The Billionaire's Insignificant Wife novel Chapter 21

Behind Locked Doors

At seven in the evening, Junior’s crying still hadn’t stopped.

That sound echoed throughout the mansion–raw, broken, desperate. Not the usual crying of a small child having a tantrum. This was deeper. Darker. Like something inside Junior had truly broken.

Mrs. Helen stood outside Junior’s room with an untouched tray of food, her face wet with tears. The old woman had tried— repeatedly–to go in to calm the boy. But every time she approached, Junior screamed.

“GO AWAY! JUNIOR DOESN’T WANT TO! JUNIOR ONLY WANTS MAMA!”

And Mrs. Helen had to retreat with a broken heart, hearing the child she had cared for like her own grandson reject her harshly. Clarissa stood in the corridor in an elegant evening dress, perfect makeup, but a frustrated expression. She had tried to enter three times. And three times Junior threw pillows, dolls, anything he could reach.

“GO AWAY! HATE MAMA RISSA! GO AWAY!”

Margaret sat on the family room sofa with rigid posture, a cup of chamomile tea in her slightly trembling hand–not from age, but from restrained anger.

Dantel stood in front of Junior’s closed bedroom door, hands clenched at his sides, jaw hardened until the tendons in his neck

were tense.

Inside, Junior was still crying. His voice beginning to grow hoarse. Breath broken. But not stopping.

“Mama… Junior wants Mama… Please…”

That whisper–so broken, so desperate–pierced Daniel deeper than the screaming.

Mrs. Helen approached with hesitant steps. “Sir… maybe if Mrs. Alina-”

“No.” Daniel cut in with a loud voice. And firm. “Alina cannot come down.”

“But young master Junior-”

“Daniel said no!”

Margaret suddenly stood from the sofa, walking quickly to the corridor with rigid posture, eyes burning with irritation.

“Don’t you hear, Mrs. Helen?” Margaret’s voice was sharp, cutting. “Junior is too spoiled. Alina spoiled him too much all this time. Every time he cries, she comes. Every time he’s scared, she hugs him. That has to stop.”

Mrs. Helen looked at Margaret with teary eyes. “But Madam… Young master Junior is only six years old-

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“And it’s time he learned to be a proper Blackwood boy.” Margaret stepped closer, voice dropping but more menacing. “You’re staff in this house, Mrs. Helen. Not family. So don’t interfere in our parenting matters. Am I clear enough?”

Mrs. Helen flinched–hurt and shock clear on her face. She nodded slowly, backing away with slumped shoulders–defeated.

“Sorry, Madam.” Mrs. Helen’s voice was almost a whisper.

Margaret looked at her sharply for a moment longer before turning to Daniel with a more composed expression.

“Daniel, let Junior cry. He’ll stop eventually. All Blackwood children learn this way.”

Daniel looked at Junior’s bedroom door–hearing the increasingly hoarse crying but didn’t move. His mother was right, Junior had to start learning how to grow up to be a Blackwood family boy. Not grow up to be a spoiled child.

From inside the room, Junior’s crying began to decrease not because he was calm, but because he was exhausted. His voice was hoarse. Breath ragged.

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And Daniel remained steadfast in his place. No longer trying to comfort.

Upstairs, Alina had been standing at her bedroom door since Junior’s crying echoed loudly through the mansion. Every scream. Every word “MAMA!” that Junior shouted was like a knife stabbing Alina’s heart repeatedly.

She tried to open the door. Repeatedly. But Mr. Harris stood outside with an unmovable posture.

“Mr. Harris, please,” Alina begged with a trembling voice. “Junior needs me. Listen… he’s crying. Please, let me go down just for a moment-”

“Sorry, Mrs. Blackwood.” Mr. Harris answered in a trembling but firm tone. “Mr. Blackwood’s instructions are clear. You cannot leave the room tonight.”

“But Junior-“}}

“I’m just following orders, Ma’am. Sorry!”

Alina tried to pull the door handle harder, but Mr. Harris held it with much greater strength.

“JUNIOR!” Alina shouted, hoping her voice could reach downstairs. “MAMA IS HERE, SWEETHEART! MAMA—”

The sound of a key turning.

Alina froze.

Mr. Harris locked the door from outside–a click that was final, definitive.

“Mr. Harris, NO! Don’t lock me in.” Alina pounded on the door with her fists. “Please! Don’t lock the door! I promise I won’t go down! I just want him to know I’m here! Please!”

Silence from outside.

Then Mr. Harris’s voice–muffled, but Alina could still hear. And there was something in his voice. Regret or guilt?

“Sorry, Mrs. Blackwood. These are orders from Mr. Blackwood. For young master Junior’s good.”

“Good?” Alina laughed a hysterical, broken sound. “Letting a six–year–old cry until exhausted is good?”

No answer.

Only Mr. Harris’s footsteps moving away–leaving Alina alone in the room that was now truly a prison.

Alina slid to the floor, back against the door, still pounding with increasingly weak hands.

“Junior…” Alina’s voice broke. “Sweetheart, Mama is here… Mama didn’t leave… Mama is here…”

From downstairs, Junior’s crying could still be heard–muffled but unmistakable.

“Mama… Junior wants Mama…”

Alina was crying now–full sobs, body shaking, hands still pounding on the door though no one would open it.

“JUNIOR! MAMA IS HERE! MAMA DIDN’T LEAVE! JUNIOR CAN YOU HEAR MAMA?”

But her voice wasn’t loud enough. Didn’t reach far enough.

Or maybe

even if Junior could hear no one would let them meet.

Alina pounded again. And again. Until her hands hurt. Until her fists were red.

“Please,” Alina whispered to the cold, unfeeling door. “Please let me see him. Just for a moment. Five minutes. I promise I’ll come back. Please…”

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But no one came.

No one opened the door.

Only silence from the corridor–and crying that slowly, agonizingly slow, decreased from downstairs.

Alina locked in her room, powerless, broken, could only cry on the cold floor with hands still touching the door, reaching for the child she couldn’t reach.

“Forgive Mama,” Alina whispered to the darkness. “Forgive Mama for not being able to protect you.”

In the corridor outside, Mr. Harris stood with bowed back, closing his eyes with tight jaw.

He could hear Alina crying inside. Could hear Junior crying downstairs.

For the first time in his long career as security chief, Mr. Harris questioned whether he was doing the right thing.

Obeying orders to separate mother and child?

But orders were orders.

And Daniel Blackwood never accepted insubordination.

So Mr. Harris remained at his position–guarding the locked door–with guilt growing in his chest.

One hour later…

In the downstairs corridor, Margaret, Clarissa, and Mrs. Helen were still waiting for Junior to open the door.

Margaret immediately approached. “Daniel, this is outrageous. Junior can’t keep acting like this. You need to discipline him.”

J

“Mama, not now.” Daniel’s voice was tired. So tired. “Give Junior time to understand the situation.”

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