Chapter 4
The deep, low timbre of Malcolm's voice was quiet, but it carried an undeniable, terrifying finality that echoed across the silent garden. The cinematic light caught the sharp angles of his face, highlighting the absolute, freezing rage masked by his measured composure.
"The garden stays," Malcolm finished, his voice dropping into a dangerous, gravelly whisper.
Hester froze. The frantic wiping of her mud-streaked face ceased entirely. She stared at him through soil-caked eyelashes, the sheer magnitude of the order paralyzing her beneath the staring eyes of the fifty guests. She had expected a negotiation, a shouting match, perhaps a physical retaliation. She had not expected immediate, absolute exile.
"You can't do this," Hester stammered, her voice shaking as she realized the true cost of her theatrical power play. "I run this estate! I control the ledgers! The family needs me!"
"Does the family require an administrator who openly desecrates the memory of its former matriarch?" Malcolm asked smoothly, refusing to raise his voice.
"I am your aunt!" Hester cried, her elegant gown completely ruined. "You cannot throw me out into the street over a patch of dirt and a hysterical maid!"
"Are you under the impression that you are leaving with anything other than the clothes currently on your back?" Malcolm inquired, his cold eyes narrowing into lethal slits.
Hester gasped, the remaining color draining from her face. She looked frantically left and right, her eyes silently pleading with the relatives and guests who had surrounded her just an hour ago.
But the crowd had turned. The people who had laughed when he was pinned now looked away, refusing to meet her gaze. They understood the wind had shifted. Malcolm was not a weak boy to be pushed around; Hester had overplayed her hand in the most catastrophic way possible.
Desperate, Hester looked toward her two bodyguards. The men she paid handsomely to protect her were standing rigidly by her sides.
"Do something!" Hester hissed at them. "He is threatening me! Remove him!"
The Black American bodyguard swallowed hard, his eyes flicking toward Malcolm, then down to the grass. The white American guard slowly took a step backward, distancing himself from the woman.
"Do you men truly wish to die today defending a woman who is no longer welcome on this property?" Malcolm asked, shifting his unwavering gaze to the two guards.
Both men immediately raised their hands, palms outward, in a universal gesture of surrender. They stepped away from Hester, leaving her entirely alone in the center of the lawn.
Freya remained close beside Malcolm. Her heart hammered against her ribs, but she didn't retreat to the shadows. Her fingers still trembled around his hand, holding his wrist securely. She could feel the steady, powerful pulse beneath his artistic tattoos.
"Marcus," Malcolm called out, his voice ringing across the lawn.
A tall, broad-shouldered man in a dark suit stepped out from the crowd of guests. "Yes, Boss."
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"Will you escort my aunt to the front gates?" Malcolm asked. "And ensure her access codes to the syndicate accounts are revoked immediately."
Hester let out a high-pitched wail of despair as Marcus and three other men moved forward, grabbing her roughly by the arms and dragging her away from the ruined flower bed, her protests echoing through the bright, airy afternoon.
