Page 1 of The Beast’s Broken Angel

ADRIAN

Twenty-four years ago…

Mum - Victoria Calloway - leaned close beside me on the bench, her fingers showing me how to play the tricky notes. Her hair smelled like her special perfume and the tea we had earlier. The diamond earrings she wore sparkled when she moved her head.

“Feel the music, Adrian,” she said in her pretty voice. “Getting the notes right matters, but feeling it gives it heart.”

I stuck my tongue out a little as I tried the hard part again. I wanted to make her proud.

The music room doors opened quietly as Dad - Vinny Calloway - walked in.

He still had his fancy suit on from work, but his tie was loose.

Even though it was late, his shoes still shined like mirrors.

I noticed him right away and sat up straighter.

Dad didn't have to say things to make you know what he wanted.

He crossed the room toward us, and I could smell his cologne.

Dad's face, usually serious from his important business, softened when he looked at Mum and me.

The little lines around his eyes crinkled more, and the tightness in his jaw relaxed a bit.

He stopped behind us, putting one big hand on Mum's shoulder and ruffling my hair with the other, which he almost never did.

“Sounding better every day,” he said, and I felt warm all over from his praise. Dad didn't give compliments much, which made them special.

“That's enough practice for tonight,” Mum decided, closing the music book gently but in a way that meant I couldn't argue. Even Dad listened to Mum about house things. “Dinner is waiting, and if someone finished his math homework correctly, perhaps a chapter from The Jungle Book afterward.”

I nearly jumped off the piano bench when she mentioned my favorite book. I carefully put the cover down on the piano keys like they taught me, then followed them to the dining room.

Our hallway had beautiful paintings and fancy tables with photos of us at parties. I walked between my parents, sometimes holding Mum's hand because I still liked to, even though I was trying to be grown-up like Dad.

The dining room sparkled with silver candlesticks, fancy plates, and crystal glasses all lined up perfectly by the staff who had disappeared by now. Through the tall windows, I could see London's lights starting to come on as it got darker outside.

Dinner was normal, even though our family wasn't really normal at all.

Mrs. Patterson, who had worked for us forever, served each course and then left us to talk.

I sat up straight, used the right forks without being told, and answered my parents' questions with the big words I'd learned from being around adults instead of kids my age.

We talked about my math test, Dad's meetings, and Mum's plans for a big charity party for children's hospitals.

“Harrison mentioned the Camden property is coming along as planned,” Dad said, the only hint about real business at our table.

Mum's face changed for just a second, looking worried before she hid it again. “Perhaps business can wait until tomorrow?” she suggested in her gentle-but-firm way. “Tonight is for family.”

Dad nodded slightly and started talking about our summer trip to the South of France instead. I noticed how Mum didn't like when Dad mentioned Harrison Blackwood, his money man and best friend, but I didn't know why that mattered.

Later, in my race car bed, I listened to Mum read from The Jungle Book. She did different voices for all the animals: wise for Bagheera, loud for Baloo, scary for Kaa. Dad sat in the chair next to my bed, half-listening and half-checking security stuff on his tablet between page turns.

I loved Shere Khan best, even though he was the bad guy. I liked how powerful and confident the tiger was. In my room with my parents, I felt completely safe. Dad was strong, Mum was perfect, and nothing bad could ever happen to us.

The nightlight made soft shadows on the walls as Mum finished the chapter, marking our place with a silk ribbon.

“Again tomorrow?” I asked sleepily as my eyes started to close.

My parents looked at each other with small smiles. Mum leaned down and kissed my forehead, her perfume wrapping around me like a hug .

“Of course,” she promised, brushing my hair back. “We'll always be here for you, darling.”

Dad's goodnight wasn't as mushy but still nice. His strong hand squeezed my shoulder, and he almost smiled. “Sleep well, son. Tomorrow we'll practice your fencing.”

They turned off my lamp, leaving just the blue glow of my nightlight as they left. I fell asleep feeling totally safe, with no idea that everything was about to change forever, that “always” would end before morning came.

A huge crash woke me up. It echoed through our house like a bomb. It was too loud to be normal, too angry-sounding to be an accident. Someone was breaking in.

