Chapter 5 - THE CONFESSIONJulian stopped just a few feet away from Lily. Up close, he looked exhausted, the dark circles under his eyes telling the story of a man who hadn't slept in thirty-six hours. Despite his intimidating presence, Lily didn't flinch. She stood her ground, her small hands balled into fists inside her jacket pockets.
"She's lying to save her job," Lily said, pointing a steady finger directly at Marilyn, who was now trembling visibly. "Walter didn't wander off because he was confused by kids. He walked away because nobody here ever paid attention to him."
Marilyn’s voice pitched into a frantic shriek. "Mr. Vance, don't listen to this little brat! Her mother is just a housekeeper here! They sneak onto the residential grounds all the time, they probably distracted him, or worse—"
"Shut up, Marilyn," Julian said without even looking back at her. His gaze remained locked on Lily. His tone wasn't angry anymore; it was laced with a desperate, razor-thin curiosity. "What did you call him?"
"Walter," Lily replied simply. "That's his name. Walter Vance."
The billionaire flinched as if struck. His jaw tightened. "You knew his name? My father rarely remembered his own name when his episodes hit. How did you know him?"
"I walked him home," Lily said, her voice dropping defensively. "Every single afternoon after school. For the past three weeks. He used to stand at the fork in the paths because everything looked the same to him. The adults here walked right past him like he was a lamppost. The woman in the linen jacket on the golf cart? She drove right around him. The delivery guys? They ignored him. But he liked talking about old tractors. And he loved June's bluebird mailbox."
Julian’s breath hitched. A profound, shattering realization washed over his face, replacing his fierce anger with a wave of raw, agonizing guilt. June’s mailbox. That was his mother’s old mailbox, hand-painted decades ago, which Walter insisted on keeping at the edge of his cottage despite the estate’s modern renovations. No one outside the immediate family—and certainly no transient cleaning staff—knew about that mailbox.
Julian dropped to one knee so he was eye-level with Lily. His hands, usually so steady and controlling, shook slightly as he rested them on his knees.
"You... you walked him home? Every day?" Julian asked, his voice cracking slightly around the edges.
"Yes," Lily said, softening just a little as she saw the pain in the powerful man's eyes. "He was lonely, Mr. Vance. He wasn't a nuisance. He was just trying to find his way back to his porch."
Julian closed his eyes for a long moment, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat. When he opened them, tears glistened under the courtyard lights. He stood back up slowly and turned his icy gaze toward Marilyn.
"Pack your things," Julian whispered, his voice vibrating with a quiet, terrifying fury. "You and your entire security administration team. You are all fired, effective immediately. If I ever see your face within five miles of this property again, I will personally ensure you never work in real estate or property management anywhere on this continent."
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Marilyn opened her mouth to protest, but the look in Julian’s eyes told her that any words would only accelerate her destruction. She turned and fled across the courtyard, her heels clacking in desperate panic.
Julian turned back to Lily, his expression softening into something fragile and pleading. "Can you... can you take me to where you last saw him?"
