"Roberta, I'll give you whatever you want! Just let us go!"
The only answer was Clay's back as he walked away, his voice carrying behind him like a verdict.
"Watch her. Make her kneel. If she tries to stand, break her legs."
One hour. Two hours.
I knelt there, crying, praying that Roberta would show a shred of mercy and wake up to stop Clay.
What I got instead was a phone call. Assistant Miller's voice, flat and clinical:
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Vance. Your mother passed away. Since you weren't present to sign for the body, we've already sent it to the crematorium."
"No!"
The scream ripped from my throat, and I doubled over, retching up mouthfuls of blood.
The bodyguard's phone buzzed. He read the message, then hauled me off the floor.
"Mr. Vance is hosting a birthday party for Miss Harding tonight. You're to clean yourself up and go to the venue. You'll kneel and apologize in front of everyone. That's your gift to the birthday girl."
I moved like a corpse. I followed them to the car, rode home in silence, walked into the bedroom, and began getting ready.
They waited outside the door.
Minutes passed. Then more minutes.
I never came out.
They kicked the bedroom door open and found the room empty.