I sat up in bed, confused and scared. My room, usually so safe and familiar, suddenly felt dangerous. Shadows that had been friendly now looked like they might hide monsters. My heart beat so hard I could hear it.

My clock glowed red: 2:17 AM. I breathed fast and listened hard, trying to figure out what was happening. But right then, I just froze, not knowing if I should yell for help or stay quiet like Dad had taught me: “If you ever hear strange noises at night, stay quiet until I come for you.”

Another crash came, with the sound of wood breaking and glass shattering.

Then I heard the worst sound in the world: Mum screaming.

She never screamed. Her voice was always calm and controlled, so hearing her terrified cry made my blood turn to ice.

The scream stopped suddenly, cut off by something awful, and then men's voices shouted orders at each other.

My fear turned into action as I remembered Dad's security drills. In emergencies: stay quiet, find Dad, follow his orders exactly, get to the emergency phone in their bedroom if possible.

I slipped out of bed, my bare feet silent on the carpet.

I pressed my ear against my door before turning the handle.

The hallway looked longer and scarier than ever before, the distance to my parents' room suddenly huge even though it was only twenty feet away.

The family photos on the walls seemed to stare at me like I was doing something wrong by being so scared.

The hall stretched dark and scary in front of me.

The emergency lights that were supposed to come on weren't working, even though Dad had checked them a million times.

The alarms that should've gone off, the calls that should've gone to the police, nothing was happening. Something was really, really wrong.

I crept forward super slowly, avoiding the creaky floorboards Dad had pointed out during our practice drills. My parents' bedroom door was partly open, and I could hear voices. Dad's voice sounded wrong, not strong like usual:

“You don't have to do this. We can work something out. You can have the codes and numbers the right way.”

A stranger answered, his voice calm in a scary way, like he was discussing the weather instead of whatever bad thing was happening: “This ain't a negotiation, Calloway. Your family business is getting new management. Your position's been terminated.”

The weird business words for what was clearly a takeover made my stomach hurt. Another voice added: “Your wife's fancy society friends have become a problem that needs solving.”

They were talking about killing my parents like it was just a job, and that frightened me more than if they'd been yelling or making threats .

I peeked through the crack in the door, curiosity beating my fear for a second. What I saw burned into my brain forever, a picture no therapy would ever erase:

Mum was on her knees in the middle of the bedroom, her white nightgown spread around her on our special carpet, her dark hair falling around her shoulders.

A thin wire was pulled tight around her throat by a man in a black mask standing behind her.

A line of blood showed where the wire cut into her skin.

Her eyes were wide with fear but also anger, my beautiful mum facing death with the same dignity she faced everything. Dad was across the room, held by two bigger men in similar black clothes, forced to watch what they were doing to Mum. His struggles were useless against their practiced holds.

Dad's face was bruised, his lip bleeding, showing he'd tried to fight before they overpowered him. Five men in total were in the room, all in black with masks, moving like soldiers or special police, not regular criminals.

Their leader stood a bit apart, giving quiet orders with small hand gestures.

His voice sounded educated, like he went to the same schools as Dad.

“The combination to your safe, Calloway. Then the offshore accounts. How much you cooperate decides whether this is quick or we drag it out to teach you a lesson.”

“We can work this out,” Dad begged, sounding desperate in a way that scared me even more than the men with guns. Dad never begged for anything. Hearing him plead confirmed how hopeless things were.

“My son is in the house. He's innocent. Whatever problem you have with me, whatever takeover you're planning, the boy isn't involved. He's just a child.”

The leader answered with a coldness I'd remember forever as what true evil sounds like: “Collateral damage is unfortunate but necessary, Calloway. Your family name ends tonight. Wiping out the whole bloodline prevents future complications.”

I gasped without meaning to, the tiny sound barely audible but somehow catching their attention.

One of the masked men turned sharply toward the door, immediately spotting me.

Cold blue eyes looked through the mask's holes, first surprised to see me, then calculating something worse.

Those eyes belonged to someone who solved problems, not someone who felt bad about hurting a kid.