PART 3: THE TURNING POINT
Richard stared at the scene, the blood roaring in his ears. He looked from the grey bucket and the dirty mop on the marble floor up to Maya’s tear-stained, exhausted face, and finally to Victoria, who was now casually sipping her champagne as if she were watching a maid perform routine maintenance.
"Victoria..." Richard’s voice was barely a whisper at first, trembling with a volatile mixture of disbelief and surging fury. He took a slow step forward, his polished shoes clicking sharply against the marble. "What is the meaning of this? Why is Maya on the floor scrubbing the marble?"
Victoria rolled her eyes, letting out a sharp, dismissive sigh as she descended a couple of steps. "Oh, don't be so dramatic, Richard. Spare me the theatrical outrage. Kids these days need discipline, and she has been acting out. Besides, someone has to keep this estate clean while you're away playing corporate hero."
"She is seven years old!" Richard roared, his voice exploding through the quiet mansion, shattering the fragile acoustics of the grand foyer.
May you like
Maya flinched violently at the shout, curling further into herself and burying her face in her small hands. The sound of her quiet sobbing pierced straight through Richard’s chest, cutting deeper than any physical blade. The folded American flag resting in its triangular wooden case on the console table seemed to gleam in the morning light, as if his fallen brother were watching down from heaven, witnessing how the daughter he left behind was being treated.
Victoria didn't flinch. Instead, she crossed her arms, her face hardening into a defiant glare. "If you're going to take that tone with me in my own house, you need to remember whose family money paid for this estate, Richard. Without me, you're nothing."
