There she was in the kitchen, casually pouring a glass of wine. Nathan cried from his playpen nearby.

She didn’t comfort him.

She kicked the side of the playpen instead, hard enough to make it slide across the marble floor.

“Shut up!” she snapped at the screen.

Then Sophie appeared. Isabelle grabbed her arm, yanking her so hard her feet left the floor, and shoved her toward the door.

I shut the video off.

We rode the private elevator up to the penthouse in silence.

“Sophie,” I said softly, handing her the sleeping baby. “Take your brother to your room. Lock the door. Don’t open it for anyone except me. Do you understand?”