From his study, he watched as Victoria stormed in, her voice venomous once she believed herself unseen. She dragged Noah by the arm, ordered a double dose, spoke of him like an inconvenience.
That night, Jonathan installed hidden cameras throughout the house. He found empty vials tucked among luxury creams and kept them like explosives.
The next morning, he pretended to leave for London. As soon as he was gone, Victoria ordered Emily to prepare for a party and locked Noah in the basement.
From the guesthouse, Jonathan watched everything. The lab results arrived: toxic levels, life-threatening. This wasn’t abuse. It was slow murder.
That evening, amid laughter and music, Victoria bragged about her “sacrifice,” unaware she was confessing everything. Jonathan recorded it all.
When he saw Noah wake alone in the basement, silently calling for him, something inside Jonathan broke.
As Victoria attacked Emily, Jonathan burst in, shattering the glass door. Chaos erupted. Emily told the truth. Jonathan ran downstairs and found Noah shaking in the dark.
“It’s Dad,” he whispered. “It’s over.”
“Da… da…”
Noah clung to him.