Chapter 3 - THE WOLF IN SHEEP’S CLOTHINGThe following morning, the sun rose over the Sterling Manor, casting long, deceptive shadows across the manicured lawns. To the outside world, it was just another luxurious Sunday in the lap of high society. But inside the mansion, the air was thick with the silent tension of a battlefield before the first charge.
Margaret Sterling sat at the head of the long mahogany dining table, her posture rigid, her silver hair styled to absolute perfection. She wore a crimson silk blouse that signaled power and dominance.
Across from her sat Ethan, pouring his coffee with an unnerving, serene composure. Not a single muscle in his face betrayed the absolute fury raging beneath his skin.
A moment later, the dining room doors opened. Lena pushed Ava’s wheelchair into the room. Ava looked pale, her head tilted slightly downward, her hands resting limply in her lap. She looked defeated, docile—the very picture of a broken invalid.
Margaret’s lips curled into a subtle, triumphant smirk. She took a slow sip of her Earl Grey tea, her eyes narrowing as she watched her daughter-in-law.
"Good morning, dear," Margaret said, her voice dripping with sickly-sweet condescension. "I trust you slept well? Dr. Vance is scheduled to drop by later with a fresh batch of supplements. We must ensure your recovery stays... on track."
Ethan’s hand tightened around his coffee cup so hard the porcelain cracked. But before he could speak, Ava raised her head.
A slow, vacant smile spread across Ava’s face—a chilling imitation of the drug-induced stupor Margaret expected to see.
"Thank you, Mother Sterling," Ava said in a soft, monotone whisper. "You’re always... so taking care of me. I realize now... I can't fight you anymore. My mind is just... too tired."
Margaret’s smirk widened into a full, predatory smile. The last piece of resistance had crumbled. She had won. Or so she believed.
"Wise choice, Ava," Margaret replied smoothly, dabbing her lips with a linen napkin. "Stubbornness only prolongs the suffering. Now, Ethan, regarding the quarterly board meeting on Wednesday. Since Ava is clearly in no condition to represent her family’s interests, her voting proxy must be formally transferred to me. The lawyers will have the finalized papers ready for her signature by Tuesday evening."
Ethan looked up, meeting his mother’s eyes directly across the table. For three seconds, neither of them blinked. Then, Ethan offered a slow, chilling smile that mirrored Margaret's own ruthless ambition.
"Of course, Mother," Ethan said smoothly. "Let's make it official. Tuesday evening in the study. We’ll settle all accounts once and for all."
Margaret nodded, thoroughly pleased with herself. She stood up, smoothing her skirt, and glided out of the room like a queen surveying her conquered provinces. She didn't notice the look exchanged between Ethan and Ava the second her back was turned—a look that promised absolute, unmitigated destruction.
As soon as the heavy oak doors clicked shut, Lena hurried over to the table, her hands trembling.
"Mr. Ethan, Mrs. Ava... are you sure about this?" Lena whispered, glancing nervously toward the hallway. "If she realizes you're playing her, she'll destroy everything before Tuesday."
"Let her try, Lena," Ava said, her voice suddenly crisp, strong, and entirely devoid of the previous weakness. She pushed herself up from the wheelchair, standing completely unsupported on her own two legs for a full ten seconds before steadying herself against the table.
Lena gasped, clapping her hands over her mouth. "Mrs. Ava! Your legs—!"
"My physical therapy sessions with the private specialists Ethan hired three months ago paid off," Ava said with a fierce grin. "We’ve been hiding my progress for weeks, waiting for the right moment. And that moment is coming."
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Ethan stood up, walking over to wrap his arms gently around his wife’s waist, kissing the top of her head.
"The trap is set," Ethan whispered. "Now, we just need to deliver the bait."
