Chapter 5 - The Returning Tyrant
Andrew blinked, momentarily thrown off balance by my tone. He slammed both palms onto the edge of my desk, leaning over me with a sneer distorting his handsome features.
“Are you out of your absolute mind?” he hissed, spitting the words across the room. “Do you know how hard I’ve worked to cement our position in this family? My mother welcomed you—welcomed you—despite your mediocre background, and you repay her by throwing a public scene because she took a couple of plates away from the girls?”
“She didn't just take plates away, Andrew,” I said, my voice dangerously soft. “She humiliated our daughters. She shoved a tray of garbage at them, splashed food on Chloe’s dress, and treated them like stray animals. And you sat there, lifted your wineglass, and told me I was making a scene.”
“They’re girls!” Andrew barked, as if that explained and excused everything in the universe. “They don't need coddling! They need discipline, and they need to learn how things work in this family! Mother knows best. If you can’t teach them manners, someone else has to.”
He straightened up, adjusting his tie with a arrogant flick of his wrist, adopting the pose of the patriarch delivering a final decree.
“Here is how it’s going to work, Lauren. You are going to pack an overnight bag. You are going to bring the girls back to the estate tomorrow morning for the family brunch. You are going to apologize to my mother on your knees for walking out, and you are going to smile for the relatives. If you don't...”
He paused, letting a dark, threatening smile cross his face.
“If you don't, I’ll file for separation. I’ll tell the courts you’re an unstable, hysterical woman who can’t provide a stable home, and I’ll strip you of custody. You’ll leave this house with nothing. Do you understand me?”
I looked at him for a long, silent moment. The sheer audacity of the man—standing in my house, built with my capital, threatening me with destitution using money he didn't even own—was breathtaking.
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I slowly reached down, opened the top drawer of my desk, and slid the heavy leather portfolio forward. I flipped it open, revealing the crisp, legally binding documents inside.
“You’re right about one thing, Andrew,” I said, looking up into his widening eyes. “Someone is going to leave with nothing tomorrow morning. But it won't be me.”
