Claire slid off the island, grabbing Emma’s hand. Sadie clung to Elena’s legs.
Elena held his stare. Her brown eyes were tired in a way sleep couldn’t fix.
“With respect,” she said carefully, “this is the first time they’ve laughed in fourteen months.”
“I don’t need you telling me what my daughters need.”
“They need safety,” she replied softly. “And they need you to stop frightening them.”
“You don’t get to speak to me like that.”
“Someone has to.”
It was gasoline meeting flame.
“You’re fired,” Adrian growled. “Pack your things.”
Sadie sobbed. The other two went pale.
Elena’s face tightened—but she crouched to Sadie’s level.
“It’s okay,” she whispered. “You’re okay.”
“Don’t go,” Sadie cried.
Elena’s voice broke just slightly. “I’ll always love you.”
Love.
It sounded like goodbye.
She walked past Adrian with her chin lifted, tears unapologetic.
The triplets stopped crying.
Not because they were comforted.
Because something inside them shut down.
They joined hands and walked away from him in silence.
And Adrian felt distance colder than fear.
That night, the mansion returned to silence.
But this silence bit.
By morning, they would not speak to him.
By night, Emma whispered, flat and precise:
“I hate you.”