บททั้งหมดของ The Twisted Wedding Night: บทที่ 21 - บทที่ 30

Alice’s bedtime routine begins at exactly eight o’clock.Not because she needs the structure—she would sleep whenever exhaustion finally claimed her—but because children thrive on consistency. Predictability. It fosters security. That’s what every expert says. And I do not rely on instinct when data exists.Tonight, I will oversee it myself.Margaret looked surprised when I told her. Not alarmed or disapproving, just… surprised. As if my presence in my daughter’s evening was an exception instead of a right.“Of course, sir,” she’d said. “I’ll let Alice know.”“No,” I replied. “I will.”So here I was, standing outside Alice’s bedroom door, listening to the faint hum of her voice from inside. She’s talking to herself—narrating something, likely involving her stuffed rabbit or the wooden blocks she insists on arranging before bed.I knocked once. “Come in,” she called.I opened the door.Her room was exactly as it should be. Clean. Orderly. Soft lighting calibrated to encourage melatoni

Margaret stood in front of my desk with her hands folded, spine straight, eyes steady in that infuriatingly composed way of hers.She had waited until I finished reviewing the quarterly projections before speaking. That, at least, was correct. Timing mattered.“Sir,” she said. “May I update you on a situation involving Miss Lily?”The name irritated me immediately.I didn’t look up. “Proceed.”“She approached me earlier today,” Margaret continued. “She expressed concern regarding Alice’s recent behavior.”I stopped scrolling.Concern.That word carried weight. Too much of it.I leaned back in my chair slowly, folding my hands together. “Concern,” I repeated. “About what, exactly?”Margaret hesitated. Just long enough to be noticeable. “She believes Alice has become… anxious.”I let out a quiet, humorless laugh. “Anxious.”“She described changes in Alice’s demeanor,” Margaret said carefully. “Increased caution. Self-correction. A heightened awareness of rules.”“And?” I asked. “Those a

The house quieted after Alice fell asleep.It always did, settling into a hush that felt almost reverent, like the walls themselves knew better than to make a sound. I tucked the blanket around her small shoulders, smoothing her hair back gently. Her lashes fluttered once, then stilled. She slept curled on her side, one hand tucked beneath her cheek, breathing soft and even.I lingered longer than necessary.Only when I was certain she wouldn’t wake did I straighten and leave the room, pulling the door shut with care. The hallway lights were dimmed, the carpet muffling my footsteps as I descended the stairs.That was when I smelled coffee.It was late—far later than Margaret usually stayed up. The kitchen lights were on, a soft yellow glow spilling into the hallway. I paused at the threshold and found her standing by the counter, shoulders slightly hunched, hands wrapped around a mug as if it were the only thing keeping her upright.She looked… tired. Not just physically, but deeply

The morning light spilled gently across Alice’s room, catching in the soft waves of her hair as I carefully brushed it. She sat perched on the edge of the bed, her small hands resting in her lap, watching me with that thoughtful, almost calculating look children sometimes had.“Daddy says my hair looks best in a middle part,” she said, tilting her head.I smiled at her, brushing gently. “Middle part is nice, but we’re going to try something a little different today. Half up, half down. I think you’ll like it.”Alice’s eyes widened. “Really?”“Really,” I said, twisting a section of her hair into a small braid and pinning it back. She wriggled slightly as I worked, but soon enough, the braid was secure and the rest of her hair tumbled in soft waves over her shoulders.“I love it!” she exclaimed, spinning on the bed and catching the sunlight on her face. “It’s different, but I love it!”I laughed softly, smoothing a stray strand behind her ear. “See? Trying something new isn’t so scary.”

I had spent years mastering restraint.It was a discipline, like anything else—learned, sharpened, perfected through necessity. Control wasn’t just a preference for me; it was survival. It was order carved out of chaos. It was the only reason anything in my life functioned at all.And Lily had stepped straight through it.I stood in the hallway long after Alice wandered off, the echo of her laughter still lodged somewhere behind my ribs like a splinter. The bruise on her knee replayed in my mind over and over again, each time sharper, angrier, more damning. I didn’t need to raise my voice. I didn’t need to pace. The fury settled deep instead, heavy and precise, the kind that didn’t burn out quickly.I heard Lily’s footsteps before I saw her.Light. Careful. Hesitant.She rounded the corner and froze when she saw me.There it was—that split second where her expression shifted. From tentative calm to unmistakable fear. She tried to mask it, tried to straighten her shoulders and lift her