Chapter 3: The Falling Petals
"I need police and an ambulance immediately," Arthur spoke into his phone, his voice a low, dangerous command that brooked no argument.
He tossed the phone onto the counter and closed the distance in three long strides. He knelt carefully onto the floor, completely disregarding the crushed lily petals and the droplets of blood that now stained the knees of his pristine white uniform.
"Clara," he whispered, his hands hovering over her battered face, terrified of causing her more pain. "I'm here. I've got you. You're safe now."
May you like
Eleanor’s voice pitched higher, laced with rising panic. "Arthur, you must listen to me! She’s mentally unstable. She did this to herself to turn you against your own mother!"
Arthur finally looked up at the woman who raised him. The warmth that usually resided in his eyes was entirely gone, replaced by a cold, calculating fury. On the counter above them, two heavy irons sat side-by-side, still spitting hot vapor into the air—silent, steaming witnesses to the torture Eleanor had intended to inflict.
