Chapter 3 - THE IRON GRIPBefore Victoria’s nails could scratch the air, a heavy, calloused hand clamped around her wrist with bone-crushing force.
It wasn't Arthur.
It was Hannah, the head maid. Her knuckles were still bleeding from smashing through the drywall, and her eyes burned with a lethal, accumulated fury of three long years.
"Don't you dare touch him," Hannah said, her voice terrifyingly calm, carrying a weight that forced Victoria to stumble backward.
"How dare you, you filthy servant!" Victoria spat, trying to yank her arm away. "Arthur! Fire her! Have her arrested! She conspired with this brat to ruin our family!"
Arthur finally stood up. He rose slowly, his towering frame casting a dark, menacing shadow over his wife. The grief in his eyes had entirely evaporated, replaced by a cold, murderous wrath that made the room's temperature plummet.
"Family?" Arthur repeated, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated through the floorboards. "Three years ago, Victoria, you stood by my side at a private clinic in Switzerland. You handed me a death certificate signed by a doctor you personally recommended. You wept on my shoulder. You told me our son's heart stopped on the operating table."
Arthur stepped closer, towering over her. Victoria instinctively shrank back, hitting the edge of a mahogany service table.
"And all the while," Arthur continued, stepping closer with every word, "my son was breathing behind the drywall of the very home we built together. You buried an empty box just so you could control my estate, didn't you?"
"Arthur, listen to me—" Victoria stammered, her chest heaving, her perfectly styled blonde hair coming loose. "I did it for us! For our future! That child was an obstacle to the trust fund!"
May you like
SLAP.
The crack of Arthur’s hand hitting Victoria’s face echoed like thunder through the ballroom. The glamorous socialite spun from the impact, crashing hard onto the floor, her diamond earrings scattering across the marble.
