Chapter 7 - The Billionaire’s Counter-StrikeRichard Whitmore recovered his composure quickly, pasting a sardonic smile onto his face as he turned to face the younger billionaire.
"Grant, my boy," Richard said smoothly, extending a hand as if they were meeting at a charity golf tournament. "Good timing. We need to talk about the PR disaster your staff caused. Claire is willing to drop the defamation charges if you issue a public statement clearing her name and—"
Grant ignored Richard’s outstretched hand completely.
He walked slowly across the foyer, his heavy leather shoes clicking rhythmically on the marble floor. He stopped just inches away from Richard, towering over him by three inches and radiating an aura of absolute dominance.
"You have thirty seconds to walk out those front doors," Grant said quietly, his voice dangerously level. "Or I will personally ensure that every asset your hedge fund manages is shorted into bankruptcy by morning."
Richard’s smile faltered. "Now hold on, Grant. Let's be rational businessmen. Family ties—"
"You are not family," Grant interrupted, his eyes flashing with ice. "You never were. Your daughter tried to frame a three-year-old child and stole family property to cover her tracks. And you walked into my home and threatened my staff. Security is already escorting your car off the perimeter. If your shadow crosses my property line again, I won't call the police. I'll ruin you."
The absolute conviction in Grant’s voice left no room for negotiation.
Richard’s face flushed a deep, mottled red. He realized he had severely underestimated how thoroughly Claire’s actions had destroyed any leverage their family held over the Mercer empire.
"You'll regret this, Mercer," Richard hissed, turning on his heel and marching toward the open door. "The Whitmores don't forget!"
"Neither do I," Grant called after him as the door slammed shut.
The foyer fell into a tense, heavy silence.
Grant exhaled a long breath, running a hand through his dark hair, before turning around to face Natalie and Lily. His fierce corporate expression melted away instantly, replaced by an expression of deep, vulnerable concern.
"Are you alright?" Grant asked, hurrying over to them. "Did he touch you?"
"We're fine, Mr. Mercer... Grant," Natalie corrected herself softly, a genuine smile breaking through her lingering tension. "Thank you."
"You don't need to thank me," Grant said, kneeling down so he was eye-level with three-year-old Lily.
The little girl looked at him with her big brown eyes, clutching her picture book. Slowly, without any prompting, Lily stepped forward and patted Grant’s shoulder with her tiny hand.
"Don't sad, Mr. Grant," Lily said softly. "Bad man gone."
Grant felt a lump form in his throat—a feeling so profound and unexpected that it momentarily robbed him of speech. He reached out and gently ruffled Lily’s dark curls. "You're right, Lily. Bad man gone."
May you like
Evelyn, standing nearby, cleared her throat softly with a rare, approving smile. "Well. Since the foyer is clear, perhaps we should discuss dinner arrangements. And perhaps... a security upgrade?"
"Agreed," Grant said, standing up and looking between Evelyn and Natalie. "Starting tomorrow, everything in this house changes."
