immediately welling up from her forehead, but she kept her arms locked around Oliver, absorbing the entire impact herself.
Seconds later, the heavy front door opened, and Damian stepped into the frame.
The video paused.
Damian slowly lowered his phone. He looked up from the screen and locked his gaze onto Celeste.
The silence in the room was absolute.
Celeste was shaking so hard her knees were knocking together. Tears of pure, unadulterated terror were rolling down her face, ruining her mascara, leaving dark black streaks across her cheeks.
“Damian...” Celeste sobbed, dropping to her knees on the hardwood floor, right beside the sharp pieces of broken glass. “Damian, please! I... I didn't mean to! I was stressed! I was jealous! I love you so much, Damian! I’ve loved you since Sarah died!”
Damian stepped forward, stopping right in front of her kneeling form. He didn't raise his hand. He didn't yell.
“You pinched my son,” Damian whispered, his voice trembling with a deadly, quiet fury. “You called an innocent twelve-month-old baby a brat. You threw his toy across the room. And then you tried to fracture his nanny’s skull with a crystal vase while she was protecting him.”
“It was an accident!” Celeste whimpered, reaching out to grab the hem of his trousers. “I lost my temper! She provoked me! Damian, please, think of Sarah! Sarah would want us to be together!”
Damian pulled his leg back, avoiding her touch as if she were a venomous snake.
“Do not mention my late wife’s name with your mouth ever again,” Damian said, his eyes burning with absolute disgust. “Sarah knew what you were. She told me before she died that you were selfish, toxic, and obsessed. I gave you the benefit of the doubt because you were her friend. I allowed you into my home.”
Damian pulled out his phone again, tapping the screen to speed-dial a contact.
“Who... who are you calling?” Celeste gasped, trying to scramble to her feet.
“The Chief of Police,” Damian replied coldly. “And my corporate legal team. You are going to be arrested for aggravated assault, child abuse, and criminal trespass.”
Celeste’s eyes flared with sudden, desperate madness. “You can’t do that! My father is on the city council! If you arrest me, my family will ruin your firm’s municipal contracts! I’ll destroy your company, Damian!”
Damian held the phone to his ear, his expression cold as granite.
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“Try it, Celeste,” Damian said as the phone began to ring. “Because while you’re trying to ruin my business, I’m going to upload this security video to every major news outlet in the state. Let’s see what your father’s council voters think when they see his daughter pinching a baby and striking a woman with a vase.”
Celeste collapsed onto the floor, her face buried in her hands, letting out a hollow, defeated shriek as the police dispatcher answered the line.
