Chapter 3 - THAWING THE ICE
The dining room was just as freezing as I had left it. My four little girls were huddled together in a desperate knot of thin cotton nightgowns under the grand oak table. They were shivering violently, their tiny teeth chattering in the frigid air of the unheated wing.
"Girls," I choked out, dropping to my knees and sliding under the table with them. I took off my heavy cashmere overcoat and wrapped it around Sophie and Grace, who were pressing against each other for warmth.
Emma, the oldest by exactly three minutes, looked at me with wide, terrified eyes. She was still clutching the piece of moldy bread to her chest. "Daddy... is Vanessa going to be mad? Are we going to the dark closet again?"
The words dark closet hit me like a physical blow to the stomach. My vision swam with red-hot fury, but I forced it down. Right now, they didn't need a vengeful billionaire; they needed their father.
"No, baby," I whispered, pulling Emma and Lily into my arms, pressing them against my chest to share my body heat. "Vanessa is gone. She is never, ever coming back. And neither are the nannies. It's just us now. I'm so sorry, girls. I am so, so sorry."
"I'm cold, Daddy," Lily whimpered, burying her icy face into my neck.
"I know, sweetheart. Let's get you warm." I gathered two of them in my arms and had the other two hold tightly to my shirt. I carried them out of the freezing wing and upstairs to the master suite—the warmest room in the house, where the fireplace was still roaring from Vanessa's preparations for the night.
I set them down on the plush rug by the fire and sprinted to the bathrooms, running the massive soaking tub with warm water. I stripped off my suit and tie, threw on sweatpants, and carefully helped my daughters out of their filthy, threadbare nightgowns. Seeing their ribs protruding against their pale skin nearly brought me to my knees again. They had lost so much weight. My vibrant, energetic little girls looked like ghosts.
I bathed them gently, washing the dirt and grime from their hair. Slowly, the warm water began to bring the color back to their lips. I wrapped them in the thickest, fluffiest towels I could find and dressed them in my own oversized t-shirts because I couldn't bear to go back to their freezing rooms for their clothes.
"Daddy?" Grace asked softly as I combed out her tangled blonde hair. "Are you going to go away on the big airplane again?"
I looked at her through tear-blurred eyes. "Never again, Gracie. I sold a big part of the company. I'm staying right here. I will never leave you again."
I ordered my private chef—who had been horrified to learn what Vanessa was doing while he was kept strictly in the west wing—to prepare a massive pot of mild, warm chicken noodle soup. I sat on the floor with my girls, feeding them slowly, making sure they didn't eat too fast and make themselves sick.
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As they finally drifted to sleep, piled on top of me in the giant king-sized bed, their steady breathing was the only sound in the room. I held them tight, vowing that whoever had helped Vanessa execute this nightmare would face my absolute wrath.
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