The storm outside mirrored the tension inside Croft Manor. Victoria sat in the nursery, listening to the wind howl. The room was safe–William had promised–but she felt restless. She needed water.
She unlocked the heavy deadbolt from the inside.
She opened the door. The hallway was empty. William’s makeshift bed–a pile of blankets and pillows–was pushed to the side. He must have gone downstairs to check the perimeter or get coffee.
Victoria walked to the landing of the Grand Staircase. The house was dark, shadows stretching like long fingers across the marble floors.
“Going somewhere?”
Victoria gasped and spun around.
Seraphina Rivers stood at the top of the stairs, emerging from the shadows of the gallery. She was soaking wet, her hair plastered to her skull, shivering with a mix of cold and adrenaline. She held a heavy brass candlestick holder in her hand.
“Seraphina,” Victoria breathed, backing toward the railing. “How did you get in?”
“I lived here for ten years,” Seraphina stepped closer, her eyes dead. “I know every door. I know which floorboards creak. I was the mistress of this house before you were even a footnote.”
“William will be back any second,” Victoria warned, her hand shielding her belly.
“William is busy checking the breaker box I tripped,” Seraphina sneered. She looked at Victoria’s stomach with pure hatred. “It’s not fair. I gave him everything. I gave him my dignity. I pretended to *die* for him. And you? You just got knocked up.”
“It’s over, Seraphina,” Victoria said, trying to keep her voice steady. “Just leave.”
“If I can’t have him,” Seraphina screamed, raising the candlestick, “neither can you!”
She lunged.
Victoria tried to scramble back, but her slipper caught on the rug. She stumbled.
Suddenly, a blur of motion erupted from the shadows of the adjacent corridor.
“No!”
William Croft didn’t run; he flew. He tackled Seraphina mid-air, slamming into her waist just as she brought the weapon down. They crashed onto the landing floor with a sickening thud, sliding dangerously close to the edge of the stairs.
The candlestick skittered away, clattering down the marble steps.
William pinned Seraphina to the ground, his forearm pressing against her throat. His face was a mask of primal fury.
“Don’t you touch her!” William roared, his voice shaking the walls. “Don’t you ever touch my wife!”
Victoria slumped against the wall, hyperventilating, clutching her stomach. She stared at her husband, who was holding the monster at bay, realizing he hadn’t left his post after all–he had been hunting the threat she hadn’t seen coming.