Chapter Three
1003 Words
Vivica’s POV
Money could buy a lot of things.
But it couldn’t buy safety.
And it damn sure couldn’t silence the broken-hearted wail of a five-year-old.
Isolde hadn’t stopped crying since we got home. She was curled into a tight ball on her pink couch, arms wrapped around herself like she could hold the broken pieces of her day together.
“I was singing, Mommy! Everyone was watching me!” she sobbed, her voice hoarse. “Why did he take me away?”
I knelt beside her, brushing my hand through her curls, trying to comfort her. I really hated to see her cry.
I wouldn't have pulled her out in the middle of her recital if it wasn't for her safety. I knew how important the recital was to her. How she was looked forward to it for weeks.
“I know, baby. I’m so sorry.”
“I wanted to finish my song!”
“I know. I know, sweetheart.” I crooned softly.
But the apology wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough.
Her cries grew louder, sharper, each one slicing clean through my composure.
I switched on her favorite cartoon, praying for a miracle, and rushed into the kitchen. My hands shook as I threw together her comfort food—extra cheesy mac and cheese, hot dogs chopped just the way she liked. I served it in a pink bowl with her favorite glittery spoon.
She didn’t even glance at it.
She just kept sobbing, her little face crumpled in anguish.
Panic coiled tight in my chest. I tried bribery.
“How about a new iPad, baby? The purple one? With the unicorn case you love?” There we people who thought a five year old owning an iPad was strange, but not me. Everything I did was for Isolde, for her happiness and comfort.
“No!”
“Okay, okay… Disneyland then. Next weekend. No work. Just you and me.”
For a heartbeat, her sobs faltered.
Hope flickered.
Then her tiny mouth twisted and her fists pounded the couch.
“I practiced for weeks, Mommy! Weeks! Why did you make him take me away?”
More tears.
More heartbreak.
I sat down on the floor beside her, powerless.
How could I explain that someone had wanted me dead today? That a bullet meant for me might have ripped through her tiny body too?
I couldn’t.
I wouldn’t.
I pressed my hand against her back, whispering empty reassurances while my mind raced.
The doorbell rang.
Once.
Sharp.
I froze.
I didn't order for anything. Wasn't expecting visitors. And the guards knew better than to ring the doorbell.
Silent, I crossed to the kitchen and retrieved the pistol hidden inside the cabinet.
One of many.
I didn’t open the door. I peered through the side window instead.
Nothing.
No movement.
I checked the security feed Jamal had installed.
The gate was clear.
The driveway empty.
Still, unease slithered under my skin.
And then—
BANG!
A single gunshot shattered the night.
Isolde’s scream pierced the house.
I ran—no, flew—to her. She was off the couch, arms outstretched, wild-eyed with terror.
I scooped her up, cradling her against my chest as her small body shook.
“Mommy, are we in trouble?”
“No, baby. We’re safe.”
I lied.
Because I had to.
“But I have to check on Mr. Jamal, okay? I need you to stay here for just a minute.”
She clung to me like a lifeline.
“Don’t go, Mommy! Please!”
Tears blurred my vision.
“Okay, sugarplum. I won’t go anywhere. I promise.”
Outside, silence fell heavy and complete.
The kind of silence that comes after blood is spilled.
My phone rang, shrill in the stillness.
Isolde whimpered.
“It’s just my phone, honey. Nothing scary. Come on. Let’s go answer it together.”
I carried her to my bedroom, the pistol still tucked against my hip, and snatched up my phone.
Margaret’s name flashed across the screen.
I answered in a harsh whisper.
“Talk to me.”
“Miss Langford, Jamal’s been shot. Backup is on the way. Stay put. Do not open the door for anyone.”
My blood turned to ice.
“Stay put?” I snarled. “There’s some psycho on my property, Margaret!”
“Jamal got several shots off before they took him down. Whoever it was—they ran. We think they weren’t expecting him to be that well-armed.”
I gritted my teeth.
Good. Let the bastards run.
I pressed a kiss to Isolde’s forehead. Her small body quaked against mine.
“We’re safe now, baby. Mommy’s here. Mommy’s got you.”
Margaret’s voice softened.
“Sometimes, it’s better to tell kids the truth. Fear can save them.”
I snapped.
“You’re here to be my publicist, Margaret. Not to give parenting advice.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. I crossed a line. It won’t happen again.”
“You’re damn right it won’t.”
Margaret’s voice crackled through the line again.
“The guards have arrived. Five total. One will stay at the gate. Two will patrol the lawn. Two are assigned to stay inside with you.”
My skin crawled.
“No,” I said flatly. “I don’t want two strangers breathing down my neck—or my daughter’s.”
“We can send a woman instead of a man if that’s the issue.”
“I don’t care what gender they are. I don’t want anyone inside my house.”
My voice dropped to a deadly whisper.
“I will not let Isolde grow up afraid in her own home. They stay outside. That’s final.”
There was a beat of tense silence.
“Yes, ma’am,” Margaret said at last, her voice tight. “Understood.”
I hung up without another word.
I sat back on the bed, cradling my daughter, feeling the pistol’s cold weight pressed against my side.
I was ready to kill.
- Writer
