Trent immediately knelt beside me and pointed the stick toward my stomach.
“You’ll smile when Alex gets here,” he hissed. “You’ll tell him this was pregnancy hormones. If you don’t, the second he leaves, I’ll make sure you never walk again.”
I pressed my cheek against the cold floor, forcing myself to stay conscious while my daughter fluttered weakly inside me. As long as she was still fighting, I couldn’t allow myself to give up.
Nicole suddenly peeked through the blinds.
“Someone’s outside,” she whispered nervously. “A black truck just stopped at the end of the driveway.”
“Turn off every light,” Trent ordered immediately. “Make the house look empty.”
Richard reached toward the wall switch.
Before his fingers touched it, every light in the house died.
A loud thud echoed from outside as the power was cut completely. The refrigerator fell silent, the oven display vanished, and the entire house was swallowed by darkness.
“What did you do?” Helen screamed.
“Shut up!” Trent snapped. “Everybody grab a knife!”
Lying motionless on the floor, I already knew exactly what had happened. Alex hadn’t wasted time knocking on the front door. He had gone straight to the breaker box, taking away the only advantage they thought they had.
For several long seconds, nobody moved. The only sounds left were the bubbling oil on the stove and my own unsteady breathing.
Then something shattered.
It wasn’t the front door.
It was the enormous glass patio doors at the back of the house.
The deafening crash echoed through the darkness before slow, deliberate footsteps began crunching across the broken glass toward the kitchen.
“Trent…” Nicole whimpered. “I’m scared.”
Trent gripped a chef’s knife with shaking hands.
“Whoever you are, I’m armed! Stay back!”
A brilliant tactical flashlight suddenly sliced through the darkness. The beam swept across Helen hiding behind the island, Richard clutching a decorative vase, Nicole trembling against the wall, and finally stopped on me lying on the floor with one arm wrapped protectively around my stomach.
The light slowly lifted.
Alex stood in the doorway.
He filled the entrance like an immovable wall, dressed in dark clothing and holding a heavy steel wrench in one hand. His expression never changed as his eyes took in every detail: the smoking pan, the bloody bruises covering my body, and the wooden stick still lying beside Trent.
Richard tried to step forward.
“This is private family business,” he shouted. “You’re trespassing!”
Alex didn’t waste a single word.
He swung the flashlight once.
The metal connected squarely with Richard’s jaw, sending him crashing unconscious onto the kitchen floor before anyone even realized what had happened.
Helen screamed.
Trent panicked, throwing away the wooden stick and grabbing the largest knife he could find.
“Stay back!” he yelled. “I’ll kill you!”
Alex never slowed down.
He slipped inside Trent’s reach, seized his wrist, and twisted sharply upward. A loud crack filled the room as the knife clattered harmlessly across the floor. In one smooth motion, Alex swept Trent’s legs out from beneath him, drove him flat onto the tiles, and pinned him there.
Grabbing Trent by the throat, Alex leaned close enough for only the two of them to hear.
“If you ever look at my sister again,” he said quietly, “I’ll tear you apart with my bare hands. Blink if you understand.”
Trent’s face turned purple as tears streamed down his cheeks.
He blinked frantically.
Alex shoved him aside with complete disgust before immediately dropping to his knees beside me. The soldier disappeared, replaced by the older brother who had protected me my entire life.
“Chloe,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Look at me. I’m here now.”
Fresh tears filled my eyes.
“Alex… I can’t feel the baby moving anymore.”
Fear flashed across his face faster than I had ever seen. He immediately grabbed his phone and dialed emergency services.
“I need an ambulance and multiple police units immediately,” he ordered. “Pregnant victim, aggravated assault, domestic violence. Hurry.”
As everyone else focused on Alex, I caught movement from the corner of my eye.
Nicole.
She had quietly slipped toward the kitchen island and reached beneath the refrigerator for my shattered phone. Then she looked toward the pan of boiling oil still sitting over the open flame.
She wasn’t trying to save herself.
She was trying to destroy the evidence.
