Chapter 6
Nia stepped over the scattered wooden chess pieces, her metallic stilettos crunching softly into the thick carpet. She walked directly toward the threshold of the council room, where her personal, fiercely loyal bodyguards stood frozen. They were White American men, hardened killers who had served the family for decades, but right now, their eyes held nothing but absolute awe and terror for the woman in the emerald gown.
Without a word, Nia gently transferred Julian into the arms of her lead bodyguard, a massive man named Sullivan.
"Get him to the armored SUV. Have the medical team waiting with oxygen," Nia ordered, her voice a low, commanding rumble.
"Yes, Boss. With my life," Sullivan swore, cradling the gasping four-year-old against his tactical vest as if holding a fragile piece of glass. He immediately turned and sprinted toward the private garage, flanked by three other men.
Nia stood in the center of the dining room. She slowly turned around. Victoria was still unconscious beside the ruined chess table, Preston weeping hysterically beside her. Arthur had backed away from the door, his crisp light blue shirt suddenly looking entirely too tight around his neck as he realized he had lost complete control of the monster he helped create.
But Nia ignored them. Her striking, lethal gaze locked directly onto Eleanor.
Eleanor stood frozen in her pearl-white crepe dress, the heavy pearl necklace rising and falling rapidly against her chest. The arrogant, aristocratic sneer had vanished from her fair, rosy face, replaced by a profound, trembling realization that she had miscalculated fatally.
Nia walked slowly toward her mother. She stopped just two feet away, the height of her stilettos making her tower over the older woman. The bright, cinematic lighting illuminated the red welt on Nia’s bronze cheek, contrasting sharply with the cold, dead calm in her eyes.
"My son can't breathe," Nia said. Her voice was not a yell. It was a perfectly flat, hollow sound that carried the promise of an open grave.
Eleanor swallowed hard, her diamond rings shaking as she clutched her hands together. "Nia... be reasonable. It was a childhood scuffle."
Nia tilted her head slightly, the diamond drop earrings catching the light like polished knives.
"My son can't breathe," Nia repeated softly. "And you tied up my four-year-old child so your favorite grandchild could hurt him."
Eleanor opened her mouth to speak, to offer some twisted justification, but the look in Nia’s eyes silenced her completely. There was no love left in the bronze-skinned woman. The familial bonds had been severed the moment Julian hit the floor.
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"Enjoy this house, Eleanor," Nia whispered, stepping backward toward the exit. "Enjoy the portraits. Enjoy the legacy. Because by tomorrow night, none of it will exist."
Without waiting for a response, Nia turned her back on her family. Her emerald silk gown flowed behind her like liquid fire as she walked out the door, leaving the dynasty she inherited to choke on its own ashes.
