Chapter 5
The realization of the forgery hung over the banquet table like a lit fuse. The grand, airy room felt entirely claustrophobic as the sixty guests processed the magnitude of Winona’s treason. To challenge a sitting boss was dangerous; to do so with a clumsily forged document was suicidal.
Winona’s panic instantly morphed into a blinding, hysterical fury. The polished veneer of the former matriarch completely disintegrated. Her eyes burned with irrational hatred as she stared at Eamon, refusing to accept the total collapse of her coup.
"Shut up!" Winona screamed, her voice cracking as she lost all control. "It doesn't matter! You don't belong in that chair!"
She lunged across the table. Her manicured hands shot out, her fingers twisting violently into Eamon’s swept-back dark hair. With a sudden, vicious surge of strength, she yanked his head forward, trying to force his handsome face down into the pile of cold, wet garbage and food scraps that covered the table and his lap.
Eamon grunted, his neck muscles straining. Because the two bodyguards still had his upper arms pinned securely against the back of the chair, he could not raise his hands to defend himself. The veins in his neck bulged against his refined tattoos as he fought against her downward pull.
"I'll drown you in it!" Winona shrieked, her pearl jewelry swinging wildly as she leveraged her weight against his head.
Oriana did not freeze. The sight of Winona physically assaulting the man she cared for erased every boundary of class, fear, and protocol.
She dropped the forged DNA report onto the floor. Her expressive eyes darted across the table, searching for anything she could use. Her gaze locked onto the thick, heavy hardback family album sitting near the birthday cake. It was bound in solid leather and weighed several pounds.
Oriana grabbed the album with both hands. She didn't hesitate. She stepped forward, raising the heavy book high above her head.
With a sharp, breathless cry, Oriana swung the album down with all her might. She struck Winona’s gripping forearm ONCE, a brutal, punishing blow that connected with a loud, sickening crack.
Winona screamed in agony. Her fingers instantly released Eamon’s hair as a shockwave of pain shot up her arm. She staggered backward away from the table, clutching her wrist against her chest, her luxurious birthday gown swirling around her legs.
"My arm!" Winona wailed, her face contorting in pain as she stumbled into one of the velvet dining chairs. "She broke my arm!"
The sudden, shocking violence from the gentle housemaid completely derailed the bodyguards. Both the Black American and the white American guard flinched, their attention momentarily snapping toward the screaming woman.
In their surprise, they loosened their crushing hold on Eamon’s upper arms for just a fraction of a second.
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It was all the time Eamon needed. With a powerful, explosive surge of masculine strength, Eamon ripped his arms free from their weakened grip. He surged forward, throwing off the remaining hands of his captors, finally breaking loose from his restraints.
He stood up to his full height, his dark suit ruined but his terrifying, lethal presence fully restored. The room fell dead silent once more, watching the unleashed boss. No one dared to breathe.
