Chapter 6

Cecile looked up at the gaping hole in the roof. The wind was blocked, and they had a bed, but the temperature was dropping rapidly. They had no blankets, no fire, and no food.

"We need supplies," Cecile said, brushing the dried mud off her leggings. "Let's go to town."

They walked back down the muddy path, heading toward the small commercial strip of Rust Creek.

Halfway down the trail, the path widened. Walking toward them was Abbey White.

Abbey wore a pristine, cream-colored trench coat and spotless designer boots. Two cameramen flanked her, capturing her every angle. When Abbey saw Cecile's dirt-streaked face and ruined shoes, a flash of pure disgust crossed her eyes.

But as the cameras swung toward them, Abbey's face instantly melted into an expression of profound, heartbreaking concern.

She quickened her pace and stopped right in front of them. She dropped to a crouch, bringing herself down to Damien's eye level.

"Oh, Damien," Abbey sighed, her voice trembling with manufactured emotion. She reached into her deep pocket and pulled out a bar of expensive, foil-wrapped Swiss chocolate. She held it out to him like one might offer a treat to a stray dog. "You must be starving. Here, sweetie."

Damien stared at the silver foil. His mind instantly replayed the sound of Abbey screaming at Brayan over the piano keys just an hour ago. His stomach twisted in revulsion.

When Damien didn't move, Abbey looked up at Cecile.

"Cecile, really," Abbey said, making sure her voice carried to the microphones. "Are you actually going to make him sleep in that mud pit? It's going to be freezing tonight."

She stood up, brushing imaginary dust off her coat. "I have a heated guest room in Villa 3. It has a plush rug and a real bed. Damien," she looked back down at the boy, her voice dripping with honey, "why don't you come with Auntie Abbey? I have warm food. Not like your mommy, who can't even boil an egg."

It was a vicious, calculated strike. She was trying to humiliate Cecile by proving that even her own son would choose a stranger over her.

In the live chat, Abbey's massive fanbase cheered.

Yes! Save him, Abbey!

Cecile is such a failure. The kid is definitely going to go with Abbey.

Cecile didn't say a word. She didn't defend herself. She simply looked down at Damien. She wanted to know if the last two hours had meant anything to him.

The silence stretched. The cameramen zoomed in on Damien's face.

Damien looked at the chocolate in Abbey's hand. He looked at Abbey's perfectly painted, fake smile. Then, he turned his head and looked up at Cecile. He saw the dirt on her cheek, the exhaustion in her eyes, and the steady, unyielding strength in her posture.

Damien reached out. His small fingers bypassed the chocolate entirely. He grabbed the hem of Cecile's dirty white t-shirt and gripped it tight. He stepped behind her leg, using her body as a shield.

"No thank you," Damien said. His voice was small, but it was crystal clear. "My mom is making me a bed."

The words hit the air like a physical shockwave.

Abbey's face froze. The angelic smile shattered, leaving her features rigid and grotesque. Her hand, still holding the chocolate, trembled in mid-air.

The cameraman to her right caught the exact moment her mask slipped. The live chat abruptly stopped scrolling.

A surge of heat rushed into Cecile's chest. Her son had chosen her. He had defended her.

Cecile reached down with her left hand and placed it over Damien's, squeezing his fingers gently. Then, she looked up at Abbey. A slow, mocking smirk spread across Cecile's lips. "Did you hear him, Mrs. White?" Cecile's voice was a low, dangerous purr. "Take your cheap pity and your chocolate, and go worry about your own son."

Abbey's face flushed a dark, ugly purple. She stood up so fast her heel caught on a rock. She stumbled, her arms flailing wildly for a second before she caught her balance. The pristine image was completely ruined.

Humiliated and furious, Abbey sneered, "Fine. Let's see what kind of magic trick you pull for dinner tonight."

She spun around and stormed off down the path, her cameramen struggling to keep up with her frantic pace.

Cecile watched her go. She crouched down and gently tapped Damien on the nose with her left index finger.

"Good job, little knight," she said softly.

Damien's cheeks turned a faint shade of pink. He wasn't used to praise. He quickly looked away, staring at the trees, but the corners of his mouth twitched upward in a tiny, undeniable smile.

Cecile stood up. The victory felt good, but the cold wind biting through her thin shirt was a harsh reminder of reality.

"Come on," Cecile said, her eyes fixed on the town below. "We need to find the woodshop."