The Billionaire's Stolen Angel: A Painful Return

The dream started the way it always did.

The smell of stale beer. The darkness of the closet.

Then, the sound. The distinct, terrifying snap of leather being pulled through belt loops.

Mrs. Miller was looming over her. She was ten feet tall. Her belt was a snake, writhing in her hand.

"Ungrateful brat," the dream-Miller hissed. "You ate the extra slice of bread. You stole it."

"I didn't!" Estelle tried to scream, but her mouth was full of cotton.

The arm raised. The belt whistled through the air.

Crack.

Pain exploded in Estelle's mind. Not a memory of pain-real, visceral pain.

"NO!"

Estelle woke up screaming.

It wasn't a normal scream. It was a guttural, animalistic shriek of pure terror. She scrambled backward, crab-walking across the mattress, trying to get away from the belt.

"Don't hit me! I'll be good! I promise I'll be good!"

She hit the headboard with a thud. She curled into a ball, covering her head with her arms.

"Estelle! Elara! Wake up!"

Eleanor was reaching for her.

"No! Get away!" Estelle kicked out blindly.

Buster was barking, a deep, booming sound that shook the walls. He was spinning in circles, looking for the threat, ready to kill anything that moved.

The bedroom door burst open.

Arthur stood there. He was wearing silk pajamas, but in his hand was a Glock 19. He held it with professional ease, scanning the room for an intruder.

He saw his daughter curled in a ball, screaming for mercy from a ghost.

He lowered the gun. His face broke.

He dropped the weapon on the carpet and vaulted onto the bed.

"I've got her," Arthur said to Eleanor.

He grabbed Estelle. She fought him. She scratched at his arms, her nails leaving red welts on his skin. He didn't flinch. He just pulled her tighter, wrapping his massive arms around her so she couldn't hurt herself.

"It's Daddy," he roared over her screams. "It's Daddy. You're in the big house. The bad lady is gone. Look at me!"

Estelle gasped, her eyes flying open.

She saw the chandelier. She saw the pink walls. She saw Arthur's face, wet with tears, inches from hers.

The hallucination faded. The belt wasn't there.

She collapsed against him, her body shaking so hard her teeth chattered.

"I thought... I thought I was back," she sobbed into his chest.

"You are never going back," Arthur growled. He looked over her head at Eleanor. His eyes were hard, cold flint. "Never."

Buster stopped barking. He crawled over and licked the tears off Estelle's face.

Arthur held them both as the first hint of gray light began to soften the edges of the window frame. He rocked her back and forth.

When Estelle finally drifted back into an exhausted sleep, clutching his lapel, Arthur carefully extricated himself.

He picked up his phone. He walked to the window.

He dialed a number. It was 5:30 AM, but the person on the other end answered on the first ring.

"Burn it down," Arthur said.

"Sir?"

" The trailer park. Buy the land. Evict everyone. Then bulldoze it. I want it to be a parking lot by noon."

He hung up. He looked at his daughter's sleeping face, peaceful but scarred.

"Scorched earth," he whispered.