Chapter 6 - The Freezing of a Billionaire
Richard stood frozen between the two realities, his mind spinning as the heavy brain fog that had clouded his thoughts for months suddenly seemed to crack open.
He looked at Victoria—at the frantic twitch in her eye, at the unnatural panic gripping her frame, at the way her hands gripped the edge of the mahogany table so tightly her knuckles turned bone-white.
Then he looked at his sons.
Ethan, Noah, and Liam were clinging to one another near the doorway, trembling violently, their tear-streaked faces turned up toward him with an expression of pure, heartbreaking devotion. They weren't acting out of malice or mischief. They were terrified. They had run down here, risking their father’s wrath, solely to save his life.
A cold, terrifying realization washed over Richard Hawthorne, freezing the blood in his veins.
He remembered how tired he had been lately. He remembered the memory lapses during board meetings. He remembered how sweetly Victoria had insisted on personally preparing his evening tonic every single night "to help him relax."
And then, like a lightning bolt cutting through the dark, he remembered Emily.
He remembered the maid who had served his family faithfully for three years. He remembered her gentle patience with the boys. He remembered how she had stood by the bookshelf, clutching her cleaning bag, trying to speak before he cut her off, insulted her, and threw her out like a criminal.
“She stole my watch, Richard.”
Victoria’s words from earlier echoed in his mind now with terrifying clarity. If Victoria had lied about the watch... what else had she lied about?
"Victoria," Richard said. His voice wasn't loud. It was terrifyingly quiet, dropping into a deep, icy register that made the air in the room feel twenty degrees colder.
Victoria swallowed hard, forcing a brittle, shaking smile. "R-Richard? You... you don't believe these little liars, do you? Tell me you don't believe—"
"Shut up," Richard commanded softly.
He turned his head toward the open doorway where the estate's head of security, Marcus, had just appeared, drawn by the commotion.
"Marcus," Richard ordered without breaking eye contact with Victoria. "Go down to the mudroom. Bring me Emily’s canvas cleaning tote bag. The one she was carrying when she left."
"Sir? But Mrs. Lane said—"
"I don't care what Mrs. Lane said," Richard barked, his voice cracking with sudden, explosive authority. "Bring me the bag. Now!"
Marcus flinched and sprinted down the hall.
Victoria stepped backward, her breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. "Richard, this is insane! You're letting unhinged children dictate your household! I am leaving! I am calling my lawyer!"
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"Try to walk out that door, Victoria," Richard whispered, stepping slowly around the dining table, his eyes fixed on her like a predator locking onto its prey, "and I will personally ensure you spend the next thirty years of your life behind bars."
Victoria froze, her legs turning to lead. She knew she was trapped.
