I stare at Vincent, terrified. His face forms into an irritated scowl directed at Keith. I can feel the miserable tension all over Keith as he slows his walk toward the older man. I can't help shaking my head because he has been all talk up until now. I refuse to feel sorry for him.

I didn't have time for it. For some reason, Vincent's scowl was now directed at me! Why? What did I do? I can feel my terrified tears about to start, but I held them in.

“Is this the child?” Vincent asked this while still staring at me like he was ready to throw me in the fireplace this time. I tensed up this time. Of course, I'd be terrified of the man who cared nothing for human life. My life. Would he care about the life of his own grandchild?

Oh. Oh no. I'm his granddaughter! I think I'm going to be sick. Vincent's gaze continues to bear down on me. I can't help but cry out while being terrified of him. See? You even make babies cry!

I expected a look of disgust. No, he did something far worse. He smiled! I could interpret his smile as an evil sneer, but I knew better. It was a genuine, happy smile aimed at me.

I was so shocked; I didn't realize I had stopped crying. He reaches toward me and lightly pinches my cheek. I'm going to throw up.

“She's quite adorable.” He gives a light pinch again. "She definitely takes after her mother.”

I hear a light cawing of approval in the background. Really, Mom?

“Speaking of Brenna," Vincent looks around and passes Keith and his mistress. “Where is she?”

Keith's tension gets worse as he begins to visibly shake where he stands. He swallows hard and opens his mouth to speak. He makes a pathetic, throaty sound and clamps his mouth shut.

I'm not sure what happened, but Keith went a bit rigid and fell to the ground. Vincent positioned himself in front of his kneeling son. His anger resonated around him as he helped Keith back to his feet.

“I guess your hearing has gone bad while I was away.” He leans in close, his mouth inches away from Keith's ears. He repeats his questions in an impending manner.

“Where is she?”

Keith bowed his head and stared at the ground, with his hands forming fists. He has decided not to speak, which comes as a surprise to Vincent.

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Vincent appeared to be proud for a bit, but this doesn't stop him from kicking fast and hard at both Keith's legs. Keith falls to his knees again and lets out a painful gasping noise. He tries to reach for wherever the pain is located, but Vincent grabs his shoulders and squeezes.

Vincent doesn't seem to be using much force. But, Keith goes rigid, his pain forgotten. His father bends over to once again speak words into his ears. This time Vincent spoke in a very hushed whisper that I could not make out, unfortunately. But whatever was said shook and shocked Keith.

Vincent straightens himself and pats his son's shoulder. He looks away from him and now stares at me. I actually vomit this time. It could be due to the meal I had in a swaying carriage earlier... or the creepy look of affection and fondness that my murderer presents toward me.

Absolutely disgusting! I cried. The young maid, terrified by all that had happened, snapped out of her newly developed trauma. She rocks me back and forth. She tries to imitate my mother, and I appreciate her for that.

As I try to calm myself, I make the mistake of making eye contact with Vincent. He is still staring and is now approaching us. I scream my little head off. Stay away from me!

He continues to approach and reach out to me. The young maid hands me over.

“Why? Why would you do this to me?” I thought as I attempted to hold on to her but obviously failed. I'm now in Vincent's arms, crying myself blue in the face. I can't breathe!

Vincent takes me and lays me down on my side as I'm still panicking. He waves his hands, and I feel a chill in the air. His fingers are cold and creepy as he touches my forehead with them. The sensation sends a shiver through me, and I realize I can breathe again.

I am completely exhausted after all that, but I refuse to take my eyes off Vincent. Or I can't help but stare and watch him because he's looking and staring down at me. I begin to rock back and forth. That's when I realize I am in a cradle.

Somehow we were in an entirely different room without my noticing. We were alone. And he began to speak.

“I know my first impression wasn't the best there.” I can't help but think that he was stating the obvious. “But right now, unfortunately, I'm the only one here that you can rely on.”

Not exactly sure how I looked, but my inner reaction was me being horrified and 100% full of doubt. I need to leave! But how? My maid is useless. Keith hates me and is the reason I'm in this situation because he tried to murder my mother. My mother may or may not be a bird. Which makes her also useless.

I am stuck here with my only guardian being Vincent Cameron! My murderer! I'm not sure how a 1-month-old newborn looks when they laugh and cry hysterically. Whatever I looked like must have been amusing because Vincent smirked a bit. I looked at him dubiously.

“I expected your mother to be here.” He chuckled, but there was a lot of sadness covering his face. “Didn't think I'd be doing this alone.”

We both hear tapping at the window and turn our heads towards it. Being the only one of us with the ability to walk, it is obvious he would go check it out. Once he reaches the window, he opens it. A pretty little blackbird flies in. She perches on my cradle and looks down, tweeting happily.

Sitting there content, the poor little bird didn't notice the hand coming down on her. I tried to call out, but of course nothing but an unsatisfying “ahh ahh” came out. The hand gripped around the little bird's body, binding her.

While squirming in his hand, Vincent lifts the bird so it can see eye to eye. He gives it a wicked smile.

“So how did we get ourselves into this position, Brenna?” he asks the blackbird.

The bird replied with a pathetic tweeting sound.

Brenna. My mother. And he knows. How? He wasn't there, so how could he possibly know it was her? I still had my doubts, but yet he's the one to confirm it.

My thoughts are interrupted by a sigh from Vincent. He releases my mother from his hands and sits down in a nearby rocking chair. He stares out the window, clearly deep in his own thoughts.

My mother perches herself on my cradle, watching me. I have so many questions but can't ask a single one right now. It's upsetting to not be able to communicate with either one of them. But even if I could talk, would I want to have a conversation with my murderer? Ask him why he did it? Or would I just remain silent and live as his loving granddaughter?