Lenna Pov
The moment the child began to stir and whine in my father's arms, my heart stopped cold. I took a step back, anxiety tightening in my chest. Xavier looked so confident then—so sure that he, of all people, could calm the girl who had only ever known my sister's embrace. But what I saw in that tiny face was panic and confusion, her body going rigid with discomfort, not comfort.
Everything happened in a quick blur. Her eyes popped open, wild and terrified, and before anyone could react, she pushed herself out of his arms and sprang across the sofa like a frightened animal. The entire family froze, staring in shock as the little girl, this one secret Amiriah had protected above all else, pressed herself against the cushions—trapped and surrounded by strangers.
She looked around, and I knew exactly who she was searching for. Her small, glossy eyes darted from face to face, growing increasingly desperate. Then that voice—thin and shaky, full of panic and need—broke the tension in the room: "Mama?"
I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. I just stared as terror radiated from the child, realizing only now how impossible it would be to bridge the gap Amiriah had built around her daughter.
But my father, stubborn as ever, started moving toward her—slowly, as if coaxing a skittish animal. My instincts kicked in. The words left my mouth before I could stop them:
"Dad, don't even fucking think about it. Move away from the child, she doesn't know us! You damn well know Amirah wouldn't want this—can't you see she's scared and looking for her mother?"
Xavier shot me a sharp look. "She has the right to meet her family, Lenna! Amirah had no right hiding this child from her own flesh and blood."
He leaned down, crouching before the little girl. "Hello, little one. I'm your grandpa. I've been so eager to meet you! What is your name, child? How old—?"
Before he could finish, the girl's face hardened. I saw it—a flash of disgust, of that painfully familiar don't-touch-me glare that Amiriah always gave to strangers who didn't respect her boundaries. And then the little girl said, in a small, cold voice that made everyone freeze again, "Don't touch me."
That stopped Xavier dead, his hands hovering midair. The look in her eyes—direct, wounded, and so much like Amiriah's—seemed to burn right through her.
"Wheres my mommy?" she demanded, voice shaking but bold.
And just when I thought things couldn't get worse, the child balled her little fist and punched my father square in the nose. Shock rippled through the room—none of us had expected that from such a tiny kid. She didn't pause. She darted off the sofa and sprinted across the room, quick as a shadow, faster than I'd seen any toddler move.
For a moment, the family stood there, mouths hanging open, not sure whether to be horrified or impressed.
Zari was the first to break the silence as she watched the child disappear down the hall, "Dad, you really did it now. You better hope she doesn't leave the house."
I snapped out of my stupor, rage fueling my every word. "SHIT, DAD! IF SOMETHING HAPPENS TO THIS CHILD, YOU'RE DEAD. I MEAN IT. YOU BETTER HOPE WE FIND HER BEFORE SHE FINDS A WAY OUT, AND YOU BETTER HOPE SHE DOESN'T GET HURT. FUCK—EVERYONE, SPLIT UP! SHE MAY BE LOOKING FOR AMIRAH BUT SHE DOESN'T KNOW HER WAY AROUND THE MANSION. DAD YOU BETTER PRAY THAT CHILD IS OKAY."
My mother stood beside Xavier, tears streaming down her face, her hands clasped at her chest, shaking her head and sighing, "Oh, Xavier, what have you done..."
The next minute was chaos. Zuri and Zari bolted for the main hallways, Hayden took the north wing, Kario darted for the kitchens, Tara handed Harrison to Amara and hurried after her husband.
And I? I ran the opposite way, praying that this little girl—my niece, my twin's everything—wouldn't have her first encounter with this family scarred forever by my father's arrogance.
I wasn't sure what I'd do if we didn't find her in time. But one thing was certain: Xavier Spellman's vision of family had just blown itself to pieces.