“Where’s my daughter?”
Maria hesitated, then pointed toward the backyard. “Outside, sir. She’s… working.”
That instinctive panic hit hard. Daniel didn’t wait. He shoved open the glass door.
The sight froze him.
In the blazing sun, Sophie struggled to drag a garbage bag nearly her size. She wore an oversized T-shirt, filthy and soaked with sweat. Her thin arms trembled with effort. Nearby, beneath a designer umbrella, sat Vanessa, sipping iced coffee, watching with bored detachment.
“Sophie!” Daniel shouted.
The girl startled, dropped the rope, and fell to her knees. When she saw him, fear flooded her face.
“Dad,” she cried, voice breaking. “I’m sorry—I’m almost done. Please don’t be mad.”
Daniel ran to her, pulling her close, feeling how painfully thin she was.
“What is this? Who did this to you?”
She clung to him. “I have to finish. My stepmom said if I don’t clean everything, I don’t get milk. I’m really thirsty.”
Milk. The word shattered him.
Daniel looked up. Vanessa rose calmly, setting down her cup.
“Don’t overreact,” she said coolly. “I’m teaching her discipline. You spoil her.”
“This ends now,” Daniel said, his voice low and dangerous.