His mother—the woman who had gone hungry so he could eat—was trapped against the counter, shielding her face, shaking uncontrollably.
And Vanessa—his fiancée, his “angel”—stood before her, hand raised, face twisted with hatred.
Time stopped.
Vanessa turned and saw Daniel. The fury drained from her face, replaced instantly by fear.
“Daniel… my love… this isn’t what it looks like,” she stammered. “She got hysterical—she attacked me!”
Daniel said nothing.
He walked past Vanessa and knelt beside his mother. Gently, he examined her arms. Red fingerprints. A bleeding scratch.
“Did she hurt you, Mom?” he asked quietly.
Clara sobbed, clutching his jacket. “No, son… let’s just go. Please.”
Daniel kissed her forehead and stood.
He faced Vanessa.
“Don’t say another word,” he said, his voice calm and deadly. “For two years I believed you were perfect. You loved my mother—so you said. But it was all an act. A performance to trap a rich man.”
“No! I love you!” Vanessa cried.
“You love money,” Daniel replied, pointing to the door. “You have ten minutes.”
“Ten minutes for what?”
“To pack and get out. Touch anything I paid for, and I’ll call the police—for theft and elder abuse.”