The color drained from his face as the realization hit him. The room wasn’t just watching; it had been actively recording audio and video to a secure, off-site cloud server since the moment Chloe and I walked in.

The bruises. Her whimpering terror. His thinly veiled threats dressed up as medical charm. All of it, immortalized.

The muscle in his jaw feathered violently. “Chloe,” he commanded, snapping his fingers at his wife. “Tell your mother she’s deeply confused and ask her to leave.”

Chloe shook against the crinkling paper, but her grip on my hand tightened. She didn’t speak.

I stepped directly into his space, forcing him to look at me. For nine agonizing months, my daughter had carried a child while trapped inside a psychological and physical cage built by a monster who wore the sacred mantle of a healer.

A primal, violent part of me wanted to shriek, to raise my hands and claw the handsome, arrogant flesh from his skull.