Chapter 2

The heavy doors of the van slammed shut, sealing them inside. The vehicle lurched forward, leaving the gates of the Beverly Hills estate behind.

The air inside the cabin was thick and suffocating. Taylor sat in the front passenger seat, twisting her body around to point a handheld camera directly at the backseat. The red recording light blinked relentlessly.

Cecile shifted Damien onto the leather seat beside her. She reached for the seatbelt. Her hands fumbled slightly with the heavy metal buckle, her muscle memory from her past life lacking the simple skill of buckling a child in.

The metal tongue clicked into the buckle with a sharp clack.

Damien's entire body jerked. He thought the sound was a lock. He scrambled sideways, pressing his back hard against the van door, his knees pulling up to his chest.

Taylor's camera captured the flinch perfectly.

Taylor looked down at the tablet resting on her lap. The live viewer count was skyrocketing. The chat was a blur of hatred.

Did you see how he jumped? She definitely hits him.

Get child protective services on the phone right now.

A cruel smile tugged at the corner of Taylor's mouth. She cleared her throat and read the screen out loud. "Wow, Cecile. User 'MommaBear99' says, 'A toxic woman like you doesn't deserve to be a mother.' Any thoughts?"

Cecile didn't scream. She didn't throw a tantrum like she used to. She slowly lifted her chin and stared dead into the camera lens.

Her eyes were pitch black, devoid of any emotion. It was a look so hollow and chilling that the rapid-fire chat on the screen actually paused for three full seconds. The viewers behind their screens felt a sudden, inexplicable chill down their spines.

Cecile broke the stare. She unzipped her oversized tote bag and pulled out a soft, folded cashmere blanket. She leaned over and gently draped it over Damien's trembling legs.

Damien looked down at the fabric. He took a tiny, shallow breath. There was no suffocating scent of expensive perfume on it. It just smelled like clean laundry and sunlight. The rigid tension in his shoulders dropped a fraction of an inch.

Taylor frowned. The silence wasn't good for ratings. She reached into her folder and pulled out a glossy photograph. She held it up to the camera, then shoved it toward Cecile.

It was a picture of Abbey White, the internet's favorite "perfect mom," baking cookies with her stepson, Brayan.

"Abbey is currently leading the viewer polls by ninety percent," Taylor said, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. "How does it feel to compete against someone who is universally loved by her family and the public?"

Cecile glanced at the photo. A bitter, mocking smile touched her lips.

"A real mother," Cecile said, her voice flat and low, "doesn't need a camera crew to prove she loves her kid."

Taylor's fake smile vanished. The implication was clear. The chat erupted again, this time divided between outrage and shock at her audacity to insult the saintly Abbey White.

Suddenly, a blaring horn shattered the tension.

The van's brakes locked. The tires shrieked against the asphalt. The massive vehicle violently jerked forward.

Taylor screamed as she was thrown against the dashboard.

In the backseat, the extreme momentum ripped Damien forward. His small body launched off the leather seat, his forehead rocketing straight toward the hard plastic casing of the front seat.

Cecile didn't think. Her body moved on pure instinct. She threw her upper body across the gap, slamming her right arm flat against the plastic casing just as Damien's head hit.

Thud.

Damien's forehead smashed into Cecile's forearm. The bone-jarring impact sent a shockwave of pain up Cecile's shoulder. A sharp grunt escaped her lips. Cold sweat instantly beaded on her forehead.

The van rocked to a complete stop.

Damien gasped, his hands flying to his head. He blinked, his amber eyes wide with shock. He wasn't hurt. He looked down.

Cecile's arm was pinned between him and the seat. A dark, angry red welt was already swelling across her pale right forearm.

Damien looked up at her face. For the first time in his life, he saw pure, unfiltered terror in his mother's eyes-not for herself, but for him. Something heavy and tight in the center of his chest suddenly cracked.

Taylor scrambled back into her seat. She didn't ask if they were okay. She shoved the camera directly at Cecile's face, trying to catch the aftermath of the chaos.

Cecile shoved the camera lens away with her left hand.

"Check the road!" Cecile roared at the driver, her voice vibrating with authority. "Now!"

The driver, pale and shaking, stammered, "A-a stray dog ran out. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Cecile ignored him. She turned her entire focus to Damien. Her trembling fingers gently probed the back of his neck, checking his spine. "Are you hurt? Does your neck ache?" she whispered rapidly.

On the live feed, a few scattered comments broke through the hate.

Wait, did she just block his head with her arm?

She looks genuinely terrified for him.

Taylor saw the shift in the comments. She quickly lowered the camera. "We're pulling into the LAX VIP drop-off," she announced loudly, cutting off the moment. "The other cast members are waiting."

The van rolled to a stop. Outside the tinted windows, a sea of flashing camera flashes erupted like a strobe light. A massive crowd of paparazzi and angry protestors swarmed the vehicle, pressing their faces against the glass.

Damien's breathing hitched. His chest began to rise and fall in rapid, shallow jerks. His small hands clawed at the edge of his seat. The PTSD response was kicking in.

Cecile saw his chest heaving. She immediately stripped off her grey sweatshirt, leaving her in just a thin white t-shirt. She threw the oversized fabric over Damien's head, covering him completely from the waist up.

She scooped the bundled-up boy into her arms, pressing his covered face tightly against her collarbone.

With her injured arm throbbing, Cecile reached out and shoved the van door open.

The roar of the crowd hit them like a physical wall. Curses and camera flashes blinded the air. Cecile's eyes hardened into ice. Like a queen stepping onto a battlefield, she walked out into the storm.