PART 2: Lily’s fingers dug into her father’s sleeve with the desperation of someone holding the last solid thing left in the world. Her voice was barely more than breath, broken by pain and fear. “Don’t let him make me stay.” Thomas Reed looked down at his daughter’s bleeding mouth, the bruises blooming along her cheek, the finger marks at her throat, and something inside him went perfectly still.

Richard Holloway gave a soft laugh behind him. “This is unnecessary. Lily gets emotional. She drank too much champagne, slipped near the rug, and panicked. You know how women can be when they’re embarrassed.” Around the living room, wealthy guests stared into their glasses, at the walls, at the white lilies arranged over the fireplace—anywhere except at the woman bleeding on the rug.

Thomas did not turn around. “Call 911,” he said.

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