Corbin POV:
The carousel organ played a tinny tune, mocking the hollow ache in my chest. Kenisha, my daughter, my everything, laughed as she rode a painted horse, her small hand firmly gripping the brass pole. Byrd, her emerald dress a vibrant splash of color, watched her with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. We were at the park, a picture-perfect family, enjoying a sunny afternoon.
But the image was a lie. A brittle, fragile lie I told myself every day.
My gaze drifted past Kenisha, past Byrd, to the empty space beside me. A phantom limb, a missing piece. Elta. Her laughter, her sharp intellect, her infuriating stubbornness. She should be here. She should be watching Kenisha, her face alight with genuine joy.
A sudden, inexplicable wave of panic washed over me. It had been weeks since Elta had... left. Confined, for her own good, of course. For her erratic behavior. But the penthouse felt like a tomb without her. The silence was deafening, the vast rooms echoing with her absence.
"Corbin?" Byrd's voice, soft and probing, broke through my thoughts. "Is everything alright? You seem miles away."
I forced a smile, a practiced reflex. "Just thinking about work, darling. Big deal looming." I lied, effortlessly, as always. The truth was, I hadn't been able to focus on work in weeks. Richards Holdings was floundering without Elta at the helm, a fact that both infuriated and terrified me.
"You've been distracted lately," Byrd observed, her gaze sharp. "Is it... Elta?"
I bristled. "Of course not. She needed time to recover. For her own good. She was unraveling." I tried to convince myself as much as I was trying to convince Byrd. She was unstable. She was. Right?
But a small, insistent voice in the back of my mind whispered: She was broken by you.
I hadn't seen her since the night of Kenisha's party, the night I had confined her. Her eyes, those beautiful, intelligent eyes, had been filled with a cold, dead look that haunted my waking hours. And that laugh she let out, hollow and despairing, as I ordered her confinement. It echoed in my ears every night.
A pang of something akin to guilt, sharp and unwelcome, pierced my chest. I dismissed it. She was proud. She was too proud. She needed to be brought down a peg or two. It was for her own good. To teach her a lesson. To make her see who truly held the power.
"Daddy!" Kenisha called out, pulling me from my thoughts. "I want ice cream!"
"Alright, princess. Ice cream it is," I said, forcing enthusiasm into my voice. I looked at Byrd. "You go with her. I need a moment."
Byrd's face fell, a flicker of disappointment in her eyes, but she quickly masked it. She took Kenisha's hand, and they walked towards the ice cream truck, their figures growing smaller against the vibrant backdrop of the park.
I watched them go, but my mind was elsewhere. It was a painful echo, because Elta used to care for me just like that. She remembered what I liked. She knew my moods. She was the anchor I never knew I needed, until she was gone.
I hadn't spoken to her in weeks. Hadn't even seen her. The doctors gave her sedatives, kept her calm. But the sheer silence from her... it unsettled me. She was never silent. She was a force, a whirlwind of energy and intellect.
Anxiety gnawed at my stomach. I told myself it was relief. Relief that she was finally under control. Relief that I no longer had to deal with her accusations, her cold looks. But it felt more like a growing dread.
What if... what if I had gone too far?
No. She needed this. She was unstable. She was. I remembered her accusation about the ripped dress. So irrational. Her anger at Byrd's gift. So petty. Her sudden, cold withdrawal. It was all proof. She was losing it.
I had to be right. I had to be.
But then, the image of her face, pale and feverish, as I dragged her to Kenisha' s playroom, flashed before my eyes. The way her body had crumpled to the floor, her laughter hollow and broken. The utter despair in her eyes as I ordered her locked away.
A cold wave washed over me. A tremor of unease.
I needed to see her. To reassure myself. To make sure she was truly "recovering."
"Byrd!" I called out, my voice abrupt. She turned, Kenisha's hand in hers. "I'm going home. Something came up."
Byrd's eyes widened, a flash of irritation. "Corbin? But Kenisha and I were going to..."
"Daddy, are you going to see Mommy?" Kenisha interrupted, her small voice cutting through Byrd's complaint. "Mommy hasn't told me a story in a long time. Does she still love me?"
My breath hitched. Elta, the fierce, devoted mother. She had always prioritized Kenisha, even when she believed the child was mine. She would spend hours reading to her, teaching her, nurturing her. Elta, always putting Kenisha first. Always.
A knot of dread tightened in my stomach. What if Kenisha was right? What if Elta actually didn't love her anymore? What if... what if I had pushed Elta too far?
"Of course, she still loves you, princess," I said, my voice strained. "Mommy is just... resting. I' m going to check on her now. I'll tell her you miss her."
I turned, my steps quickening, a frantic urgency taking hold. I needed to see her. To hear her. To confirm that she was still there, still broken, still mine to control. The growing unease was a suffocating dread.
I climbed into my car, the expensive leather seats suddenly feeling cold and unwelcoming. I barked orders at my driver, pushing him to speed through the city streets. Every red light, every traffic jam, felt like a deliberate torment. A growing sense of panic tightened its icy grip around my heart.
The penthouse. It was too quiet. Too empty.
