Fortune. Erica Spindler
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Pierce and Adam, engaged in conversation in the driveway below. Both men were dressed for a day of business; they had been standing in the driveway, their cars idling, for just over ten minutes.
Madeline checked her watch again, swore softly, then returned her gaze to her husband and father-in-law. She squeezed her eyes shut and willed the men to finish their discussion and go.
Her silent plea didn’t move them, and she flexed her fingers, frustrated. Anxious. Why had they chosen today for a lengthy chat? Why today, when every minute counted? Every second?
She had everything planned. Adam was leaving for a buying trip; in moments Pierce would head to work; he had a cocktail reception to attend tonight and a racquetball match after that. The housekeeper did the marketing on Wednesdays, it was Nanny’s day off. Grandmother Monarch was quite ill and hardly ever emerged from her suite of rooms. Griffen was in school.
Today was the perfect day to run away.
Her stomach fluttered. Nerves. Disappointment. In herself, in her husband. He refused to see the truth about Griffen, about the boy’s intentions toward Grace. In the five years since the incident in the nursery, Madeline had countless times shared her fears, her premonitions about Griffen, with her husband and father-in-law. They had called her excitable. She was overreacting, they’d said. She was a neurotic, hysterical mother. They had even suggested that she was jealous of the boy.
Jealous! Of Griffen? Of the time he spent with Grace? It was worse than ridiculous. It was insulting.
Without support from the family, she had been forced to watch Griffen’s bizarre attachment to his sister grow. He became alarmingly jealous when she ignored him or chose to play with another child, or even a toy, or pet. He followed Grace; he was possessive of her time, her attention. Madeline had caught him gazing with pure hatred at other children, at Nanny, at her, for heaven’s sake.
But those had been nothing compared to what had come next.
Grace’s favorite toys destroyed, sometimes mutilated. Her kitten bludgeoned to death.
Griffen on top of Grace, holding her down, one hand covering her mouth, the other up her dress.
Even now, months later, the horror of what she had stumbled upon, caused her stomach to turn. He had not been playing a guileless child’s game with his sister. They had not been wrestling, as he had claimed with an innocent, beautiful smile.
Madeline had gone to her husband and her father-in-law; she had told them what she’d seen. She had begged them to believe her, had pleaded with them to trust her. Not only for Grace’s sake, but for Griffen’s, too. The child needed counseling.
Not only had they not believed her, her father-in-law had threatened her. If she didn’t cease this madness, Adam had warned, he would take Grace away from her. She was unbalanced, he had told her. Her delusions about Griffen, about being able to see the future, were unhealthy for the youngster. Any judge would see that.
Adam had struck her then, sharply, across the mouth. The force of the blow had sent her reeling backward, into a wall. Pierce had stood silently by, watching his father, allowing it to happen without even a murmur of protest.
Madeline brought a hand to her mouth, remembering, holding back a sound of pain. Any affection, any last, lingering warmth she had felt for her husband had died in that moment. And in that moment, she had begun hating him. Hating him so much, so ferociously, that she had been able to taste the emotion.
It had tasted like acid. It had eaten at her like acid.
It still did.
All these months, she had controlled her feelings. Because she’d known she couldn’t afford another of her “mistakes,” because she’d understood that this time it was Grace’s life at stake. Grace’s well-being.
With the Monarch power, money and connections, Adam could make good his threat to take Grace away from her. He could do it without even breaking a sweat.
Then her daughter would have no one to protect her. No one who saw the truth about Griffen.
So Madeline had begun the elaborate charade—pretending to be smitten with her husband, acting the part of devoted, adoring wife, the part of the perfect Monarch daughter-in-law. She had claimed to both men that she’d had a sort of epiphany, telling them that they had been right—she had been overreacting about Griffen.
She didn’t know what had gotten into her, she’d told them. She didn’t know why she had been so excitable. She had told them she was sorry, that she was embarrassed by her behavior.
Pierce had fallen for it right away; Adam had taken longer.
She had begun planning her and Grace’s escape.
Pierce looked up suddenly, catching her staring at him. He narrowed his eyes—with suspicion, with realization. Her heart stopped, then started again, thundering in her chest until she had to fight to catch her breath. He knew, she thought, completely panicked. Dear God…he had found her out.
What did she do now?
Madeline fought her panic. He didn’t know. He couldn’t. He didn’t even suspect. She had been very careful. That morning, as a bit of insurance, she’d even submitted to his hands and mouth, she had submitted to his every demand, no matter how abhorrent to her. She had moaned and writhed and sighed, knowing that he would go off to work content and cocky. Knowing that he wouldn’t give her another thought all day. All the while she had wanted to wretch; her skin had crawled at his touch.
But she would do anything to protect her daughter. Anything. This plan had to work. It had to.
Madeline forced an adoring smile and waved. Then for good measure, she blew him a kiss. He smiled, the curving of his lips confident to the point of arrogance, then returned to his conversation.
She backed away from the window, relief flooding her. He didn’t know. Neither did Adam. She and Grace were safe.
For now.
Madeline spun around, thinking of the past months. She had lived in fear, she had spent every waking moment walking a tightrope between acting as if nothing was wrong and protecting Grace, between appearing unconcerned about Griffen and being too terrified even to sleep, lest he use that opportunity to sneak into Grace’s room and violate her.
Living that way had taken its toll. She was tired and on edge. She had lost weight, so much that people had begun to comment. There had been times, as she paced the floor during the middle of the night, that she had wondered if she was crazy. If she was delusional, as Pierce had said.
But those times were few; they didn’t last long. She would recall Griffen’s expression when he looked at Grace, would recall the coldness of his eyes, the cunning of his smile, and she would know she wasn’t crazy.
Everyone else was blind.
Madeline crossed to the bed, bent and peered underneath—her suitcases were there, where she had left them, waiting. Hers was packed, Grace’s empty. As soon as Pierce was gone, she would remedy that.
Madeline stood, glanced around the room, mentally ticking off her few options, reassessing her decision. She had no family to go to and had lost touch with all her old friends. Even her once–best friend, Susan, who she had been so close to that she had believed them soul mates, had slipped out of her life. She had no nest egg to fall back on and no means to support her and Grace. Pierce had seen to it that she had no financial independence; everything she had, Pierce either gave her or she signed for.
Adam’s sister, Dorothy, was sympathetic, but only to a point. Dorothy’s allegiance would always be first and foremost to the Monarch family and the family business. And Dorothy, like the others, was obsessed with the notion that Grace had the gift, obsessed with the belief that Grace would one day succeed her as the artistic genius behind Monarch Design.
Having no other option, Madeline had pawned her engagement ring—Pierce thought she had taken it in for cleaning—and used the