THE FUGITIVE LADY

Chapter 3: Protection turned into Pressure

Zurich – The Same Apartment

Winter Deepening

The apartment felt like a controlled environment. Curtains stayed half-closed. Dominic had installed surveillance software on their network. He called it protection. It felt like confinement.

The First Fall

Jade was ten now, her body and thoughts changing in ways that unsettled her mother. She no longer blindly trusted the adults around her. Questions formed in her mind—sharp, persistent ones that demanded answers. She was beginning to question everything she'd once accepted without hesitation.

That afternoon, she slipped in the kitchen while reaching for a glass on the counter. Her knee hit the ground hard, the impact sending a jolt of pain through her leg.

"Ah—!" The cry escaped her lips before she could stop it.

"Jade!" Eleanor rushed forward and crouched beside her. "Are you okay?"

Eleanor carefully lifted her daughter's pant leg, her fingers moving with practiced tenderness. A dark bruise was already spreading across the pale skin like spilled ink.

"It's okay, honey. It's just a bruise. Nothing's broken," she murmured, trying to keep her voice steady and reassuring.

Before Eleanor could help Jade to her feet, Dominic's footsteps echoed through the room. He walked in with his usual measured stride, his expression unreadable.

"What happened here?"

Eleanor glanced up at him, her protective instincts flaring. "She slipped," she said quickly, her tone clipped.

His jaw clenched, a muscle twitching beneath the skin. "You weren't watching where you were going." It wasn't a question—it was an accusation.

Jade blinked through her tears, confusion mixing with hurt. "I fell! The floor was—"

"You cannot afford mistakes," he interrupted, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. Each word was precise, cold, deliberate.

Eleanor's eyes blazed with sudden fury. She rose to her feet, positioning herself between him and their daughter. "Dominic—she is hurt. She needs comfort, not a lecture."

"She is distracted," he shot back, his gaze never leaving Jade's face. "That's why she fell."

"Dad…" Jade's voice was small, pleading.

"Stand up. Now." His tone left no room for argument.

She pushed herself upright, her arms trembling with the effort.

"Walk," he commanded.

She took a few tentative steps forward, testing her weight on each foot. Pain radiated through her ankle, but it was bearable. He watched her carefully, his eyes tracking every movement, every wince that crossed her face.

"Good," he said after a moment, his tone clinical. "You didn't break anything."

Eleanor stepped between them, her patience finally exhausted. She had seen enough of his cold assessment, as if the child before him were merely a specimen to be examined rather than a person who had just endured considerable pain.

"Enough," she said firmly.

He realized too late how cold he sounded. But he didn't apologize. In his mind, softness meant vulnerability. Vulnerability meant death.

The Second Incident

A week later, Jade found herself practicing the self-defense moves Dominic insisted she master. Her muscles ached from the repetition, and sweat dampened her shirt.

"Why do I need to fight?" she demanded, dropping her arms to her sides.

"Because someone might attack you."

"Who?!" She searched his face for answers, for any hint of the danger he seemed so certain awaited her.

He didn't answer. His jaw tightened, and he looked away, leaving her question hanging in the air between them.

During their next session, exhaustion made her careless. She tripped over her own feet and hit her elbow hard against the mat. Pain shot up her arm. She looked up, searching his face for concern, for some sign that he cared she was hurting.

Instead, he frowned. "You hesitated."

"I fell!" Her voice cracked, frustration and hurt bleeding through. Did he even see her as human?

"Because your reflex was slow," he said, his tone maddeningly even. "In a real fight, that hesitation could cost you everything."

Tears filled her eyes. "Why don't you ever say 'Are you okay'?"

He froze. For a moment, something cracked inside him. But instead of helping her up, he turned away.

"Emotion will get you killed."

"You care more about survival than you care about me," she whispered, her voice barely audible in the stillness between them.

His shoulders stiffened, and for a moment he stood frozen, as if her words had struck something vital. When he finally spoke, his tone was measured, defensive. "Survival is how I show care."

She shook her head slowly, feeling the weight of all the unspoken things that had accumulated between them like stones. Her throat tightened. "It doesn't feel like love." The words came out softer than she'd intended, almost a confession rather than an accusation.

He turned away, unable or unwilling to meet her eyes.

Silence settled over them—heavy, suffocating, filled with everything neither of them knew how to say.

Love felt dangerous to him. Love made people predictable. Predictable people were easy targets.

Eleanor watched quietly, her chest tightening with an ache she couldn't name. The scene before her blurred at the edges as unshed tears gathered in her eyes. She pressed her lips together, fighting the tremor that threatened to betray her composure, while her fingers twisted the fabric of her skirt beneath the table where no one could see.

That night, she confronted him in their bedroom, her hands trembling as she closed the door behind her.

"You are pushing her away," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

He turned from the window, his jaw set. "I am preparing her."

"She is starting to resent you." The words caught in her throat. "I see it in her eyes every time you walk into the room."

"Good." His response came without hesitation, though something flickered across his face—pain, perhaps, or regret.

She stepped closer, searching his expression for any crack in his resolve. "Good?"

He met her gaze, and for a moment, the hardness in his features softened. "If she hates me now, she survives later."

"I would rather be her enemy and know she lives than be her beloved father and watch her die."

Tears gathered in her eyes. "You are not her enemy, so stop acting like one."

He didn't respond. Deep down, he knew she was right. But fear had already taken control.