She dropped to her knees, gasping, unable to breathe. The cleaning bucket tipped over, sending soapy water spilling across the polished marble. Pain exploded through her side.
“Mason!” Alexander roared from the top of the staircase, his deep voice booming through the foyer. “Stop this now!”
But the boy didn’t stop.
He ran straight at Emily and began kicking her legs with a fury far too big for his four-year-old body. The two armed security guards shifted uncomfortably but didn’t intervene—Mr. Blackwood had made it clear that no one was to lay hands on his son unless absolutely necessary.
Everyone waited for the new girl to scream.
To shove the child away.
To quit like the others.
Emily Carter did none of those things.
With one hand pressed tightly against her throbbing ribs, she slowly lowered herself until she was eye level with the raging boy. Her uniform was wet, her side burning, but her voice remained steady and soft.
“That hurt a lot,” she said, breathing carefully through the pain. “The statue hurt. The kicks hurt too.”
Mason clenched his tiny fists. His chest heaved. Tears and snot mixed on his face, but the rage remained.
Emily touched her own heart gently.
