A Caged Songbird's Escape: Into the Arms of a Predator novel Chapter 4

The next morning, Elissa's internal clock woke her up before dawn. When she drew back the curtains, the world outside had vanished beneath a shroud of white. Not a word about snow in last night's forecast—yet here it was, the first snowfall of the year, thick and silent.

Even through the glass, she could feel the chill seeping in.-

She changed into a warm knit dress and was still brushing her teeth when a loud crash echoed down the hall. Another followed, then a torrent of clattering and banging. The racket was so intense, for a moment she wondered if a demolition crew had arrived by mistake.

"Elissa, what on earth is going on out there…" She twisted her hair into a messy bun, opened the bedroom door, and froze mid-sentence.

Demolition crew? Try a tornado. Or an invading army.

The house, normally spotless and orderly, had been turned upside down. A sofa cushion—one that belonged downstairs—was now outside her door, smeared with an ominous brown stain. The vase that once stood on the console table lay in shards on the floor. And the million-dollar oil painting that hung in the hallway? Slashed, defaced, ruined beyond repair.

It was almost impressive, in a horrifying way.

Edna, their housekeeper, was nearly in tears as she trailed after Hickey. "Please, darling, don't touch that! That's the lady's favorite tea set—"

Crash.

Too late. The china shattered across the tiles.

Hickey, the pint-sized tyrant, stuck out his tongue and huffed, "I'll play with what I want! Uncle said this is my house now. You're just the help, so who are you to boss me around?"

He looked up—and met Elissa's icy gaze. Instinctively, he ducked his head.

That awful woman! She'd scared him so badly last night that he'd dreamed of being chased by Santa Claus and monsters all night long. He had to get rid of her. Mom said, as long as that woman left, Uncle would be theirs alone.

Elissa's voice was calm. "Go ahead, Hickey. Play all you want."

"Really?" He stared at her, suspicious.

After all the things he'd broken—her favorite things, no less—she wasn't even angry?

Elissa leaned against the upstairs railing, glancing down at Marcia, who sat in the living room below pretending not to hear a thing. She smiled. "Of course. But leave the watercolor hanging in the sitting room alone. That one's my favorite."

Whether Marcia had put Hickey up to this or the brat thought it up himself, Elissa couldn't be sure. But it didn't matter.

She wasn't one to let things slide. Someone once taught her: if you're bullied, hit back tenfold.

Hickey's eyes flashed. "Okay!"

He darted off, already plotting his next bit of mischief.

Edna watched him go, helpless. "You and Mr. Ethan both spoil that child far too much…"

"It's fine," Elissa assured her. "Let him be. He's the Atwater family's only grandson—his happiness comes first. Besides, Marcia never stops him, does she? We have to respect her parenting style. If anything goes wrong, neither you nor I could bear the blame."

Edna sighed. "You're too soft, that's your problem. Makes people think they can walk all over you."

"Not yet."

"Then do it. Now."

The words were barely out when Hickey launched himself at her, screaming, "No! Don't you dare! You're not allowed to tattle, you witch!"

Caught off guard by the force of his little body, Elissa stumbled and fell hard, pain shooting up her spine.

"Elissa, are you hurt?" Marcia rushed over, helping her up with a pinched smile. "He's just a child. I've spoiled him, I know, but kids roughhouse. Don't take it to heart."

Elissa, holding her lower back, stared at the ruined painting—a gaping hole smashed through it. She gave a cold laugh. "So you think letting your son destroy other people's property is just part of your parenting style?"

Marcia's eyes filled with tears. "I just took my eyes off him for one moment, and now you're blaming me for everything?"

"Oh, one moment?" Elissa looked around at the chaos. "So when, exactly, were you watching him? He's only been up an hour and half the house is wrecked."

"Elissa!" With nobody else around, Marcia dropped her sweet façade. "Do you have to make a scene over a stupid painting? You're really going to call the family about this? Do you think Grandma will punish me over some worthless picture—"

"Correction," Elissa cut in, her voice low. "That's not just a picture. It was Mr. Atwater's last painting before he died."

As she finished speaking, a black sedan rolled into the driveway.

The family from the main house had arrived.