Chapter 7 - The Desperate Prowler
Three weeks passed.
The world of high society moved fast, but the fall of the Vance family was a spectacle people could not stop whispering about. Stripped of all assets, Daniel was evicted from his family mansion. He moved into a dilapidated studio apartment on the industrial outskirts of the city, working odd shifts as a courier because every financial firm in the country slammed their doors in his face.
Meanwhile, I had returned to the Thorne ancestral estate—a sprawling neoclassical compound nestled in the rolling green hills outside the city.
Surrounded by top pediatricians, private nurses, and the warmth of a father who treated me like the most precious jewel on earth, my strength returned rapidly. The frail, timid girl who once counted pennies to buy groceries for Daniel’s arrogant family was gone. In her place stood Vivienne Thorne, the sole heiress to a multi-billion-dollar dynasty.
"Ma'am, you have a visitor at the gate," the head of security reported over the intercom in the private garden where I was pushing Aurelia in a silk-lined pram.
"Who is it?"
"A courier delivery under the name Vance. It’s him, ma'am. He won't leave."
I frowned, signaling two bodyguards to follow me as I walked toward the front gate security lodge.
Through the bulletproof one-way glass, I saw Daniel. He was wearing a faded jacket, rain-soaked and thin. His face was gaunt, his hands covered in minor cuts and dirt. In his hands, he held a tattered cardboard box wrapped in cheap ribbon.
"Vivienne!" he screamed, spotting my shadow behind the glass. "Vivienne, please! I know you're in there!"
I stepped out onto the sheltered portico, flanked by my guards. The iron gates remained locked between us.
"You have five seconds before security removes you for trespassing, Daniel," I said calmly.
"I bought this for Aurelia," he sobbed, holding up the box. "It’s... it’s a silver rattle. I worked double shifts at the dock warehouse for two weeks to buy it. Please, Vivienne. Just take it. Let her have something from me."
I looked at the box, then looked into his eyes. There was no love there; there was only desperation. He wanted a lifeline. He thought that if he could maintain a single thread of connection to my child, he could eventually crawl his way back into wealth.
"You spent two weeks working for that rattle?" I asked coolly.
"Yes! I swear! I bled for it!"
"When I was eight months pregnant," I said, my voice hardening, "I asked you for eighty dollars to buy prenatal vitamins. You told me to drink tap water and stop wasting your money. You took Chloe to a five-star sushi restaurant that same evening and spent four thousand dollars on vintage wine."
Daniel flinched as if slapped.
"Take your rattle, Daniel," I said. "And sell it to buy yourself a warm meal. Because neither I, nor my daughter, will ever accept charity from a ghost."
I turned my back and began walking toward the house.
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"Vivienne! You can't do this!" Daniel roared behind me, rattling the heavy iron bars in a frenzy. "My mother is dying in that prison hospital! The lawyers won't talk to me! You owe me! I kept you fed for three years!"
"You kept me in a cage," I said without looking back. "And you forgot that caged birds can be phoenixes."