Flames of silence

That night, the house was quiet, but Kay's mind was anything but.

She sat in the armchair by the window, moonlight slipping through the curtains. Her eyes were distant, calculating, and then—like a sudden spark—an idea struck her.

An evil smirk twisted her lips.

Oh, I know exactly what to do…

After finishing her night routine, she threw herself onto the bed, her grin sharp even in the dark.

"Can't wait for tomorrow," she whispered into the shadows.

Morning broke.

Kay woke alone in the wide bed, the emptiness beside her fueling her irritation. She sat up, hair falling loose over her face, and muttered, "Well, it was expected." She tied her hair into a quick knot, looked into the mirror, and murmured to herself:

"Let's go… we've got a lot of things to do."

Downstairs at the dining table, Miss Dora sat sipping tea, David beside her, Harry in his little chair. As soon as the boy saw Kay approaching, his face crumpled. He began to cry—a broken, terrified sound that cut through the quiet morning.

David's brows furrowed. Harry had never done that before. He scooped the child closer, patting his small shoulder, kissing his forehead until the crying softened. Kay stood there, expression carefully neutral, while inside she seethed.

Still scared of me, aren't you? Good. You should be.

After breakfast, David rose to leave. Kay caught his arm lightly.

"Come early tonight. I… I have a plan for us. Dinner… just you and me," she said, eyes soft with false sweetness.

He glanced at his watch, tone flat. "I have an important meeting today. Don't wait. I'll be late." Without another word, he walked out the door.

Kay watched him go, her smile fading into something far darker.

"Perfect," she whispered under her breath. "Now you'll be gone for hours… and I'll have all the time I need."

Later, Miss Dora left for errands, kissing Harry's head before stepping out. Before leaving, she turned to Kay.

"Take care of him, my dear," she said gently.

"Of course," Kay replied with a practiced smile.

The moment the door closed, her mask slipped.

"Where is Harry?" she asked the maid, her tone clipped.

"In his room, ma'am."

"Bring him to me."

"Yes, ma'am."

The maid carried the boy in. Kay's eyes locked on him like a predator's.

"You can go," she ordered softly, without looking at the maid. The door shut. Silence fell.

Kay rose slowly, every movement deliberate. Harry's back pressed against the wall as she approached. His tiny hands trembled.

"Where are you going, baby boy?" she cooed, her voice a husky whisper as she crouched to his level.

She caught his chin in her fingers, nails biting into his soft skin. His white-and-pink cheeks darkened with angry red marks. Tears welled in his eyes.

"You were about to tell your dad, weren't you? About what I did yesterday?" Her voice dropped into a growl. "Bad boy. Now you'll get your punishment."

She grabbed his wrist, pulling him along the hall. He struggled, but she was far too strong. They entered the kitchen, where a maid was scrubbing dishes. Kay's tone turned icy.

"Leave. Now."

"Ma'am?"

"Go. Do the other chores first. I want this kitchen to myself."

The maid hesitated, then lowered her gaze. "Yes, ma'am." She left.

Kay set Harry on the counter. He stared at her with wide, wet eyes, his little chest heaving.

"Please… please no," he whispered.

Kay ignored him, turning the burner on and placing a frying pan over the flame. The gas hissed, and soon the metal glowed faintly red. She looked over her shoulder at him, her lips curling.

"Just wait… just a few minutes."

Harry began to sob quietly, tiny shoulders shaking. Kay's heartbeat quickened with cruel anticipation.

This will teach him. This will teach them all.

When the pan was searing hot, she turned back, her eyes gleaming with something inhuman.

"Your punishment is ready."

She seized his small hands.

"No! No! Dad—!"

"Shhh," she hissed, pressing her hand over his mouth.

"Ahhh! It hurts—please, please stop! It's burning!" His scream was muffled against her palm as she forced his tender skin onto the scorching pan.

The smell of burning flesh filled the air. Harry's muffled cries grew desperate, high-pitched, until his tiny body sagged in agony. She finally let go, shoving him back, and he slumped against the counter, sobbing.

"Ah… it hurts… Dad… D-dad…" his voice cracked, trembling.

Kay crouched down to his level, eyes sharp as blades.

"Is it not enough for you to understand?" she whispered coldly. "Keep your mouth shut in front of your dad… and that old hag you call Granny."

She gripped his chin again, nails digging in. "Don't you ever make this mistake again."

Carrying him back to her room, she laid him on the bed and fetched a first aid kit. The ointment smelled sharp as she applied it roughly to the burns.

"See? I don't want to hurt you," she lied, voice mock-soft. "But if you ever boil my blood again, you'll get something worse than this."

"Ouch… ah… please… slow down… it h-hurts…" he whimpered.

Kay's smile never reached her eyes.

"All done. Now go. Back to your room. And if you tell anyone—" her gaze turned to ice, "I'll handle them. I promise."

Night fell.

David returned, loosening his tie, looking weary. He asked the maid where Harry was.

"In his room, sir."

David entered quietly. Harry was curled up, asleep, but something caught David's eye—both of the boy's hands were wrapped in white ointment, raw skin visible beneath. Alarm surged through him. He gently lifted one tiny arm, examining the burns. Fury rose in his chest.

He stormed out, calling sharply, "Kay!"

She appeared moments later, her steps light, her face innocent.

"What happened to him?" David demanded, voice tight with anger.

"Who?" she blinked.

"Don't play games! Harry! His hands are burned—what happened?" His voice rose.

Kay's eyes widened, crocodile tears brimming.

"Oh… Harry… he—he burned his hand. I took him to the kitchen because Mom told me to spend time with him. He was sitting on the shelf, I told him not to touch the pan, but he didn't listen…" She sniffled, a sob catching in her throat. "I—I didn't mean for it to happen…"

David's jaw clenched. "Are you kidding me? You put him on a shelf? He's a child! He doesn't understand instructions!" His voice boomed through the hall.

"But my intentions were not wrong!" Kay cried, clutching her chest.

"Shut up!" David barked, his disgust clear as he turned away, running a hand over his face.

Miss Dora rushed in, alarmed. "What's going on?"

"Ask her yourself," David said sharply, storming back toward Harry's room.

Kay's crocodile tears flowed as she told Miss Dora her version of events. "I tried to stop him… but he's just a baby… I tried…" she sobbed.

Miss Dora's own eyes misted. She placed a hand on Kay's shoulder. "Don't cry, my dear. I know you would never hurt him. Just… be careful next time. He's all David has. Please… take care of him."

"Yes, Mom," Kay whispered, lowering her head.

As Miss Dora left, Kay straightened, wiping the tears from her cheeks. Her lips twisted slowly into that familiar, wicked smirk. She looked toward the hallway where Harry slept and whispered to herself:

"They still think I'll take care of him… poor, silly people."

Her voice dripped with venom.

"This is only the beginning."