Chapter 2
Eleanor lay sprawled across the pristine marble floor, a violent smear of spilled red wine soaking into the luxurious velvet of her winter wrap dress. She brought a trembling, manicured hand to her fair, rosy cheek, which was rapidly blossoming into a dark, angry purple bruise. She stared up at Winston with wide, disbelieving eyes, the mocking superiority entirely wiped from her features.
"You struck me!" Eleanor shrieked, her voice echoing shrilly through the grand foyer. "Preston, do you see this? He assaulted me in my own foyer! Call the police right now!"
Preston took a hesitant step forward, his suede loafers scuffing against the marble. His face was pale, the rosy complexion draining as he looked between his wife on the floor and his terrifying father-in-law.
"Winston, you—you can't just barge in here and lay hands on my wife," Preston stammered, raising his hands in a weak, placating gesture. "I demand that you put my son down and leave this property immediately."
"You demand?" Winston chuckled, a dark, humorless sound that rumbled from deep within his chest. He ignored Preston completely, turning his attention to the freezing child in his arms.
Winston quickly shrugged off his heavy charcoal wool winter coat, revealing the black cashmere turtleneck beneath. He wrapped the massive, thick coat tightly around Trey, swaddling the three-year-old’s shaking body until only the boy's glowing warm brown face peeked out from the dark fabric.
"Grandpa, I'm so cold," Trey whispered, his eyelids fluttering as exhaustion threatened to pull him into unconsciousness. "My feet hurt."
"I know, my brave boy. I know," Winston murmured softly, pressing a kiss to the boy's snowy forehead. "You are safe now. Grandpa has you. You are never going to be cold again."
"Did you hear me, Winston?" Preston raised his voice, trying to summon a shred of masculine authority. "I am calling the authorities!"
"Make the call, Preston," Winston commanded, his deep mahogany skin seeming to absorb the light in the room as he stepped toward the cowardly father. "Call the police. Tell them you locked a three-year-old child outside in a blizzard for nine hours in ripped pajamas. Let us see who leaves this estate in handcuffs tonight."
Preston froze, his hand hovering over the expensive smartphone in his pocket. He swallowed hard, the Adam's apple bobbing nervously against his cable-knit collar.
Eleanor scrambled into a sitting position, her diamond earrings swaying wildly. "He is an unruly brat! He deliberately destroyed a ten-thousand-dollar antique. He needed discipline. We are his parents!"
"You are nothing to him," Winston corrected her, his voice slicing through the air like a razor. "You are the woman who married his father after my daughter died. You are a parasite."
Winston walked past them, carrying Trey deeper into the house toward the living room. "And as for your claim to this property... you seem to be operating under a massive, fatal delusion. Both of you."
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"What are you talking about?" Preston demanded, chasing after him like a scolded dog. "My name is on the deed!"
"Your name is on a lease agreement," Winston replied, laying Trey gently onto the plush leather sofa near the roaring fireplace. "A lease agreement managed by the holding company that I own. I bought this estate the day Trey was born. You are my tenants, Preston. And as of this exact second, you are both evicted."
