Chapter 3
The crackle of the massive stone fireplace was the only sound in the sprawling living room for a long, agonizing moment. The cinematic, natural light illuminated the absolute horror washing over Preston’s fair, rosy face. He stared at his father-in-law as if the older man had just spoken in a foreign language.
"That... that's impossible," Preston stammered, running a panicked hand through his hair. "The trust... the lawyers told me that the house transferred to me upon Sarah's death. I am the sole executor of her estate!"
"You are the executor of her personal belongings," Winston corrected smoothly, pulling a sleek, encrypted smartphone from his tailored dark trousers. "The real estate, the liquid assets, the family syndicate—those belong to a blind trust. A trust that I control until Trey turns twenty-five. I let you live here because my daughter loved you, God knows why. I thought you would be a proper father to her son."
Winston dialed a number on his phone, keeping his sharp, intimidating gaze locked on Preston. "I was wrong. You are nothing but a weak, pathetic excuse for a man who lets his new wife torture his own blood."
Eleanor limped into the living room, clutching her bruised jaw, the wine still dripping from her velvet dress. "He's lying, Preston! He's just trying to scare us. He can't throw us out. We have marital rights!"
"Speak for yourself, Eleanor," Winston said coldly into the phone. "Marcus? It's Winston. I need the medical extraction team at the North Estate immediately. Severe hypothermia. Bring the security detail. We have a pest control issue to handle."
He ended the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket. He sat on the edge of the coffee table, directly in front of Trey, rubbing the boy's freezing, bare feet vigorously to stimulate the blood flow.
"Dad," Trey whimpered from beneath the heavy charcoal coat, his warm brown skin looking pale and ashen in the firelight. "Why didn't you open the door? I knocked for so long."
Preston flinched as if he had been physically struck. He looked down at his suede loafers, unable to meet the innocent, tear-filled eyes of his son.
"I... I told you to go to the garage, Trey," Preston mumbled, his voice pathetic and defensive. "You were supposed to wait in the heated garage."
"You locked the garage from the inside, you coward!" Winston roared, his voice booming with such force that Eleanor jumped backward. "My security team pulled the perimeter footage thirty minutes ago. You watched him crying at the glass door from your office window, and you closed the blinds!"
"He is a liar and a thief!" Eleanor hissed, her true venom bleeding through her elegant facade. "He steals from my purse! He ruins my clothes! You think because you have money, Winston, you can dictate how we run our family? I am the matriarch of this house!"
Winston stood up slowly. His towering frame completely dominated the room. He walked toward Eleanor, his leather winter boots thudding heavily against the hardwood floor.
"You are a gold-digger who married a weak man," Winston stated, stopping inches from her face. "You thought if you broke the boy, Preston would send him away to boarding school. You thought if Trey was out of the picture, you would finally get your hands on my daughter's money."
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Eleanor’s breath hitched. Winston had hit the exact, precise nerve of her entire plan.
"Well, Eleanor," Winston whispered, leaning in close. "You played a very dangerous game. And you just lost everything."
